Disabled and retired undercover cop Peter Harris is recruited for one last job. He's going to infiltrate the household of Raymond Hobbes, notorious drug lord and criminal kingpin, with the support of an unusual group of experts and unapproved technology. Listed Themes and Elements applies to entire story, rating just to this submission. Editorial assistance from Marina Kelly greatly appreciated.

Severance Pay

PROLOGUE

The radio clipped to my pants pocket beeped several times before I could put down the slice of pizza and wipe my hands. Pulling the radio free, I pressed the ‘talk’ button.

“Yeah” I said, shoving the last bite of pizza to the side of my mouth so I could talk.

“Andy, get over to dock six. We may need a ruling.”

“A big one?”

“So they say.”

“Do I have time to finish my lunch?”

“If you can do it in ten minutes.”

Damn it.

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

I’m out the door and headed toward dock six within five minutes of receiving the call but the crowd of tourists has already started moving that way. Word must have got out. By the time I reach the dock, the enormous shark is already hanging in mid-air, suspended from the arm of a crane and surrounded by over three hundred people, most of them shooting pictures with their phones. I push my way through the crowd, apologizing as I go, finally reaching Travis. He and his team are attempting to keep the crowds back.

“What ya’ got, Travis?”

“Great White. Guy says he caught it off the Banks.”

“They’ve been seen there before. She’s a big one.”

“She?”

“Females are bigger than males. Anyone got numbers?”

“Tommy did. Fifteen feet eleven and a half inches, Two thousand six hundred ninety five pounds.”

“That’s a record. IGFA‘s biggest confirmed Great White was Two thousand six hundred sixty three.”

“Wait a minute! I’ve heard all kinds of stories about twenty two, twenty three footers that weighed over four thousand pounds. How can this be a record?”

“Those were estimates from sharks caught in nets. They were probably bigger than this fish but the IFGA are sticklers about documentation and they have to be caught, not trapped. That’s why we need to move quickly, don’t want this shark dehydrating.”

Just then, two smiling men dressed in yellow slicks joined us. They were both smoking celebratory cigars.

“You Cambridge?” asked the taller one.

I offer him my hand. “Andy Cambridge, head official for the contest. This your catch?” He takes it, shaking it vigorously.

“Damn straight! Fought this son of a bitch for over two hours.”

“It’s more likely the bitch than the son.”

“What?”

“Never mind. We got all the documentation required, Travis?”

“Yep, plus HD video.”

“Okay, drop it to the deck.”

“What’s this about?” asked the shorter man.

I give him a friendly, non-threatening smile. “Just making sure everything’s legit. When you’ve got a top prize of Six thousand dollars and a Four thousand dollar bonus for a world record, people might be tempted to play a little fast and loose with the rules. The International Game Fish Association is pretty hard nosed about documentation. You boys don’t have a problem with that … do you?”

The two men quickly look at each other, cigars clenched in their respective teeth. I see the looks that I expected. This is one damn heavy fish for its length and circumference. The only way to be sure is to gut it. I don’t think these guys were expecting this.

“Uhh no. No problem at all … what exactly are you going to do?” asked Stretch.

“I’m going back to the office, change into my gear then slice her belly open to make certain there are no foreign substances there.”

“What kind of foreign substances?” demanded Shorty.

“Mostly heavy metals. Iron. Lead. That sort of thing.”

“Wait a minute. Sharks eat damn near anything. There could be God knows what in his stomach.”

“Her. And, no, sharks don’t eat anything. They’re actually quite particular, though sometimes they make mistakes. I’ll be right back. You boys hang close.”

It takes me almost fifteen minutes to change, get my gear and return to the dock. There’s still a lot of tourists but I don’t see either Stretch or Shorty.

“Where’s our two winners, Travis?”

“Snuck away almost as soon as you left. Tommy followed them to their boat. He’s bringing them back now.”

I pull a long, heavy duty butcher knife from my bag. “Kinda makes this whole thing moot, wouldn’t ya’ say? Still, I’m curious as to what they used. Keep the camera rolling. I don’t want to be accused of any funny business.”

As I approach the shark, the crowd draws closer.

“Ahh, no folks. You want to back off. Way off. Travis, if you’d help show the people.”

Travis moves in and gets everyone to back off about thirty feet as I get ready. Getting a firm grip on the handle, I plunge the knife deep into the shark’s underbelly near the anal fin and slowly drag it towards the head, slicing deeply as I struggle forward. Almost immediately, there’s an eruption of gallons of milky white digestive fluids, all flowing out of the incision and running along the deck towards the scattering crowd.

If that didn’t send most of them on their way, the nauseating stench finished the job, though there were a few diehard photographers left.

After finishing the cut, I take a couple of pairs of rib spreaders, kneel down, force them into the incision and lock them down, pushing the cut sides apart. When I stand up, I see Tommy’s back with our friends. They both look sick to their stomachs … probably for several reasons.

“Let’s see what we can find.”

Sitting down towards the middle of the opening and bracing my booted feet against the body, I lean in with my right arm and reach into the belly, feeling for something solid. The first thing I pull out is a barely digested tuna, the next is two thirds of a seal, and the third is a two foot steel bar.

“I have no idea where that came from” said Stretch.

“I’m sure” I replied, returning to the fish’s gut. This time I latch onto something solid and heavy. It takes both hands but I eventually wrestle it out.

“What’s the name of their boat?” I ask.

“Rainbow’s End” answered Tommy.

I roll the thirty pound net weight towards Travis. He carefully spins it on the deck until he can see what’s written on the weight.

“Dudes. ‘Rainbow’s End’. Tough luck.”

Stretch looks down at Shorty. “You idiot.”

“Fuck you, Brian” Shorty snarls.

I don’t really need any more evidence but something else with the boats name on it would be nice. When I go back in, I feel something with a handle. This one’s a bit easier to remove. It’s a bowling ball bag.

“Hey, I’ve really got no idea where that thing came from” claimed Shorty. “Why the hell would we have a bowling ball on board?”

I start to unzip the bag. “Why would you take a perfectly good, near record fish and try to cheat it into the record books?” I look into the bag. “Oohhhh SHIT!” So much for my lunch break.

“What’s up, Andy?” Tommy asked.

“Call the cops. It’s a human head.”

CHAPTER ONE

There was a light knock on his door. Usually, Betty Larson buzzed him on the intercom when she had a message. Knocking meant something was up.

“Come in.”

She quickly slid through the door, quietly closing it behind her. The look on her normally pleasant, middle aged face told me she was going to give me some bad news.

“Daniel Lipscomb is here.”

Damn it! I glance at the clock. Ten till noon. I’d completely forgotten about this lunch appointment. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

“Does he know I’m in here?” I whisper.

“Afraid so.”

“Anyway out of this lunch?”

“Suck it up, Sir. You’ll have to deal with him sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.”

As usual, Betty offered good advice. She’s been in the business almost as long as I have and she’s been my assistant for over ten years.

“You’re right. What I don’t understand is why he won’t take the hint. After three years of busy work, you’d think he’d get the message that he doesn’t have a future as a Federal Prosecuting Attorney, at least as long as I’m in charge of the Florida office.”

“He’s stubborn, Mr. Tyson, plus he’s got Senator Douglas as a patron.”

“I’ve always wondered what the heck he has on Douglas.”

Not that I need Douglas’s help. I’ve done plenty of favors over the years for powerful people. Nothing illegal of course. Redirecting an investigation here, redacting a name from a report there … it was all part of the system. I’ve never taken a bribe though and I never will.

“We may never know, Sir.”

“Guess it doesn’t matter. It’s just that I hate these political appointees. They’re only here to build a resume’, don’t give a damn about anything but looking good to the press or their party masters. Always planning for their ‘oh so bright’ birthright futures.”

“I know. I also know how much you enjoy thwarting those plans.”

I chuckle. She really does know me. Might as well bite the bullet.

“Tell Danny boy that I’ll be with him in a minute.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She smoothly, silently slips out the door, barely disturbing the air. Don’t know what I’d do without her.

When I opened the door, there was Lipscomb, lounging in the waiting room chair, decked out in his tasteful, expensive suit, shoes polished to a high gloss, quickly rising to his feet and holding out his right hand.

“Walter, thanks for agreeing to see me.”

I reluctantly shake the extended hand. “No problem, Danny.”

Lipscomb hated to be called “Danny”. He preferred “Daniel”, tolerated “Dan”, but really hated “Danny”. Naturally, everyone intentionally used “Danny”. He wasn’t well liked in the office. To his credit, he managed to force a convincing smile.

“I know that you’re a busy man and value your lunch hour. I hope to make this worth your while.”

That’ll be the day. “Let’s get going then. Your car nearby?”

Lipscomb pushed the office door open, holding it for me. “The restaurant is close so I thought we’d walk. I could use the exercise.”

Like Hell. Son of a bitch is in great shape, another reason to hate him. “Whatever you say, I’ve got to be back by one, there’s a video conference with DC.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

No, you didn’t. “Well, it’s only for the top people in the office.”

“I understand. Next time then.”

Cocky bastard. We walk out the door, Lipscomb falling in right next to me. We take the elevator to the ground floor and stroll through the lobby in silence. Once we reach the street, I pause. It’s partly cloudy, the temperature warm for the season but there’s a light breeze making for a nice day. Walking won’t be so bad.

“Which way?”

Lipscomb points to a Hot Dog cart across the Plaza. “Right there.”

“You’re KIDDING?”

“Just wait, you’ll see.”

Lipscomb walks off towards the cart so I reluctantly follow. When he reaches it, he lightly slaps the vendor on the back. “Afternoon George! Got my special order ready?”

“Right here, Mr. Lipscomb.”

The vendor slides a big stainless steel lid back and steam billows out. I step closer and look down into the cart. There are several bratwursts, lightly browned, lying on a bed of sizzling, translucent, sliced onions. There’s a familiar spicy aroma. I take a long whiff.

“Are those …”

“Johnsonville Original Brats. I know that Janice has you on a fairly strict diet.”

He’s got that right. If my Wife knew that I was within ten feet of half a dozen Johnsonville Brats, she’d be calling 9-1-1. How did Lipscomb know that? George reaches into the cooler next to the cart, pulls out a couple of bottles and hands them to Lipscomb. He turns them so that I can read the labels. My eyebrows go up in surprise.

“That’s Samuel Adams Bock Beer. You can’t get that this time of year; it’s only available in October.”

He smiles. “I know someone.”

George fixes all six of the brats, adding a generous helping of the steamed onions and a smear of my favorite dark, spicy mustard. He wraps, then piles them on a cardboard tray, handing them to me. I lift them closer to my nose and take another whiff of the enticing smell. Lipscomb’s got the beers. I look around the Plaza. All the benches seem to be taken.

“Where now?”

“Right over here.” Lipscomb points to a bench near the fountain but in the shade, a prime seat this time of day. There are two street people, i.e. bums, already sitting there.

“It seems to be occupied.”

“Don’t worry, they’re just holding it for me.”

We walk towards the bench. When we get close, the two bums stand up, Lipscomb hands them a couple of bills, they grab their bundles and stroll off. We sit down and I quickly unwrap a brat and take a big bit.

“Ahhh … that’s the stuff” I groan. It only takes three more bits to finish the first one. “I haven’t had one of those in four months. If Janice knew …”

“There’s no reason for her to know anything. It’s just a friendly lunch between colleagues.”

I unwrap the second brat. Lipscomb isn’t eating anything. “Don’t you want one, Dan?”

“I’m more a four star restaurant kind of guy.”

“Your loss.” I take another bite. “So … what’s this all about? You aid and abet my dodging Janice’s new diet. You hire some … men to guarantee the best seats in the house. What’s the angle?”

He opens a beer and hands it to me. “Cards on the table?” I nod yes. “Good. You don’t like me, do you?”

I take a swig of the beer. “No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Does it matter?”

He opens the other bottle and takes a sip. “Guess not. I don’t plan on changing my approach to life, so we seem to have reached an impasse.” He takes another sip. “I assume that you’ll keep giving me busy work until I’m sick of it and move on.”

“That’s about it.”

“Thought so.”

I start on the third brat. The breeze blows a fine spray from the fountain towards us, cooling the air. It’s really quite pleasant. Lipscomb spoils the moment.

“I heard that Dallas investigation of Raymond Hobbes went down the tubes, their inside man ‘disappeared’, just like the last ten attempts to get inside his organization.”

“You heard right, though that information should be way above your pay grade.”

“And therein lies the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did they fail?”

“Probably because Hobbes has bought off someone with the cops, someone with the FBI, someone with the courts, the ATF, the DEA, and …”

“Someone in the Dallas office, likely multiple ‘someones’ in all those groups.”

I unwrap the fourth brat, it will be my last … for now. “You know something specific?”

“No, but it stands to reason. When someone has that kind of drug money to spread around, he’s going to be able to find people to give him the information he wants … just like I was able to find out about your diet and get the Bock beer.”

“Point taken. What’s this got to do with you and me?”

“I want to take a shot at Raymond Hobbes.”

“Not that I’m going to agree to let you try to take down possibly the biggest drug lord in the country but what makes you think you can succeed where so many others have failed?”

“Oh you’ll agree, it’s best for everyone. As to why I’m sure I can do it, first off, it will be a totally black operation, no connections with any other agencies. I recruit my people one at a time, specialist not affiliated with the criminal justice system, at least not currently affiliated. It will be a small group, completely self contained, or at least as self contained as I can make it. There may need to be some help from Witness Relocation but that can be finessed when the time comes.”

“Exactly how do you plan to get a man inside?”

“Oh, I’m not telling you … I’m not telling anyone. When I say totally black, I mean totally black. When you give me the okay, you won’t hear anything from me until we’re done. No weekly reports, no monthly reports, nothing. Just Hobbes’ head on a platter at the end.”

“Are you saying I’m on Hobbes’ pad?”

“Not at all. If I thought you were, I wouldn’t be asking for your approval, I’d go over your head. The problem is that only Hobbes knows whom he’s bought off. Somehow, he always finds out when we try to infiltrate his organization. The only way to succeed is to keep the group completely isolated. If no one knows what is happening, no one can rat us out.”

“How much would this cost?”

“Not likely more than seven hundred fifty thousand, eight hundred thousand at the worst.”

I can’t keep from smiling. Does he really think I’m going to fund this pipe dream out of my already tight budget? “Just seven hundred fifty thousand dollars? Let me check petty cash. Maybe we can hold a bake sale. I assume you’ve seen our budget. We had to let three people go from the support staff last week. There’s no money available, even if I thought it would work and if you were the guy to run it.”

“There’s no doubt I am the best man for the job. Thanks to your keeping me buried with shit work, I am not high profile. We both know that this job is just one step in my plan for bigger things and I want to make it a big step. I’m very strongly committed to making my plan work. This is my shot at the brass ring and I’ll do damn near anything to make sure it’s a success.”

“Anything legal, you mean.”

“Certainly. All nice and legal.” He smiles when he says that but it’s forced. I’ve spent way too many hours questioning suspects not to recognize a lie when I hear one.

“And the money?”

“Right now, you’re sitting on over thirty million in confiscated drug money, vehicles, real estate and assorted expensive toys, with almost unfettered discretion to distribute it for law enforcement purposes. Hell, three quarters of that came from Hobbes or his associates. It’d be kind of nice to use it to put him away, don’t you think?”

“I may be able to distribute it but I have to account for it too. Dropping eight hundred thousand in your black op isn’t exactly what Congress had in mind.”

“Who knows what Congress had in mind? We both know that other jurisdictions are spending that money left and right on some pretty screwball ideas. You’ve taken a very conservative approach and built up a nice nest egg. Seven hundred fifty thousand is a small price to pay to put the biggest criminal this side of Al Capone away.”

I don’t know if it’s the beer, but some of what he says makes sense. Hobbes has his tentacles everywhere. He could know damn near anything he wanted to about our attempts to catch him. Running a totally separate operation isn’t a bad idea. I’m probably feeling opposed to it because it’s Lipscomb’s idea. The confiscated money is just sitting there and seven hundred fifty thousand is only about one years’ interest on the account. Still …

“Since we’re putting our cards on the table, how do I know you aren’t on Hobbes’ pad and are just trying to get some of his money back for him?”

“That’s easy. If I was trying to get assigned to a current operation against Hobbes, then I could be working for him and looking for secrets. But I’m running my own operation without consulting with anyone else. There’s no motive to cut my own throat, which by the way, is a possibility if we get close to Hobbes. The nearer someone gets to him, the worse the consequences if they’re caught. You remember what happened to Abbott, the FBI agent who got inside that biker gang Hobbes occasionally used for muscle?”

We never found all the pieces, though they recently found his head in a bowling ball bag inside a shark. What are the odds? Couldn’t pin anything on anybody. Abbott had a wife and two kids. Hobbes really is a bastard.

“As for the money, that’s just pocket change for an operation like his. I bet you could find half that much if you checked under the cushions of all the couches and chairs in that mansion of his. The thing with Hobbes isn’t just that he’s a crook. He’s corrupting the entire system. You don’t know who to trust. Neither of us is absolutely sure that the other isn’t on the take. Logically, we aren’t and there’s no evidence we are. Ten years ago, we wouldn’t have given it a second thought but now, even the honest guys are tarred with the same brush as the guilty. With any luck, I can find out who is dirty and we can clean up this mess, restore some confidence in the system.”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say I agree to do it your way, the money, the separate group, everything. If you succeed, what do you get out of it?”

“Walter, you know exactly what I get, an unbelievably bright future. The man who brings down X-ray Hobbes can write his own ticket in the Justice Department. Then there’s the possible political future, a book deal, the works. All mine if I take down X-ray.”

“X-ray?”

“His nickname among friends, which is a relative term in Hobbes’ circle. I’ve read all the reports from the prior failures. There’s a surprising amount of information available when you get it all in one place and start comparing notes.”

“And if you fail?”

“Worst case, I die. Well … that may not be the worst case. My career would be ruined; all my plans for the future go down in flames. Either way, you’re rid of me. If I fail, I’m out on the street, if it works, I’m on to better things. Plus, as the head of the office that catches Hobbes, your reputation gets a positive bounce.”

“What happens to my reputation if this all goes south?”

“Nothing at all. A totally secret operation that fails is still a secret. You go on like nothing happened, though you may need to explain what happened to the money, but you’ve been in the game so long, it shouldn’t be hard to handle that.”

He’s right. I’ve buried bigger budget and accounting problems before. “Dan, there’s some merit to your proposal, let me think about it for a couple of days. Don’t worry, I won’t talk about it with anyone. I just need time to digest it.” I let out a quiet burp. “Kind of like those brats.”

He laughs. “I understand, didn’t expect you to commit to the idea right away. Frankly, if you had, I’d have been worried. However, after due consideration, I expect you’ll reach the right conclusion.” He stands up, brushing off his pants. “And when you do, I won’t have to tell Janice about how you fell off the wagon with those brats.”

That Son of a Bitch!! If he thinks he can blackmail me over a couple of sausages, he’s seriously misinformed. I think he sees the anger in my eyes because he quickly raises his hands, palms forward.

“I’m kidding Walter! Kidding, I swear. You’re not the kind of man who would fall for something like that. However, you are the exception. So many get caught by Ray Hobbes just like that. A little favor here, a little payment there, and soon he’s got them hook, line and sinker. If we can’t stop him, I don’t know what kind of country we’ll be leaving for our children. See you back at the office.”

Lipscomb turns on his heel and strides across the Plaza, joining the throng of people returning to the Federal Building after their respective lunches. I want to wait a few minutes so that I don’t have to ride the elevator with him. He’s still a self-serving, egotistical prick but Dan Lipscomb is also smart. He just may have come up with a damn brilliant plan. I need a day or two to try to pick it apart before giving him my answer. I grab the last two brats and head back to my office. If I eat them before going home tonight, I’ll be able to tolerate the eggplant casserole I saw in the refrigerator this morning.
CHAPTER TWO

If I knew that I was going to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself. Every morning I make two slow laps around the block, cane in my left hand, trying to get my arthritic hips and knees loosened up. It would be tough to do even without having been a smoker for almost forty years. Sixty years old and I feel like I’m eighty. Of course, thirty-five of those years were spent as a cop … and cop years are like dog years. Lousy hours, crappy food, drinking to unwind, the cigarettes, it all adds up. On top of that, I spent the majority of my time undercover. It was a thrill a minute kind of job, which fit my personality just fine, but it wears on you, both mentally and physically. I honestly never thought that I’d reach retirement. Undercover cops have surprisingly short careers. They either burn out or get burned. I lasted three times as long as the average guy and would have still been doing it if not for the arthritis and the emphysema.

As I complete my second lap, I notice that the black Chevy is still parked across the street in front of my house, one guy in the car. Looks like a standard issue Fed sled, though those guys tend to travel in pairs. Doesn’t matter, I’m out of that game now. Pausing to catch my breath before taking on the three steps to my front door, I slowly look around, subtly checking out the area.

It’s the same run down neighborhood, the same drug dealers on the corner, the same “For Sale” signs in every third yard as usual. This area is just six bad months from becoming a slum. I’d leave too if I could afford it. Part of not expecting to survive to retirement is not planning for retirement; a police pension only goes so far. Starting to climb the steps, I sense someone coming up behind me. They’re not running but moving quickly. I want to get to the porch before he gets to me, it’ll give me some room to maneuver. I may look like an easy target but anybody who fucks with me quickly learns otherwise. Picking up my pace, I manage to reach the top step and turn to my left, tightly gripping the handle of the cane with my right hand just in time.

“Mr. Harris? I’m Daniel Lipscomb I’d like to …”.

I poke him in the chest with the tip of my cane, stopping him in his tracks. There’s a million volt stun gun built into the cane and my finger’s on the trigger. “I don’t know you buddy so you can stop right there.”

He raises both hands, slowly reaches around to his back pocket with his right hand, pulls out his wallet with two fingers, brings it back to the front and carefully hands it to me. I flip it open. It’s a Federal ID, a Prosecutor from Miami. Name’s Daniel Lipscomb. Appears to be legit.

“Okay Mr. Lipscomb, I still don’t know you. What do you want?”

“I’d like to talk with you; it’ll just take a few minutes.”

“About what?”

He looks around, checking out the neighborhood. “Could we do this inside? I’d like to avoid attracting attention … if you know what I mean.”

“I used to know what you mean but I’ve gotten dumber since retirement. Not interested.” I drop the cane from his chest and turn back to my front door.

“It’s only a couple of minutes Mr. Harris. Your country could use your help.”

“MY country? Don’t give me that patriotic shit. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t read my jacket so you know not to try and schmooze me. What’s this about?”

He looks around again then leans in closer. “X-ray Hobbes” he whispers.

I shuffle towards my front door. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

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

I offered him a beer after he sat down. He surprised me by taking it. Surprised me again when he actually drank it. It’s just after 9:30 in the morning. Thought that I was the only one who had beer for breakfast. I manage to stifle my groans as I sit down in my rocking chair.

“What do you want to know about X-ray Hobbes?”

“We already know all that we need to get him.”

“So why are you here drinking my beer?”

“We know where the information is and how we’re going to get it.”

“And yet you’re still here, drinking away.”

“That’s true. Things haven’t gone exactly as planned and I find myself in need of someone with your expertise.”

“You do know that I’m retired, right?”

“I’m aware of that fact.”

“And that I’m barely breathing thanks to emphysema and barely moving because of arthritis?”

“That too.”

“Sounds like I can’t help you, Mr. Lipscomb.”

“On the contrary, none of those limitations will matter at all. I need your undercover experience, your skills, your knowledge, all of those intangibles that made you the best undercover officer in the state, possibly the country.”

“I told you not to bullshit me … “

“I’m not. I asked a lot of people and read a lot of files. You’re the best, exactly what I need. I need your mind, not your body.”

“If it’s advice you want, I’ll help but I warn you, there’s no way to pass my experience on to your people just by talking to them. It took me years to get as good as I was. That’s not something you can just teach someone. It’s instinct, something unique to me. I can train someone if they’ve got the talent but it could take a long time. You’ve got to be damn near perfect to go after X-ray Hobbes.”

“All I ask is that you come talk to my people, review the operation, give us some pointers.”

“When do you want me?”

“As soon as possible. We could go right now if you’ve got the time.”

He seems awfully eager … enough to make me want to check him out before I agree to anything.

“I can’t do it today, got a couple of doctor’s appointments.” He doesn’t seem to catch the lie. “Give me your card and I’ll call you when I’m available.”

He reaches into his suit coat pocket, pulls out his card and hands it to me. “I’d like to do this as soon as we can. The operation’s at a stand still until we can get you on board.”

“Don’t expect me to work any miracles. I can only tell your guys so much. After that, it’s just experience, which can’t be taught … only learned.”

He takes a final swig of beer. “I understand. You’d still make a great addition to the team. Plus, I’ve got money to pay consultants such as yourself.”

Now you’re talking! “How much money?”

“Depends on what you do for me. A full commitment could be worth $60,000 to $65,000.”

DAMN! “What exactly is a ‘full commitment’?”

He stands up. “We can talk about it later. I can show myself out.” He reaches down to shake my hand then leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Guess I better make some calls to check this guy out. I sure as hell could use that money.

CHAPTER THREE

The cab drops me off in front of a dingy, two story building in a mixed residential/business area of town. I hope Lipscomb is on the first floor because I can’t handle stairs very well any more. About the only advantage to moving as slowly as I do now is that I can check out my surroundings without raising suspicion.

The neighborhood is nicer than mine, the houses in better shape, the street has not nearly as many potholes. Most of the streetlights are intact. The door I’m leisurely approaching is nondescript, the name “Dr. Thomas J. Matthews” stenciled in faded yellow on the dirty glass insert in the nearly black wooden door. Once I reach the door step, I pause to catch my breath before pushing the doorbell. It rings loudly. I push it again and then shuffle back a step. The door quickly opens, revealing a smiling Daniel Lipscomb.

“Come in Mr. Harris! Everyone is waiting to meet you! Any trouble finding us?”

“No, I took a cab. You owe me $15.00 for the fare.”

“Not a problem.” He pushes the door wide open. “Step inside and we can get started.”

I carefully step forward, leaning on the cane in my right hand. “You really are on the make, aren’t you?”

He closes the door once I get in the building, then locks it. “What do you mean?”

I keep moving forward. “I called a couple of friends still on the force to check you out. They say you’re pretty damn aggressive, in a hurry to make you’re mark.” I stop and turn back towards him. “They also say you’re not high profile enough to be running a big criminal investigation.”

“Your friends are right … on both points. However, you came anyway so you must be interested in what I’ve got going.”

He’s pretty quick with the answers. “Doesn’t cost anything to listen, as long as you pay the cab fare.”

He reaches into his pocket, takes out his wallet, removes a couple of bills and hand them to me. “Here’s forty bucks, we square?”

I pocket the bills. “For now. Lead the way.” He walks past me, opens a door on the right and steps inside. I follow.

It looks like a waiting room, rows of slightly worn padded chairs on three of the four walls with a sliding glass partition in the upper half of the forth wall for a receptionist to sit behind. They’ve put up a folding table in the middle of the room with four chairs, two of which are taken by a guy around my age and a woman in her late thirties, early forties. Not a bad looking broad but she looks like she hasn’t smiled in a couple of years. The guy is nervous but trying to hide it. Lipscomb takes the empty seat next to the guy and points at the remaining empty one for me. I hobble over and ease down onto the folding chair.

“Let me make the introductions” said Lipscomb. “This is Dr. Thomas J. Matthews, our host for today and this is Jessica Warren. Dr. Matthews, Ms. Warren this is Detective Peter Harris, retired.”

I reached out to shake the guy’s hand first. It was cool and clammy. I shook the lady’s hand next. It was … indecisive. “Is this everyone?”

“There’s one more member of our group, you’ll meet her later if this initial meeting works out.”

“I thought you wanted me to come here and advise your undercover agents. No offense, but none of you look like the types to try to take down X-ray Hobbes.”

“None the less, that is exactly what we are going to do” said the lady … Warren was it? “With or without your help, Mr. Harris.”

“Preferably with his help Jessica” jumped in Lipscomb. “We’ve all discussed it and Mr. Harris is the best candidate.”

“You and Dr. Matthews believe he is but I have serious doubts.”

“Which is why I arranged this initial meeting Jessica” said Lipscomb in a quiet, soothing voice.

There appears to be more going on than I was told about. “Look lady, I was just asked to come here and give some advice to some less experienced agents, that’s all.”

“Daniel! Is that all you told him?”

“I thought it best to have him come here and see for himself before … revealing the entire story. But first there are the legalities to deal with.” Lipscomb reaches for a briefcase on the floor next to his chair, picks it up and pulls out some papers, which he places on the table in front of me. “This is a standard non-discloser form. By signing it, you are agreeing not to tell anyone what we discuss today. There are certain … unique … aspects…” the other guy, Dr. Matthews, laughs but he shuts up quick when Lipscomb stares him down “… to this particular operation. We must be sure that there are no leaks should you ultimately decide to not join us.”

“Sure, fine got a pen?”

Lipscomb hands me a pen, which I grab with my right hand while pulling the papers towards me with my left. Flipping to the back page, I find the signature line and start to sign it.

“You should probably read it first, Mr. Harris” said Lipscomb.

“Like I give a rat’s ass what it says.”

Warren gives me a little sneer as I finish signing the papers and push them back to the middle of the table.

“I told you that he would be like this.”

“This is exactly what we need, Jessica.”

I’m tired of being left in the dark. “Look folks, if I’m not here to give you the benefit of my years of hard earned experience, then I’ll just call a cab and be on my way.” I start to stand.

“Please sit down, Mr. Harris” said Lipscomb. “We will explain everything. I would ask you to let us finish our … presentation before deciding what you wish to do. Some of what you will hear today will seem fantastic, improbable, possibly impossible but it is all completely true, I assure you. Will you do that for me?”

“Why not. I got all the time in the world.” I settle back down onto the chair. “Go on.”

“I am authorized by this region’s Assistant Director to conduct a completely black operation to infiltrate the Raymond Hobbes criminal organization. The only people in the world who know the plan are the three people in this room. If you decide to join us, it will be four and I mean to keep it at that number. Not even my boss knows the plan. He has agreed to provide the funds from the confiscated assets of convicted drug dealers, including those employed by Mr. Hobbes.”

“Interesting approach, Mr. Lipscomb”.”

“Isn’t it.”

“Why so concerned about security?”

“You should know better than most.”

“I do … I just want to make sure why you do.”

“Because Hobbes has his tentacles in every segment of the criminal justice system, police, prosecutor, judges, the prison system, everywhere. The only way to get to him is stay off the radar.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone trying something like this. Your idea?”

“Yes. As your friends noted, I’m not high profile enough to be put in charge of a standard operation. My superior and I do not see eye to eye on a number of subjects so this is my one opportunity to show what I am capable of. When we succeed, my ‘profile’ will be the highest in the country.”

“So we’re here to make you the big man in town?”

“Not at all. We all are here to disable one of the largest criminal syndicates in the country. Fame and glory are just by-products of that success.”

“You seem pretty damn confident.”

“I am. With your help, success is practically assured.”

“And why is that?”

“Let me go through a bit of history, some of which you may already know. The Federal Government has been after Mr. Hobbes for over fifteen years, ever since he moved his residence from Argentina to the U.S. We had a watchful eye on him before then but he moved up the list once he became a United States resident. He was already a citizen, having been born in the U.S. while his father, then an employee of the Argentinean State Department was stationed in Washington, D.C. Hobbes spent a number of years with his family stationed in various South American countries, which he used to make a number of high level contacts that have benefited him greatly over the years. His parents were killed in an embassy bombing in Venezuela while he was away in college here in Florida. He quit school, moved to Columbia and used the family fortune to begin building his criminal organization. The police, local, state and F.B.I., have attempted to break his organization from both the inside and outside but he is extremely cautious and clever, using complex ownership schemes to either hide or legally distance himself from his control of various criminal groups and their assets. For example, we know that he controls several ships for drug-running but we can’t trace the ownership back to him. His people, or the people he hires, are either too loyal or too scared, likely both, to rat him out. Anyone who does mysteriously dies before they can provide much information or can testify in court.”

He reaches into his briefcase again and removes another folder. “There have been many attempts to get someone inside his organization, either directly or through other affiliated criminal groups who work for him. They have all failed, though some came closer to success than others.”

He opens the folder and removes several 8” x 10” photos, which he pushes across the table to me. I pick them up, one by one, and look them over. Lipscomb continued.

“The first couple are pictures of the remains of F.B.I Agent Ted Abbott, at least those parts we were able to find. He got inside a motorcycle gang which frequently did jobs for the Hobbes organization. We think that he was on to something when he just disappeared. We started finding various body parts a few weeks later. The other photos are of what was left of other people who attempted the same thing. It seems that the closer you get to Hobbes before he catches you, the more … severe the repercussions.”

I continue to thumb through the photos, they’re a pretty gruesome set of reasons for me to stand up and walk out the door right now. Which makes me wonder why Lipscomb is showing them to me. I drop them back onto the table.

“You’d make a lousy salesman Lipscomb. Shit like this would make any sane person head for the door right now. Why the blood and guts show?”

“Because I’m not going to sugar coat anything here, you’ll get nothing but the straight skinny from me. If you agree to help us, it will be with your eyes wide open.” He looks at me with a crooked grin. “Besides, you’re not exactly ‘any sane person’ are you, Mr. Harris? Over twenty five years as an undercover cop, you were shot at least eight times, nearly died twice, but you kept coming back, actually fought desk assignments. Life as a local cop in Miami wasn’t dangerous enough for you; you had to go looking for trouble.”

“And look what it got me. Three failed marriages, breathing on about one quarter of a lung, arthritis bad enough that I’m lucky to break the four day mile. Even if I wanted to help you, I can’t see what I can possibly do for you that’d mean anything.”

“Well, here’s where the story gets a little weird. Hobbes is paranoid about security, not surprising given how his parents died, the police are after him all the time and his competitors are even crazier than he is. There have been attempts to get someone into his household, a maid, a janitor, a babysitter, something, but they’ve all failed ... until know.”

“What’s changed?”

“Nothing in the household, per se, but our technology has changed.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll get to that later. Hobbes has a daughter, Gretchen, a junior to be at St. Ann’s private Catholic High School for Girls, very exclusive, very expensive. She’s his only child, from his marriage to a German model, who died from a heart attack when she was only twenty seven and the kid was only five. The autopsy showed the wife had O.D.’d on heroin. Hobbes never married again but has had a few live-in girlfriends; the relationships don’t seem to last long. The daughter has been raised by a series of nannies, and yes, we’ve tried to get our own nanny into the house, no luck. By all reports, Gretchen is an unhappy child. She’s tall for her age, has no friends to speak of, and is just getting by in school.”

“Interesting intelligence you got there Lipscomb, but what good is it?”

“The girl is the opening we’ve been waiting for. Our plan is to get someone inside the school to befriend the girl and ultimately get inside the Hobbes household.”

“And then do what?”

“Plant bugs, gather information, find out what is going on.”

“And you’ve got some young looking woman rookie agent, straight out of Quantico, who you think will pass for a sixteen or seventeen year old girl that you want me to train so that she can become an undercover expert in six easy lessons and stroll into one of the most dangerous places on earth.”

Lipscomb smiles at me. “Well, when you put it that way … no.” He stands up and walks to a door by the glass half wall. He opens it and pokes his head inside. “Patricia, would you please come out here.”

He stays that way for a few seconds, then slowly backs into the room, his right hand resting on the shoulder of a small, petite, blonde girl, wearing a cotton nightshirt, the sleeves reaching her elbows and the bottom of the shirt is below her knees. She’s got on a pair of floppy socks and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

Warren turns to Matthews. “Thomas, you can not let it walk around in that … outfit. Its hair’s a mess!” He just shrugs and nods towards Lipscomb. Warren frowns at him but Lipscomb just smiles back at her.

“Patricia doesn’t seem to care” he says. She just shakes her head at him while the girl approaches the table, guided by Lipscomb’s hand on her shoulder. “Sit down in the chair, Patricia.”

The girl pulls out the chair and sits down next to me, looking straight ahead. I lean a little closer to her and forward, so that I can see both her eyes. They are dull and lifeless, as if she has been drugged, but they are wide open, no hint of droopiness in her eyelids, pupils not dilated. She’s breathing quietly and steady. She’s just sitting there, as if someone had pushed ‘pause’ on her remote control.

Lipscomb squats down on his haunches until his face is level with hers. “This is Mr. Harris, Patricia. Introduce yourself.”

She quickly turns towards me, puts out her hand and smiles mechanically. “Hello Mr. Harris. I am Patricia Conner. Pleased to meet you.” Her hand is just hanging in the air, waiting for me to take it. I do nothing and she just waits, with that bright smile and dull eyes, but she is looking at me. I shift a little to my right and she tracks right with me. I carefully reach out with my right hand and shake hers. She responds with a firm grip, a quick shake and then returns to her original position, exactly as before. I lean in closer but she doesn’t react at all. I get within an inch of her face, then pull back.

“Okay. What gives Lipscomb?”

“Patricia is our agent Mr. Harris, she’ll be going undercover into St. Ann’s all-girl school.”

“Is she on drugs or something? How old is she?” She doesn’t look to be much over fifteen, maybe it’s her size, but, the way that shirt hangs on her, she could have a pretty good rack, maybe a damn good rack.

“We don’t really know how old Patricia is Mr. Harris. Our best guess is seventeen, but we could be off a few months either way.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how old she is?” I turn to Warren, she’s the only one who’s expressed any interest in the girl’s welfare. “What is this about?” I ask her. She starts to answer me but Lipscomb interrupts.

“Perhaps now would be a good time for Dr. Matthews to explain what his involvement is and how Patricia came to be as she is.”

Everyone turns towards Matthews, who until know hadn’t said two words. He looks nervously at me then back towards Lipscomb. “What should I tell him?”

“Tell Mr. Harris the truth. We can’t have any secrets from one another.”

Matthews turns back to face me, chewing on his lower lip ever so slightly. Clearly he’s nervous about something. He clears his throat with a short cough.

“Patricia’s not exactly … a person, in the traditional way that people think of a human being.”

I dip my head down slightly and narrow my eyes, looking Matthews square in the face, wanting to intimidate him. “What did you say?” I growl. He leans back in his chair, away from me.

Lipscomb jumps to his defense. “Please Mr. Harris, let Dr. Matthews finish. You will likely have many questions, which we can answer at the end. Go on, Dr. Matthews.”

Matthews gives me a brief nervous glance, but then squares his shoulders and begins again. “Patricia is an artificial person …”

“You mean she’s a robot?!”

“Please Mr. Harris, save your questions for the end or we will be here until midnight” says Lipscomb. “Continue, Dr. Matthews.”

Matthews sits back up in his chair. “She’s not a robot, she is a biological entity. When I found her, she had suffered severe brain damage due to lack of oxygen. She had stopped breathing due to a drug overdose, causing hypoxia. She was practically brain dead. I was able to mostly rebuild her brain with silicon implants and the use of nanotechnology to restore the damaged synapses. In fact, my techniques have actually greatly improved the efficiency of her brain. Do you know much about brain physiology Mr. Harris?”

“Afraid not Dr. Matthews, it’s not one of the subjects taught at the Police Academy.”

“Oh, they really should, it is a fascinating subject! You see, evolution has actually left man with three brains. The first is often called the ‘Lizard Brain’, the first to evolve, which takes care of all the routine functions such as breathing, walking, digestion, excretion, all those basic functions mankind does without even being consciously aware of it. Then, as we evolved to the next levels, the mid brain developed, dealing with higher thought than the lizard brain, increasing memory, more complex emotions and thought, increasing our ability to learn and interact with our environment. Then finally the upper brain developed, containing all the things that make a human being a human being, what separates us from the rest of the animals, our ability to shape our environment, our creativity, human emotions, creation of art, music, inspiration.” The Doctor paused, looking at me, expectantly.

“I see” I say, nodding my head. Like hell I did.

“Yes! Exactly! All three brains are stacked on top of one another, like scoops of ice cream in a triple-decker cone, with the primitive Lizard brain at the bottom and the humanity creating upper brain on top. The problem is, this arrangement is not very efficient. Our memory capacity is enormous, better than the most sophisticated computers today, but our ability to recall what is in our memory is limited. Those with the right knowledge and training can calculate with the best computers out there … well not some of the recent Super computers, but you know what I mean.”

I nod my head again. He smiles at me.

“There’s that old saying, that people only use ten percent of their brain. Well, that’s completely wrong! People are always using one hundred percent of their brains, just not very efficiently … well that’s not quite true. When you sleep, the percentage of usage declines but other parts of the brain activate so you could say that …”

“Dr. Matthews! Please stay on topic” says Lipscomb.

Matthews flinches slightly. “Sorry, Daniel. Anyway, the normal human brain has many superior features but is inefficient, both in its’ physical layout, due to the need to integrate three separate structures, plus the two separate right and left hemispheres, and also the memory control mechanism leaves much to be desired. My research indicated that there could be dramatic improvements in efficiency if I could add some auxiliary, silicon based control structures and increase the number of synapses. Did you know, Mr. Harris, that in a single cubic centimeter of the average person’s brain, there are more synaptic connections than there are stars in our galaxy?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“It’s true. Extrapolate that over the approximately two and a half pounds of the average human brain and you can begin to understand its capacities. Patricia’s unfortunate accident gave me the perfect opportunity to move beyond the laboratory animal stage and directly to human trials. The results have been extraordinary and …”

“A complete failure” said Warren.

“Now be fair Jessica” said Lipscomb. “Patricia was near death.”

“It wasn’t near death; it may have been nearly in a persistent vegetative state but I don’t think it had deteriorated to that point.”

“Regardless, she can now walk, talk, perform complex tasks …”

“Don’t say ‘she” Daniel. Patricia is not a person, it is a highly sophisticated … device. It cannot make decisions, it cannot create. A dog is better at making choices than it is.”

Lipscomb turns towards me. “Unfortunately, Jessica is correct. While quite impressive, Dr. Matthews’ results have not been what we had hoped they might be. The plan was for Patricia to be given all the learning and information she would need and then send her into St. Ann’s to develop a friendship with Gretchen Hobbes. No matter how much information is transferred to her brain, Patricia just can’t make that final leap to independent thought. She will do practically anything you tell her to, but when faced with a new situation or an unexpected development, she is stymied.”

“And I’m supposed to teach her how to be a person?” I ask.

“It’s not as simple as that Mr. Harris, is it Daniel?” said Warren.

“No, it most certainly is not Jessica.” Lipscomb stops here, like he’s searching for what to say. “This is where the story gets … aaahh … unconventional.” Warren snorts a short laugh but Lipscomb ignores her. “I’ve tried to think of the best way to explain this but haven’t come up with any better way than just laying it all out. Dr. Matthews has been able to create an area of Patricia’s brain that is isolated from the rest. We propose to transfer your higher brain functions into Patricia’s brain, thereby creating the perfect undercover agent to make friends with Gretchen Hobbes and infiltrate the Hobbes household.”

I look at each of them, Lipscomb, Warren and Matthews. None of them are smiling or giving any hint that this is all an elaborate gag.

“I’ll just be going now.”

“No! I assure you Mr. Harris, we are completely serious here! This is a tremendous opportunity for scientific research! If you would only give me a few …” Lipscomb reaches out, touching Matthews’ arm, he shuts up.

I struggle to my feet, cane in my right hand. I shouldn’t have spent so much time in this chair. My knees and hips are screaming at me as I get upright, then my back joins the chorus. Taking a few halting steps towards the office door; I stop and look back at the table over my shoulder.

“The whole idea is fucking crazy … you know that right?”

“Yes, we know that” said Warren.

I take two more labored steps, stop and look back again. “Even if I believed that it was possible, which I don’t, a guy would have to be … suicidal to even consider it.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Mr. Harris” answers Lipscomb. There’s still no hint on his face that they’re joking.

I take one more step, stop, then slowly turn around to face the three of them and point at Lipscomb with my free hand. “If you think this is such a bright idea, why don’t you do it?

“I already have.”

“WHAT!?”

“I understand your point, Mr. Harris. It is a major risk on your part. Since I would never ask someone to do something that I wasn’t willing to do myself, I’ve already been through the procedure.”

“You’re lying!”

“He’s not, Mr. Harris” said Warren. “I didn’t approve of it but Daniel did have his higher brain functions transferred to Patricia’s brain. It was transformative. Patricia became a complete human being, fully functioning.

“So why didn’t you just stay in there and do the job yourself?”

“Because we don’t need a teenage female lawyer Mr. Harris, we need an extremely experienced, skilled, talented teenage female undercover cop. I can’t do what you can do and there’s no way to transfer your years of experience and skill set to Patricia without you going with it. It’s a package deal.”

“Why not ask some female undercover cop to do it?”

“My point exactly” said Warren. “A woman agent would have a much easier time adapting to the situation, a female mind in a female body. Mr. Harris would have to deal with too many changes. I doubt he would be capable of handling the shocks to his psyche.”

“Yeah, what she said.”

“Jessica, we’ve been through this before. There are no women with Mr. Harris’ resume, there’s no one even close. Women have not been permitted to perform those kinds of jobs for the F.B.I. or local police departments until the last fifteen years or so.”

“And whose fault is that, Daniel?”

“It doesn’t matter who’s to blame, facts are facts. The only remotely qualified female candidates are currently active officers or agents. For one of them to participate in our operation, they would have to be transferred to our group, which requires paperwork and explanations and permission and several more people who know what we are attempting to do. The security of the operation is greatly weakened. Mr. Harris is both our best and only hope to make this work.”

“Then it won’t work. His record of insubordination should disqualify him from consideration. How you can expect me to work with someone like him boggles the mind. I …”

“Hey! Lady! I got the job DONE! There are over two hundred bad guys in prison right now thanks to me! All that crap about insubordination is nothin’ more than desk jockey Captains and Lieutenants who thought they knew better than I did how to do my job. When they’re ready to put their asses on the line, then I’ll listen to ‘em. Until then, they can just suck my …” Warren cut me off.

“Yes Mr. Harris, we certainly understand how difficult undercover work can be sometimes. Still, this would be a completely different environment than you are used to.”

“Really? I was an Irish gun runner for over a year, an Italian produce seller for eighteen months and a high rolling Russian gambler for almost two years. I think I could handle a girl’s high school for a couple of weeks.”

“Wonderful!” cried Lipscomb. “I knew that you were the man for the job! You need to understand though that there is no guarantee that this project will be completed in a few weeks.”

I walk back to the table. “I didn’t say I was doing it … and I’m not sayin’ I won’t … it’s just … you really did it? You had part of your brain put in her head?”

“Not the physical brain Mr. Harris” said Matthews. “Just the information contained in the upper brain. Your physical brain remains untouched.”

I lean down towards Lipscomb. “But you did it, right?”

“Yes” he answers.

“For how long?”

“The first time for five hours, the second for three days.”

“You did it TWICE?!”

“Yes, Dr. Matthews needed data to calibrate certain parts of the hardware and software.”

“And you’re okay?”

He spreads his arms wide apart, leaning back in his chair. “Fit as a fiddle.”

“What was it like?”

He smiles wickedly. “Like a triple E ticket at Disneyworld.”

I sit down. “Let’s talk.”
CHAPTER FOUR

He seemed rather pleased with himself. Harris had shuffled off to home and Thomas was in the lab, running additional tests on it, leaving me alone with Daniel.

“You seem to have gotten your way … again.”

“He didn’t agree to anything yet, Jessica.”

“But he will, you know he will. The man is a risk taker, a thrill junkie. We are giving him a chance to get back out in the field … he won’t pass that up.”

“I am not as certain as you are but you’re the psychologist. Let’s hope you are right.”

“He’s going to be trouble. His personality is almost the exact opposite of what we need. Assuming he can adapt to the new body, learning the subtleties of behavior of teen age girls will likely be beyond him.”

“You make young girls sound like a tribe of Australian Bushmen. They are just young versions of you and I and we were both young once in our lives, so was Mr. Harris.”

“Did you understand girls when you were in high school?”

“Not to be immodest, but I did fairly well with the ladies back in the day.”

I bet he did. Tall, well built, ruggedly handsome. I can imagine what he looked like as a seventeen year old boy. He wouldn’t have had this much swagger or self-confidence but he would have had enough to attract most girls his age.

“There is a big difference between dating a girl and being her best friend.”

“I was always friends with anyone I dated … well most of the time.”

“There are girlfriends and there are boyfriends, each fills certain roles in a girl’s life. Harris will have to learn how to BE a girl, it will need to come naturally to him. Girls that age have a sixth sense for anything out of the ordinary and will attack without mercy. An all girl’s school only amplifies this effect.”

“It sounds like you’re describing a pack of wolves, Jessica.”

“If Spielberg had substituted teen age girls for the Velociraptors in ‘Jurassic Park’, you’d have barely noticed the difference.”

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

I close my eyes and relax as the lounge chair moves into position. It’s much easier for me to sleep in the chair than a bed. This one is electric, automatically lifting me up out of it or smoothly setting me down. It’s also got a built in vibrator and heating pads. If I didn’t have to eat or go to the bathroom, I’d probably never get out of it. I switch on both the heat and vibrator, move the chair into the reclining position and review everything I heard from Lipscomb, Mathews and Warren.

It’s not a bad plan, too fuzzy on the details for my taste but I’d been involved in less definite assignments in the past. Sometimes you just got to dive in and see what happens. If it all goes to hell, just get out. This isn’t all that much different.

Obviously, the whole mind transfer thing isn’t normal. I wouldn’t even consider it if Lipscomb hadn’t gone first. That son of a bitch is crazier than I am. You gotta like that about him. Most prosecutors are namby pamby types. Giving orders to everyone but not willing to get their hands dirty. If things go south, they always blame the cops for not getting them enough evidence. If some evidence gets tossed by the judge, then it’s the cops’ fault for not having probable cause or some other legal mumbo jumbo. Damn prosecutors are always more worried about their records than putting the bad guys behind bars. They’re either looking for a job in a private firm, where they end up as defense lawyers, or they’re trying to get appointed or elected as a judge. They’d never admit it though. At least Lipscomb is upfront about it.

That Warren bitch is going to be a problem. If this brain transfer thing works, we’re gonna become partners. She’s my coach on how to act like a girl and then she’s my mother when I go undercover at the school. Unfortunately, it makes a lot of sense. You can’t have a sixteen year old kid running around on their own, there’s got to be a parent or guardian somewhere. We rent a small house as mother and daughter; I start school in the fall and make friends with the target.

Why am I even considering this? I’m retired; it’s not my problem anymore. I gave my life, my marriages, my health to the job. What possible benefit do I get out of this loopy project?

I look around my darkened bedroom. It’s messy, clothes everywhere along with dirty dishes and empty pizza boxes. Never been much of a housekeeper but this is terrible. The rest of the place looks pretty much the same. How have I let this happen?

Because I didn’t give a damn. I haven’t given a damn about anything since I retired. I’ve just been going through the motions. There’s never been more to me than the work. No real friends except for a couple of people, none of them cops. Undercover work is lonely work. Face it, I’m only truly alive when I’m working. I met all my ex-wives while pretending to be someone else. They fell in love with a man who didn’t exist. I thought that I could change and be what they needed, but, eventually, I always fell back into my old ways, just existing between assignments. They weren’t ugly divorces and thank God there weren’t any kids.

Do I have one more job in me? If Lipscomb is right, the only thing that matters is what’s in my head. I still feel as sharp as ever but am I the best judge of that? If we screw the pooch on this one, we could all end up dead. Hobbes has a reputation for treating traitors pretty badly. From what I’ve heard, those photos Lipscomb had are just the tip of the iceberg. Not the kind of guy you want to piss off.

No one besides me in this group has any experience in this kind of operation, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. No assumptions on anyone’s part and I’d be the resident expert. Could be worse. Of course, with three rookies, that’s a lot of room for mistakes. If the plan stays as is, the only people immediately at risk are me and Warren. Guess I’ll be teaching her a thing or two also.

- * * *** * * * *** * * *

My phone rings, waking me up. I quickly push myself up off the bed, the panic starting to grow. It’s like this anytime the phone rings at night since … four years ago. Has it been four years? Seems longer, like an entire lifetime. The panic is only momentary and I get the phone before the forth ring.

“Hello, Jessica Warren speaking.”

“This is Daniel Lipscomb. I just spoke with Harris. He wants to meet again tomorrow. I think we have him, Jessica.”

“It sounds like you’re right. When do you want to meet?”

“No complaints, no reservations? Did I reach a wrong number?”

“No Daniel, I’ve had my say. I want to succeed as badly as you do. There’s no benefit in my continued objection to Mr. Harris. Let’s hope you are right about him and we can get started. I’m tired of waiting. It is time for Hobbes to pay for what he did to me.”

“To you and a lot of other’s, Jessica. I scheduled the meeting for 10:00 a.m.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Excellent! See you then.” He hangs up.

I settle back down in my bed, reaching across with my right arm to caress the empty spot next to me. Oh yes, Hobbes will pay.

- * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Now Mr. Harris, have you decided yet?”

We were all gathered back in Dr. Matthews’ office, just as before. All of them staring at me, waiting for my response. Lipscomb was the most openly interested but Warren was also anxious, just hiding it better. Matthews still seemed scared, at least nervous.

“Not yet.” That let a little air out of their balloons, though Matthews perked up a little. “I need to have some more questions answered, get a few things straight and give our girl a trial run, then …”

“No!” shouted Matthews. “The Construct is not a car or an amusement park ride! Patricia is a prototype. I will not have my creation endangered by someone wanting to take a … joy ride!”

“Now Thomas” soothed Lipscomb, “It is hardly an unreasonable request for Mr. Harris to wish a trial run, so to speak.”

“The Construct was not designed for these repeated rapid exchanges. The more they occur, the better the chance for a malfunction.”

“MALFUNCTION?! If this thing is going to breakdown with me inside then you can just forget the whole magilla. No way am I going to …”

“Not to worry Mr. Harris, I think you misunderstand Dr. Matthews, isn’t that right Thomas? You’re not saying that there is anything wrong with the technology, right?”

“No, the science is good. It is just, that with Daniel having cycled twice and now you wanting to do the same, it is very difficult to clean up all the memory modules after the cycle is complete. You see Mr. Harris, it is very easy to put data into The Construct but extremely hard to remove it.”

“So I could get stuck in there?”

“No, I can safely remove you, but … copies, if you will, remain behind, which need to be removed before someone else cycles in, that is the difficult part.”

“So, if it is so hard to remove information, what about the original information?”

“What original information?”

“The girl’s memories. All the stuff that was in her head before the drug overdose.”

“Ahhh that, not to worry Mr. Harris, there was so much damage, the entire neural network was rebuilt from practically scratch. Nothing could have survived the rebuilding and reorganization process. It was like reformatting a hard drive.”

“Which does what, Dr. Matthews?”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. When it comes to computers, I kinda am. “It overwrites everything, Mr. Harris and changes the file structure of the drive. There may be data there but it cannot be retrieved. The Construct was a clean slate before my reprogramming.”

“Satisfied, Mr. Harris?” asks Lipscomb.

Not really, but I’ve already accepted the fact that there’s a lot of risks here, basically the way I like it. I’m just not interested in committing suicide.

“Why do you call it ‘The Construct’?”

Matthews shrugged. “It seemed fairly descriptive and I thought it was kind of snappy, you know, when we get into marketing when this is all done.”

Weird.

“Okay. The last step will be the … transfer. We get everything else worked out, we do it and if I don’t like it, you pull me out and we’re done. Agreed?”

“Certainly!” said Lipscomb. “What else needs to be worked out?”

“A lot. What is this ‘Cerebral Balancer’ thing you talked about yesterday? I’m not sure I understand what it does.” I notice Warren smiling then trying to cover the smile by slightly ducking her head and rubbing her nose with hand. This should be good.

“Ahhh well” begins Lipscomb. “This device is basically an adjustable switch … a kind of remote control if you will … that … uummm how shall I put this.” He stops for a second and Warren jumps in.

“It controls which part of the mind has dominance over the actions of the body. It can be set all the way over to Blue and you are one hundred percent in control. If it is set all the way to Pink, then your consciousness is just along for the ride and Patricia’s programming, enhanced by your consciousness, is in control. There are a number of settings in between that shades the control one way or another.”

“And who’ll be in charge of this thing.”

This time she doesn’t try to hide the smile. “I will.”

“Like Hell.”

“There are good reasons for this Mr. Harris” said Lipscomb.

“Fine. Let’s hear ‘em.”

Lipscomb pauses a moment to get his argument ready.

“Firstly, Jessica will be in charge of helping you to adapt to The Construct and learn how to act like a convincing girl, which is the first major hurdle to be jumped. If you fail at this, everything is lost. Do you agree with this?”

“That I have to learn to act like a girl, yeah.”

“Good! At the maximum Blue setting, your … personality, if you will, is almost completely isolated from the rest of the brain.”

“Almost?”

“Yes. You can reach out and access other information and such but it is completely at your discretion. At less than maximum settings, you still have control but the … wall, for lack of a better term, between you and the rest of the brain is more … permeable.”

“Meaning?”

“That the existing programming and information will have more of an … influence … over your behavior. You are still in control but the closer to maximum Pink the setting is the more the bias shifts to the programming and the less to you.”

“I thought that without the transfer, it was just like a robot. If I’m not in control, won’t it stop working, right?”

“Not exactly, just as you can still access the rest of the brain on maximum Blue, the programming can access your higher brain functions on maximum Pink.”

“So why have any setting besides max Pink? You get a docile, controllable human like robot.”

“You’re preaching to the choir” says Warren, smugly.

“The reason” said Lipscomb, “is that the closer to maximum Pink the setting is, the less access the Construct has to those attributes that make you the perfect candidate for this job, your training, your instincts, your experience. The trick will be to find the perfect balance between the two of you so that the job can be successfully completed. In addition, the perfect balance may change depending on the situation. For example, you will be returning to high school Mr. Harris. Would you enjoy sitting through Calculus or English Composition classes all over again?”

SHIT!! I forgot about that! And this is a college prep school! I was lucky to get through high school the first time and my best classes were shop and phys ed. Class work was boring as hell. And homework! Jesus Christ, I forgot about homework!

“What about the classes?”

“The Construct will already have all that data downloaded” said Lipscomb.

“Actually, quite a bit more than that” added Matthews.

“Thank you Thomas” Lipscomb responded. He sounded annoyed at the interruption. “Either way, you will have to attend class but the Cerebral Balancer can be set to favor Pink and all you will need to do is keep alert for opportunities to further our operation, The Construct will take care of the rest.”

“And I can take over any time I want?”

“It’s not quite that simple, but yes. The closer to maximum Pink, the harder it will be for you to exert control. The Construct’s basic programming favors kindness, friendship, agreeability, submissiveness. As you adapt to the Construct, it should be easier to exert control, with practice you can strengthen those … mental muscles, so to speak. We can accomplish the same thing with the setting favoring the Blue side but that depends on your willingness to accept the influence of the Construct’s programming.”

“Which means what exactly?”

Lipscomb looks towards Warren. “It means,” she said “that all her programming is that of a teenage girl. If you’re willing to relax and go with the program, to willingly act like a young girl, you can keep the settings of the Balancer shifted towards Blue. If you fight it, the Balancer is going to favor Pink, taking control from you and giving it to the Construct’s program. I am the one who decides which setting in what circumstance gives us the best chance of success.”

I sure as hell don’t like that. “So, my life is in your hands.”

“No Mr. Harris, my life, all our lives, are in your hands and I am not about to let you enroll in St. Ann’s until I am convinced you can do the job. Believe me; no one here wants you to succeed more than I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Raymond Hobbes is responsible for the deaths of my husband and daughter. The authorities could not get enough evidence to prosecute him so this is likely the only chance I will ever get to make him pay for his crimes. I refuse to let you waste this opportunity just so you can get another shot of adrenalin.”

She’s leaning forward, glaring at me. I glance at Lipscomb and Matthews but they are both discreetly looking away from Warren, I think they’re embarrassed at her raw emotions. Time to nip this in the bud.

“Fair enough. Let me tell you how this is going to go, lady. I’m not the only one going undercover, you are too. You’re going to be my mother so you need perform as well as I do. You may know how girls and women behave but you don’t know shit about how to make this operation work. You’re the behavior expert but I’m the operation expert. I’ll admit that I’m gonna need your help to make this work, put when we get down to crunch time, I decide what we do, how we do it and when we do it.” I look around the room. “Is that understood?” I look back at Warren. “By everybody?”

Lipscomb seems taken aback. “See here Harris, this is my operation. I put it together and I decide …”

“You decide nothing, Lipscomb. After I get inside and find out what I can, I’ll decide what happens next. You’re the producer of this little drama but I’m the author, director and lead actor.” I jerk my thumb at Warren. “She’s the technical advisor and supporting actor. Matthews is the special effects guy and key grip.”

“What’s a ‘key grip’?” asked Matthews.

“Never mind that, Thomas. Why should we agree to this?” asked Lipscomb.

“Because that’s the only way I’m agreeing to put my brain in her head. Yeah, we’re all at risk here. I’m glad you all realize it, danger tends to focus the mind, but I’m the one taking the biggest risk. Besides, you brought me into this because of my expertise. If you won’t let me do my job, there’s no reason for me to be involved. I’m either all the way in or all the way out. Your call.” I lean back in my seat.

Lipscomb looks around the table. ”Do we need to discuss this? Jessica?” She shakes her head no. “Thomas?” He chews his lip for a moment then answers.

“No, I agree.”

Lipscomb reaches across the table with his right hand. “It appears we have a deal, Mr. Harris.”

I take his hand with mine and shake it. “Yeah we do, and it’s Peter, at least for a little while.”

“I’m Daniel. She’s Jessica.”

Warren offer’s me her hand. I let go of Daniel’s and take hers’, again shaking it.

“Jessica, you and I are not going to get along.”

“I guess that’s good news Peter. Sounds like your typical mother/teen daughter relationship.” She smiles at me and I respond with a tight smirk.

CHAPTER FIVE

Things moved pretty fast after that meeting. I had a number of things to wrap up at home. Stopped the paper, had my mail forwarded to a P.O. Box in my name but Lipscomb had the key. Changed my pension check to direct deposit, never did trust computers but didn’t have much choice now. Lipscomb had drawn up papers giving him power of attorney over my assets. I really wasn’t happy about that but, given the circumstances, it was the right thing to do. I made it clear after I signed them that if he did anything that cost me money, he’d pay big time. He laughed it off but I’m sure he understood I meant it.

If I was to enroll in school for the Fall Semester starting in August, we had three months for me to get ready. Jessica said we needed to do the transfer now and begin work. I didn’t see the necessity to start so soon but she insisted. Since I knew that we’d start butting heads almost instantly, I decided to give her this one, build up a few favors right off the bat.

The first thing Thomas did was map out my brain. He had me sit in a padded chair, sorta like my recliner, and he put this helmet on my head. It had all kinds of sensors inside and a bunch of wires on the outside, feeding into this fat cable which ran to a gray machine, about eight and a half feet long, four feet wide and five feet tall. There were two keyboards and two monitors sitting on the top. He asked me a bunch of questions, showed me over a thousand pictures, played a bunch of different songs and had Jessica touch different parts of my body while he watched the monitors. Things got a little dicey when he had her grab my cock through my pants. I didn’t get hard or anything. She hesitated for just a second then did it.

I’m worried about her ability to do this. She’s never done anything like it before. She said she’d done some community theater with her husband when he was alive but there’s a big difference between acting on stage for a couple of hours every other day for two or three weeks and living as someone else for months on end. We may get lucky and I can get in and done in a month or so, but that would be extremely lucky. The odds are, we’re looking at more than three months. The other big problem is her motivation. Vengeance is probably the worst reason to do anything. Anger colors everything you do, making you take risks that you shouldn’t take. I know that people think I’m some kinda daredevil, thrill-a-minute, crazy son of a bitch but that’s just an impression I like to make. In fact, I do take risks but they are almost all calculated risks. Either the odds are in my favor or it’s a move that the other side didn’t expect, like an onside kick to start a football game.

There were two times I went undercover looking for payback and both times it was a disaster. You can’t start a job hating your target. Jessica may be able to stay on the perimeter, giving me legitimacy as a teen girl by being my mother, but if she gets in any deeper, her attitude will have to change. I’ll deal with that if the time comes.

It took almost two days for Thomas to complete the mapping. Once he finished, he said it’d take three days to complete the calculations and then he’d be ready to do the transfer. Up until know, it hadn’t really hit me what I had agreed to do. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind I’d never actually accepted the fact that I would eventually have to go somewhere, sit down and have a part of my mind removed and sent someplace else. With the clock ticking, I started to get scared.

Over the years I’d developed the reputation of not being afraid of anything. When you’re on the job and have to move quick, make a split-second decision, it’s easy not to be afraid, there’s no time to think about it. Now, I had plenty of time and had to keep fighting back the fear.

What was it going to be like having something else in my head? Sharing the same space, pushing me to do things I might not want to do? Is that what multiple personalities is like? Schizophrenia? How would I know what was me and what was the Construct? What If I couldn’t control it? Would I just get swallowed up and disappear? Daniel had come out okay, at least he said he was okay, but he’d only been in there three days and I didn’t know what the Cerebral Balancer was set on, probably max Blue. I was going in for months. No one had ever done anything like this before, there was no way to calculate the risk. Suddenly my old boring life was looking pretty good.

When the day came for the transfer, I was a nervous wreck. I had called for and cancelled the cab twice before sucking it up, finally getting to the lab about twenty minutes late.

Daniel opened the door before I ever reached it. “We were concerned that you had changed your mind.”

“I did, twice, but I’m here now. Let’s get this done before I change it again.”

He walks through the door to the left and I reluctantly follow. There are two padded chairs there this time and two helmets, side by side. The Construct, I need to start thinking of her as Patricia, is standing next to the chair to the left. Thomas sees me and his face lights up with a smile.

“Ahh Peter, we were getting concerned. Not getting cold feet I hope.”

“They’re blocks of ice. Let’s do this.”

“Really? There is nothing to be concerned about. Everything is as it should be.” He reaches behind him and picks up a small, white plastic bag off the top of the machine. “Please step behind the curtain and change into this gown, leave your clothes hanging on the hook back there and we can get started.”

I take the bag from him and shuffle behind the curtain. Pulling the item from the bag, it’s the same shirt that Patricia is wearing, only larger. I start to strip out of my clothes, which takes me a lot longer than most. After removing my shirt and shoes, I need to take a break to catch my breath.

“Are you okay?” asks Daniel through the curtain.

“I’m fine, just give me a couple more minutes.”

“Sure, take your time.” He sounds a little anxious, just what I need right now.

I get my pants and underwear down to my ankles and manage to step out of them without falling. Pausing again to slow my breathing, I lift the gown and look for an opening. It’s really just a big T-shirt so I pull it over my head, push the curtain aside and slowly move into the room.

“Can I help you?” asks Jessica.

“No, I got it.”

Patricia is standing next to one chair, Matthews right behind her. Daniel is standing next to the other chair, which I guess is mine. When I get to the chair, Daniel reaches out to help me into the chair but I brush him off. I want to try something before we do this. It’s something that’s been bothering me for awhile.

“Patricia?”

She turns her head towards me. “Yes, Mr. Harris?”

Impressive, she remembers me. “Do you know Dr. Matthews?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Please give him a blow-job right now.”

She quickly spins around, dropping to her knees in one smooth motion. Her left hand grabs his belt while the right moves to his zipper. She’s got the zipper almost all the way down before Matthews can react. He tries to pull back but she’s got a firm grip on his belt.

“Patricia stop!” shouts Daniel. She pauses just as she is. “Let go of Dr. Matthews and sit down in the chair. She releases her grip on Matthews and stands up.

“Yes, Mr. Lipscomb.” She gracefully slides into the chair, placing her arms on the rests, looking forward.

“What was that about, Peter?” demands Daniel.

“Just something I’ve been thinking about. What would be the logical thing for a man to teach a submissive young girl without any parents, guardian, or anyone else looking over his shoulder? Looks like I was right.”

“That’s disgusting!” cried Jessica. “Thomas, how could you?!”

Matthews is just standing there, zipper at three-quarters mast, the hint of his underwear pulled out, drug there by Patricia’s nimble fingers.

“So Peter, was there a purpose to this demonstration?”

“Yes Daniel, there was.” I sit/fall into the empty chair. “If either of you guys try something like that to me after the transfer, I’ll kill whoever does it.” They both just stare at me. “I’m completely serious about this. You know my record Daniel, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you know I’m not lying, right?”

He licks his lips nervously. “Yes, you’re not lying.”

“Make sure you convince Thomas of it, for his own sake.” I settle back into the chair. “I’m ready now.”

Thomas starts to approach me with the helmet but stops when he gets close, clearly frightened. Jessica comes over and takes the helmet from him.

“I’ll take care of Peter, you take care of Patricia.”

She brings it over to me, setting it on my head while Thomas goes back to the other chair. Jessica squats down next to me as she adjusts the helmet.

“How did you know?” she whispered.

“I didn’t know but I suspected” I whispered back. “It’s true, that’s what most men would do if given the chance.”

“Would you have done it?”

I look over at Patricia, the helmet mostly obscuring her face. Probably.

“I don’t know, depends on how desperate I was.”

“You would have to be very desperate.”

“Desperate is relative. What is this going to be like?”

“You scared?”

“Shitless.”

She finishes adjusting my helmet and takes my right hand in hers. “Daniel said it didn’t hurt. You close your eyes. It starts slowly, with images and memories coming to you, then they start coming faster and faster until it’s like being in a mental tornado. Just as you think it can’t get anymore chaotic, it starts to slow down and gradually goes back to the way it was at the start. You open your eyes and you’re sitting in the other chair. At least that’s what he said. You want me to hold your hand?”

I look down at our hands then up into her eyes. “Yeah, if you can.”

“Your arms and chest will be strapped down so you can’t knock the helmet off but I can hold your hand.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Thomas approaches me from the front, hesitating again when he gets close. Jessica gives him a dirty look.

“Do what you got to do, Thomas” I say. He quickly straps me down and moves back to the machine. I can’t look over at him with my head strapped down. Pissing him off just before he starts fucking with my mind probably wasn’t one of my best moves. I hear the machine start to fire up. Daniel moves around in front of me.

“You ready, Peter?”

I take a series of deep breaths, at least a deep breath for me, and slowly let them out, pushing the fear down deeper with each breath. After about a minute, I twist my head around, stretching my neck, settle back into the chair and close my eyes.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Punch it.”

- * * *** * * * **** * * *

Jessica was pretty close. The first thing was my first bicycle, then a trip I took to the Everglades on one of those airboats. It was like I was right there, the wind in my hair, a spray of water coming up when the boat makes a hard turn. Next was a stakeout early in my career, nothing special, just one of those boring evenings in a car. It seemed like that memory ran for fifteen minutes, then bang, I was having sex with my second wife. It could have been my honeymoon, not sure. That memory was just as vivid as the others but only lasted for a few seconds, which hardly seemed fair. There were other memories and images, each like I was living them over again. A sprained ankle, Thanksgiving dinner with the parents, getting shot, cleaning a toilet, my first kiss, on and on they came. It soon became a blur, a swirl, a torrent, like being hit in the face with a fire hose spraying memories. There were also sounds and smells, but they quickly became indistinguishable and didn’t match the images.

I’d lost track of time. This could have been going on for minutes or days. And then, it seemed to slow down just the tiniest bit, then a bit more. I still couldn’t make out specific things but I felt like I was just on the edge of grabbing something comprehensible. Then I was speeding down the road, late for a friend’s wedding and I was the best man. Seconds later I was swimming in a lake. The memories kept coming but I could recognize them again as they swept through me. Just as Jessica said, things were slowing down, the changes happening less frequently. I was now experiencing my first orgasm as a young boy, rubbing faster and faster on the front of my pajamas as I lay in bed, pressing against my hard penis, enjoying the sensations until I suddenly, shockingly, feel the cum spurt out of my cock into my underwear.

Then nothing. It all stops. I can feel my breathing, longer, stronger breaths than I can remember for some time. My eyes slowly open. Jessica isn’t there but Daniel is.

Either he’s real close or his head has gotten bigger. The room is also brighter, a lot brighter. I didn’t remember seeing all these extra lights.

“HOW ARE YOU, PETER?”

Damn! Why is he shouting? Daniel steps back and Jessica moves in. Her head is bigger too. Maybe there’s something wrong with my eyes.

“ARE YOU OKAY, PETER?”

“JESUS CHRIST! WILL EVERYBODY STOP … shout …” My voice was just as loud as theirs but I was just talking like normal … but it’s so high!

“Sorry Peter, I forgot what the first few hours were like” said Daniel. He seemed to be whispering but I clearly heard him.

“WHAT ARE YOU TALK …” There I go again!

“Just stay calm Peter. It worked. You’re in.”

“Let me see!”

“Hold on” said Jessica, “I’ll get a mirror.”

She’s back quickly, holding a hand mirror in front of my face. A cute blonde girl with gray-blue eyes and softly freckled nose stares back at me. I can’t move my head, it’s still strapped down, so I stick out my tongue. It’s been pierced. My eyes go wide open with surprise. They’re bright and lively.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. It worked.

“Let me up.”

“Hold up Peter. You’re now in a charged up brain. All sensations are amplified. Vision, sounds, taste, everything is set on ten out of ten. It will take a few hours for you to adjust. We’ll let you up but take it easy.”

Daniel reaches out and unstraps my right arm while Jessica does the left arm. The sound of the Velcro is almost deafening. They next release the strap around my chest and finally my head. Jessica carefully removes the helmet. I slowly turn my head towards the other chair.

There I am, staring straight ahead, a blank look on my face. This is so fucking weird! I need to go over and check me out.

I lean forward in the chair, waiting for the pain in my back to explode … but nothing happens. I fall back and lean forward again, still no pain. Oh Ho man! I start to smile. I swing my legs over the edge of the chair, still no pain, and hop out.

I fall to the floor, landing on my ass. It doesn’t hurt but it’s a shock. I start to stand up but Jessica is there, taking my arm before I can get up.

She’s a giant! It feels like she’s twice as big as I am! Daniel steps up behind and bends down. He’s three times my size! I’m tiny! I can feel the panic building. Jessica tries to calm me down.

“It’s alright, it’s alright” she says quietly. “You’re fine, just a little fall, no harm done.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” If I keep saying that, I may eventually believe it. She carefully pulls me to my feet.

I’m swimming in this shirt, damn thing must be three sizes too big. I take a couple of pain-free steps but notice the breasts bouncing on my chest. I stop and pull the neck of the shirt away from my chest and look down.

God Damn! They’re enormous! I let go of the neck of the shirt and reach up to cup them in my hands. As the palms make contact and I lift them with my hands Daniel takes a sharp breath.

“No, don’t!” he hisses.

“What do you …” just then the thumbs of both hands touched the nipples.

My head explodes. OHhh God!! It’s so goood! I pull on both of them with my thumbs and index fingers. Christ, it’s better than the first time! I pull again and my knees buckle, then I fall to the ground, moaning.

I feel a hand around each wrist, pulling them away from my breasts. I try to fight back but they’re too strong. Eventually, they get me sitting upright.

“You can’t do that Peter, certainly not yet” said Jessica. “The sensations will overwhelm you. Let’s get you into a quiet, dark room until you can adjust.”

They hustle me into a side room and into another chair. I try to touch my breasts again but both arms are strapped down to the chair. I squirm and pull but they won’t budge. Eventually I stop. Jessica pulls up a chair next to mine.

“You go Daniel, I’ll stay with her.”

HER?! I guess after what my boobs felt like, I can’t deny that.

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

We both sit there in silence for awhile. I try to mentally check out my brain, run through what I remember about big moments in my life, a lot of which I saw during the transfer. Everything seems to be there, though not like the transfer where I actually relived them. I also move around a little in the chair. The straps keep my arms still but I can twist my upper body a little and move my hips and legs quite a lot. Moves that would have been extremely painful before are pain free now. In addition to the shirt, I seem to be wearing a …

“Am I wearing a diaper?”

“Yes. Apparently Daniel had an accident after his transfers. We decided to take precautions.”

“Both times?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh that is too funny!”

“He didn’t collapse after touching his breasts.”

“Hey! I was just surprised, that’s all!”

If my arms weren’t strapped to this chair, one hand would be kneading a boob and the other would be buried in my pussy. I’d never felt anything remotely as good in my life!

“Is that what it feels like for you … when you … you know …”

“Feel myself up?”

“Uhh, yeah.”

“Hate to disappoint you but, no.”

Crap! “So what’s happening to me?”

“Patricia’s brain is much more active than the normal brain. I think Thomas said that it has at least twice as many synaptic connections, maybe three times. Right now, you’re being overwhelmed with input.” She holds up her left hand, three fingers extended. “How many fingers am I holding up.”

“Three. What’s that prove?”

“This room is pitch dark. If I couldn’t hear your sweet little voice, I’d never know you were here.”

Funny girl. “So how long until I’m back to normal?”

She chuckles at that. “Depends on what you define as normal. It was about two hours before Daniel could handle being outside this room. You’ve been here about thirty minutes. We should wait at least an hour before trying.”

“Where’s my body at?”

“Still here at the lab. Thomas has implanted a feeding tube and a catheter. You should be fine for now. Eventually there may need to be some physical therapy to keep your muscles from atrophying. I still can’t believe what he did to Patricia. I would never have thought him capable of that sort of thing.”

It’s probably best that I just keep my mouth shut right now. We fall back into silence and I return to my mental inventory. I feel like I’m all there, nothing missing, but I’m not sure I could tell if it was. Would you know that you didn’t have something if you couldn’t remember if you had it in the first place? Would there be a hole you couldn’t explain? I’ve never been a deep thinker, so shit like this just usually makes my head hurt. Not today though.

“What is the Cerebral Balancer set on?”

“It should be maximum Blue. It’s in the next room but I can check on it if you want. Is there a problem?”

“No, I was just wondering.”

“How do you feel?”

“Okay, I guess. I’ve just been sitting here, trying to figure out if all of me made the trip in one piece.”

“What did you decide?”

“I think so, but I may not be the best judge.”

She reaches out and feels around, eventually touching my leg, then patting it. The room seems a little darker than before.

“Once you’ve adapted, we’ll go back out and Thomas can do some additional test to confirm the transfer. Then the hard part starts.

I settle back and close my eyes. “It’s gonna be a wild ride.”
CHAPTER SIX

I know he’s in there but I just can’t think of it as a “him”. With the higher brain functions installed, the Construct isn’t an “it” anymore, there is a true personality there, a complete human being. For a few minutes there, she looked truly frightened and vulnerable.

Daniel never did, not for a second. The differences are interesting. Daniel always seemed supremely confident, even curious. Peter is more unsettled, confused. Perhaps it’s because Daniel knew he was only going to be inside for a few days and Peter knows he is just starting a dangerous job of indeterminate length and unknown outcome. I know that she appreciated my attempts at comforting her but refused to acknowledge it.

Patricia is just two years older than Alisha would be if she were still alive. There are no physical similarities, Alisha had dark hair and was thin and tall for her age, just like her father. I know what the Construct is, but I’m still drawn to her. She looks and sounds like frightened little girl who is trying to put up a brave face. I’d love to just bend down and give her a hug … but I won’t.

That wouldn’t help Peter’s adjustment nor would it benefit our professional relationship. Still … there’s just something about her. Listening to her sweet, innocent voice coming out of the dark, trembling with doubt but still willing to move forward. Maybe it is all that pent-up maternal instinct. Regardless as to why I feel this way, we all have a job to do. Still, there’s no reason to start right now.

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

I’m gonna show Daniel who the toughest man is … once I get this bra adjusted.

Thomas had some actual clothes that fit me, a pair of shorts, polo shirt, sandals, matching bra and panties. Typical Miami wear. I fought back images of what Patricia may have been doing will wearing this outfit. I’m also wearing some sunglasses because it’s still a little bright out here in the lab, though the transformation was only eighty minutes ago. We are all back in the waiting room, sitting around the same table as before. Might as well be a different universe as far as I’m concerned.

Everything is so much bigger than it was. The table, my chair, the people. God, the people. I was never a big, tough guy. I could handle myself in a fight pretty damn well if pushed but I always prided myself on my ability to think my way out of a tough spot instead of shooting my way out, or punching my way out. Of course, I always had a gun ready, just in case.

Now, I couldn’t fight my way past Jessica. I hadn’t realized how much of my basic confidence was wrapped up with my ability to physically protect myself. Once that’s striped away, the world is a much scarier place, and that’s just inside this room. I hadn’t even thought about stepping outside into the real world. The neighborhood around this office isn’t exactly the best. I know, intellectually, that the only thing that has changed is me, but emotionally, I’m a nervous wreck.

Jessica has scooted her chair closer to me. I think she suspects how I’m feeling. The other two are just staring at me, smiling. Daniel starts rubbing his hands together.

“Everything went exactly as planned. I think Thomas deserves a round of applause for his excellent work.” He then begins to clap his hands enthusiastically. Jessica joins in, politely clapping her hands for a few seconds, then stopping. I manage a few claps myself before letting my hands fall to my lap. Thomas doesn’t seem to notice, he’s smiling and nodding his head in thanks. After about thirty seconds, Daniel stops.

“Look” I say, “I know the tests say everything’s okay but I’m not sure I can do this. It’s really weird, sitting here, dressed like this … really, really weird. I’m just not ready to go out in public. Maybe that idea about using a female undercover cop is the right way to go after all, ya know?”

“Now Peter,” said Daniel “I know that this is very disorienting right now. It affected me the same way; anybody in your position would feel a certain amount of discomfort and confusion. It is simply too soon to abandon our plan.” He reaches across the table and gently pats my arm. “Give it a little time. Go home with Jessica and spend a bit of time together. Go out and have fun with it. But not too much fun, we can’t afford for you to get pregnant!”

Both he and Thomas laugh at that hilariously funny statement. I don’t know anything about Patricia’s past, but as far as I’m concerned, she’s a virgin and plans on staying that way for the rest of her life, at least as long as I’m in here.

“Yeah, right. What kind of ‘fun’ do you suggest?”

“Oh, whatever girls do. Shop, go to dances, have a spa day, sit around the Mall and check out boys, that sort of thing.”

“Did you do that shit while you were in here?”

“No, unfortunately not. I spent practically all my time in the lab while Thomas monitored my condition and did tests … though we did go out to lunch one day and I flirted with this fairly handsome boy.”

“Why the hell would you do that?!”

“For the experience Peter! How often does a man get to see life through a woman’s eyes! Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like? Haven’t you ever wanted to trade places if only for a brief time? Aren’t you curious?”

“Never gave it any thought.”

“But you’ve been married and divorced thrice. Surely at some time you must have wondered what was going through your wife’s mind?”

Sure I had, but this has got nothing to do with that. I started to tell Daniel that but Jessica butted in.

“MEN! What do you know about how women think? And how does having a man’s mind share a women’s body teach the man anything? It’s still a man’s mind. There’s not that much difference between the sexes. We both want the same things, we just go about it differently sometimes.”

“That hasn’t been my experience” replied Daniel. I had to agree with him on that point. Jessica sneered at him.

“Daniel is right that it is too soon to stop everything” she said. “He’s also correct in suggesting that Peter go out and live a few days as Patricia before deciding if he is capable of pulling this off but for the wrong reasons.”

“What are the right reasons?” I ask.

“Patricia isn’t an amusement park ride. This is serious business. You need to start to learn how to behave as teen girl does and what settings on the Cerebral Balancer are the optimal ones.”

“Wait a minute, I just got in here and now you want to start fucking with my head already?”

“Not today certainly, you still need some time to adjust to the increased brain activity, but yes, now is as good as time as any. When do you propose we get down to business?”

Damn it, she’s right. I need to find out real quick if I can actually do this. If I can’t, then it’s back to my old familiar body. If I can, then the sooner the job is done, the sooner everything goes back to normal.

“Alright Jessica, we start tomorrow then.”

“Good and we might as well start calling each other by our cover names now. I’m Jessica Fay Conner and you’re Patricia Taylor Conner.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine Jessica, you can …”

“No Patricia, I’m your Mother. You need to address me as such.

I stare at her for a few seconds as she sits there, waiting for me to respond. “OK. Mommy.”

“I prefer that you call me ‘Mom’ … Patty.”

PATTY?! “Yeah, well I’d prefer to call you a stuck up …”

“Now, now Patty” said Daniel. “I’m sure you and your mother can work this out without insulting one another.”

“I’m sure we will … Danny.”

Severance Pay (Chapters 7 through 12 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Audience Rating:

Adult Oriented (r21/a)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Peter Harris experiences the joys and frustrations of living in the body of a petite teenage girl while discovering hidden skills that surprise Daniel and Jessica. Elements and Themes listed apply to entire story. Rating applies to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly for editing assistance.

SEVERANCE PAY

CHAPTER SEVEN

I’m sure this feeling of being a Munchkin will eventually fade away but right now, it’s as bad as ever. I can’t even shop in the Young Adult section of the clothes store’s for God’s sake!

Jessica … I mean Mom, decided that the first thing we needed to do was buy me some clothes, since the only ones I had were what was at the lab. It turns out that I’m too small for the Young Adult clothes so I’m in the Junior’s section.

“What do you want from me … Mom?”

It grates on my nerves every time I call her ‘Mom’. She’s right, we need to start getting used to it, but it’s still annoying.

“I just want you to pick out some nice clothes Patricia, that’s all.”

“I have. See?” I point to the small pile on the chair.

“You’ve just got jeans, shorts and some t-shirt tops. You need something nicer than that.”

“You said the school has uniforms. What else do I need?”

“You won’t just be in school and at home. You need a complete wardrobe, like any young girl would have.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be poor?”

“No, not poor. More like temporarily lower middle class.”

“Then we should be shopping at Goodwill or other thrift stores.”

“We will, but shopping there is much harder than shopping in a Department Store. Here there’s a wide selection of styles, fabrics and colors, you just need to pick something appropriate that you like. To shop for nice things at a thrift store, you need to be an experienced hunter. The choices are much more limited. You’ll need to develop a real sense of style, an eye for a bargain, the ability to mix and match disparate items. If you can’t handle a Department Store, you’ll never handle Goodwill.”

I can’t believe I’m saying this. “Why don’t you just pick it for me?” I could end up looking like some kind of Barbie doll but that’s almost better than shopping.

“No self-respecting teenager willingly wears clothes bought by their mother. If they have a good relationship, they may shop together … sometimes. Girls mostly shop with friends, something you’ll likely need to do to avoid being ostracized by the other girls at school. Now go pick out a nice dress.

I stomp off, heading down a long aisle of dresses on racks. Running my hand along the clothes, I can see that they are different styles and colors but they’re all just … dresses. I can’t see why one is any better than another. It’s like trying to read a foreign language. You recognize that there are different letters and words but you don’t know what any of it means, it’s all gibberish. When I reach the end of the row, I turn back to look at … ugh, Mom and raise my hands in defeat.

She waives her hand. “Look again.”

I sigh and turn back to the racks, looking closer this time as I work my way back the way I came. This is a complete waste of time, there is no way that … okay, I like this color. It’s more red than pink, think it’s called ‘Salmon’.
I pull it from the rack and hold it up.

“What about this one?”

“It’s pretty. What size is it?”

I look at the label. CRAP! Too big. I stick it back on the rack and start to move on.

“Don’t be in such a hurry Patricia. Look around a bit. You might find the same dress in the right size.”

Pawing through the dresses, I see that there are several dresses the same Salmon color and same style. Looking closer, there’s a size 2, Petite.

”Here, I found one, let’s go.”

“Try it on.”

“Aw come on! It’s the right size.”

“Girl’s sizes vary between manufacturers. You should also try on those jeans. The current style is skinny cut but you’ll need at least one pair a little loser.”

“Why’s that?”

“For when you retain water.”

“Why would I retain water?”

“Most girls do when it’s … you know …”

I still don’t know what she’s talking about and apparently she can see it on my face.

“You know … once a month.” I shrug. She smiles at me. “Think about it for a bit.”

Swelling? Once a month? What would … OH SHIT NO! “I can’t … but I’m not really … can’t I take something … this isn’t funny you know!” Mom is laughing at me.

“The look on your face is priceless Patricia! What did you think would happen? You’re a fertile young woman. It’s all a part of the miracle of life.”

Miracle my ass! “No one said anything about having periods! I thought Thomas had done something about that!”

“Like what? If you want to act like a real woman, you need to appreciate the full experience. If Thomas is correct, you have almost two weeks.”

Fucking great! I pick up the stack of jeans, throw the dress across the top and stomp off to the dressing room, Jessica following me. I scoot by the clerk and hurry into the dressing room, slamming the door behind me.

“Is everything okay?” the clerk asks.

“We’re fine,” Jessica answers. “Just a little … PMS” she whispered, but it was loud enough for me to hear it.

How the hell can I have PMS! How would she even know? What has Matthews told her that they haven’t told me? I was feeling a little weird out there, guess it could be PMS, though I only know what I read about it.

I hold up the dress in front of me. I don’t know why I picked this one from all the other dresses out there. The color is nice, I had a shirt the same color several years ago, it was one of my favorites. That must be it.

Still. There were other dresses the same color. Not the same color exactly, but close. There was that empire waist that was just a little redder and that cotton sheath a touch pinker. I hang the dress on the hook and start to undress. I’ll just try it on, get this over with and go home.

Bending over as I pull my shorts down my legs to the floor, I notice something on my back, barely sticking up above my panties. The room has several mirrors and this is the first time I’ve gotten a good look at my new body. I turn so that my back faces the main mirror and I pull the back of the panties down.

It’s a scrolling, frilly tattoo, about eight inches wide and two inches tall, V shaped, full of curlicues and loops, the point resting just above my ass crack.

A tramp stamp. Why the fuck did she have to get a tramp stamp? How do I explain that? I better see if there are any other surprises. Removing the panties, I check out my ass and inner thighs. Thank God she didn’t have work done on her pussy, no piercings. I lift the shirt off over my head and remove the bra, then slowly turn in front of the mirrors, lifting my hair off my neck. Can’t see any more ink. I lift my hands to my breasts and carefully cup them. No bolts of lightning in my head this time. Stepping closer to the main mirror, I inspect the nipples. They’re not pierced either, so it’s just my tongue and two in each ear. Wait … nothing in the nose either. That’s a relief, now there is just one more … Damn! Her belly button is pierced … well, it could be worse. I step back to get a full view.

I’m pretty well proportioned for someone my size, except for the above average rack. My legs are nicely shaped, strong thighs but not too muscular. Tight, round, full ass, smooth waist, good, strong, back and decent shoulders. I haven’t got one of those supermodel long necks but it’s not too short either. My face is … oval, I guess. Not round but not square. Pretty chin, eyes nicely spaced, cute nose, particularly with the freckles. The hair could use some work. The color’s okay but it’s kinda stringy. Wonder what kind of shampoo and conditioner I’ve been using? My lips are not all plumped up, they’re just normal lips but a real bright smile. When I smile, it’s like my whole face lights up. That could be really useful. So could my boobs. Huh … “my boobs”. Too fucking weird. I’m startled by a knock at the dressing room door.

“Patricia, what’s taking so long?”

CRAP! It’s Mom.

“I’ll be out soon, just had some … ahhh … trouble with a … zipper!”

I quickly pull my panties back on and throw the dress over my head, pulling it down my body. Pausing to straighten my hair, I throw a smile at the mirror. Cute as a button. I step out of the dressing room. Mom is waiting right outside the door.

“Now that is very nice Patricia, very nice indeed. What do you think?”

“It’s okay, the waist is a little loose.”

She reaches around the waist and gives a tug. “I hadn’t noticed that, you’re right. It’s a shame, such a nice fit otherwise. I’ll go and see if I can find something else …”

“Don’t worry about it. It should be easy to fix. Split the seam on both sides, a little tuck and it’ll be good.”

She gives me the eye. “What do you know about sewing?”

I stop and think for a second, what DO I know about sewing? Nothing … but if you look at the waist, it’s obvious what needs to be done, how hard can it be, ya know?

“Nothing Mom, but it should be easy. Split the seam right here a few inches, pull it taught and sew it up again. Problem solved.”

“We don’t have a sewing machine.”

We don’t? What self-respecting woman doesn’t have a sewing machine? “I’m sure we can find one somewhere. We’ve still got to buy furniture yet, right? There’s bound to be one at the Salvation Army, or Goodwill. Let’s buy this stuff and get going.”

“Not yet, young lady. There is still the shoe department and then lingerie. You need at least a dozen more bras and panty sets, better fitting than the one you’re wearing …” She gives me the eye again. “Are you wearing your bra?”

I blush. “No, but I was just …”

“You march right back in there and get dressed!”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

We end up spending another two hours shopping for clothes. The fitting for the bra was the most embarrassing. The clerk took a bunch of measurements; turns out I’m a 34 DD. Pretty nice for someone only five feet tall and ninety five pounds. Right? Then she had me try on a bunch of different styles and fabrics, pinching and pulling each one. You think it’d be fun having your boobs mauled like that, but it wasn’t … trust me. I’m pretty sure Mom never stopped smiling the whole time. Eventually we bought twelve matching sets, different colors and fabrics. I was wearing the yellow satin set and the dress when we got to the shoe area. I had to admit, they felt a whole lot better than the stuff I wore into the store, the fit was much better, the support great, no boob bulge at all.

We bought three pairs of saddle shoes, which are the basic shoes for St. Ann’s school uniform. The clerk knew exactly what we needed; apparently they’re the official supplier or something. I also got some running shoe’s and cross trainer’s for gym and some loafers for just regular wear. I was hoping we were finally done, but no such luck.

“These are very cute, they’d go perfectly with that dress.”

“Mother, those are at least 3” heels! You know I’ve never …” I look around the room, then drop my voice “… never worn heels before and I’m not about to start now.”

“Your dress requires a shoe with some kind of heel.”

“No, it doesn’t.” I walk over to a floor display. “These flats work perfectly well.”

“Why don’t you try both on and we’ll see what looks the best?”

I want to argue with her but, somehow, I can’t seem to muster up the energy. It’s been a long day and she’s probably worn me down. Still, I’d given in on the dress and the lingerie, I wasn’t going to cave on the shoes.

“No. No heels. I’m not some God Damn …”

“Patricia Taylor Conner! You will not use that kind of language ever again in my presence. Do you understand me?! EVER!”

She’s right, I screwed up. I’d been thinking like that all day but had managed to keep from actually saying it out loud. Saying stuff like that breaks character, which could be bad news for all of us. Even if she’s right, I still hate to apologize.

“Alright … Mother. I am sorry and I understand. I won’t say … things like that again.”

She smiles at me. “That’s my girl.” She holds out the heels. “Now let’s give these a try, okay?”

I scowl at her. ‘That’s my GIRL.’ How far is she going to push this? I’ve been playing nice all damn day and she wants more?! I start to protest but it dies on my lips. I reach out and take the heels from her, then sit down to change shoes. I do the flats first.

As I walk around the shoe area, I twist and turn slightly, in an exaggerated feminine style. “See, these flats work perfectly fine.” I step right next to her and look up into her face. God! I am so small! “Don’t you agree?”

“The flats are fine but now try the heels.”

I sit back down, remove the flats and carefully slip on the heels. There are no laces but there are a couple of ankle straps. I tighten them as much as possible, take a deep breath, then gingerly stand up.

No wobbles. So far, so good. I take a couple of tentative steps. Fairly stable. I’m careful to use a heel-toe step. I’m sure that I read somewhere that heel-toe was the best and most lady-like.

“Very good, very graceful. You’re doing fine Patricia!”

I don’t feel fine, but so far, I haven’t stumbled and snapped an ankle. After a few additional steps, I’m more confident. It’s not exactly easy or second nature but it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. After completing the same course as I did with the flats, I again step right next to Mom and look up at her.

WOW! I don’t feel nearly as short! It’s only 3” but it feels like a foot! I can’t look her in the face or anything but it’s a big difference. I could get used to this! She looks at me smugly.

“Was I right?”

I step away and check them out in the angled mirror near the chairs. My legs do look fantastic! All long and sexy. Maybe not exactly long … but certainly longer and certainly sexy. I lift the hem of my dress slightly.

“Do they have anything taller?”

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

We get back to Jessica’s apartment after 6:00 pm that day. After shopping for clothes, we went to check out the house Daniel had rented for the “Conners” to live and then had done some furniture shopping at a number of second hand stores. We found a lot of neat stuff that will fit exactly with our cover. There was even a used industrial style Singer sewing machine with all the extras. Fixing this dress will be a piece of cake.

I struggle with all the bags of clothes while climbing the stairs in my 4” heels. I’d have bought higher ones but Jessica insisted I get used to these before going any higher. 5” heels will be so awesome! It takes three trips but we finally get everything inside. The furniture we bought will be picked up and put in storage until we’re ready to move in.

I flop onto the couch, kick off the shoe’s and rub my feet. They don’t actually hurt, but it feels good to get them off. I’m gonna miss those extra 4” though. Mom sits down in the upholstered chair next to the couch, setting her purse next to her.

“How do you feel Patricia?”

“Fine. I’ll need to wear those heels more to break them in but they’ll probably be okay. I’d like to get some boots though, better ankle support. 5” heels in boots should be no problem at all.”

“No, I meant how do you feel about yourself, how do you think the day went, do you feel more comfortable now?”

“I guess so. I don’t feel much different, I’m still me, no real mental changes as far as I can tell. How do you think it went?”

“Disastrously.”

I sit up on the couch. “Huh? We may have had a couple of arguments but that’s only natural. We haven’t had a chance to get to know each other yet, work on our rhythm as a team. We’ll get there.”

She reaches into her purse and removes a small rectangular pad, about the size of a 3 ½” floppy disk but ¼” thick. She hands it to me. It has a display with several buttons. The display shows the number twenty five. And it’s pink.

“Is this the Cerebral Balancer?”

“Yes, it is. I had to push it all the way to twenty five Pink to get you to remotely cooperate with me, and you still fought me at that level.”

“Who the hell said you could fuck with my head?!”

“You said you wouldn’t use that kind of langua …”

I jump up from the couch and lean towards her. “FUCK YOU BITCH! What the hell gives you the right to screw with my head, out in public no less, without even warning me?!” I toss the remote at her, which she catches. “Partners don’t do that kind of shit to each other! Partner’s trust each other! Anything could have happened today! I might have died! For all you know …” She pushes a button on the control and I can’t talk anymore. I sit back down on the couch, folding my skirt beneath me as I do, back straight, hands folded in my lap.

Mother stands up, sits down next to me on the couch and shows me the display on the remote. It reads fifty Pink.

“Do you know what this means Patricia?”

“Yes Mother.” I heard my voice say that but it didn’t come from my mind. My mind told her to go fuck herself.

“What does it mean Patricia?”

“It means that my programming is almost one hundred percent in control of my body while I can tap into Mr. Harris’ subconscious mind, as needed.”

“Can Mr. Harris hear me?”

“Yes Mother, he can.” Damn fucking straight he can hear you. He can also beat the living crap out of you once he gets control of this body again and that’s a promise.

“Good. Four years ago, my husband Robert and daughter Alisha were killed in a drive-by shooting by a group affiliated with Raymond Hobbes.”

“That’s horrible Mother! I’m so sorry! Is there anything I can do?” There she goes again, talking without me.

“Thank you but, no Patricia, there’s nothing you can do … at least not yet.”

“How did it happen, Mother?”

“They had the wrong address. They were looking for a rival drug dealer and came to our house instead. The morons confused North 28th Street with South 28th Street.

“What happened to the murderers?” This should be good.

“Nothing.”

“How is that possible?” Money and influence, that’s how little girl.

“Everyone who was a witness was either bought off or scared off.” There’s that too. “There also was some vital evidence which disappeared from the police evidence room. Ultimately all charges were dropped and all of them eventually left the country. All of this thanks to Raymond Hobbes.”

“So … Mr. Hobbes didn’t actually kill anyone.” Ooooohhh, not the right thing to say, kid!

“No, he didn’t. He just made sure that the people who did kill my husband and beautiful, wonderful, daughter got away scott free. I can’t find them, and believe me, I’ve spent a lot of money with private detectives looking for them, but I can find him, and it is now time for him to pay.”

“How is he going to pay, Mother?”

“With your help and Mr. Harris’ help, we are going to bring him down, destroy his empire, and put him in jail for the rest of his life. I’d kill him if I could … but I don’t think … it’s just not … I’ve never …”

“I understand, but I don’t think Mr. Harris is likely to help, he’s very angry with you right now.” She can feel that?

“I’m not surprised. Mr. Harris seems to be angry most of the time, at one thing or another. Unfortunately, he is my best chance at getting justice for my murdered family, so I plan to prod and test him until he can do what is necessary to succeed.”

“And what is that?”

“He’s going to have to be able to open himself up to you and let you influence his thoughts and behavior willingly, yet still maintain control of his own capabilities.”

“That sounds difficult, Mother. Why not let me take care of it for you?” Yeah MOM, let little Patty do this for you.

I see her hand reach out towards my face and feel it touch my cheek with the palm. I try to pull back but can’t … though I thought I felt just a little bit of a flinch right before she touched me, maybe it’s my imagination.

“I know that you would try your best Patricia, but there is just too much of … you … at this setting. You are too young and innocent to accomplish this by yourself. As much as I hate to admit it, Daniel is right. We need Harris’ experience, his instincts, his guile, for our plan to work. So for us to succeed, I must succeed in persuading Mr. Harris to willingly behave like a teenage girl.”

“I’ll do what I can to help you, both of you, Mother. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I do.” She leans in closer, her hand still on my … our … cheek. “You don’t look anything like her, but when we talk … when you have someone else’s mind to work with … you’re so much like her.”

“How could I not be like her, you did most of the programming, didn’t you?”

“Thomas did the actual work but mostly at my direction. He had no idea what to do; he just knew how to do it. I still can’t believe that he added that … disgraceful, disgusting subroutine. I’ll get it removed as soon as possible Patricia.”

“Don’t bother. Who knows, I may need it some day.”

“Don’t say that!”

I hear myself giggling, then laughing. She’s got a nice laugh, surprisingly full and hearty for such a small person. I can also … feel the laugh, not just the physical sensations but there’s a sense of … lightness around me. I’m not happy, but I feel less pissed off. It’s probably that sob story Jessica told about her dead family.

Patty moves in towards Jessica, kisses her on the cheek, then primly settles back onto the couch. “I’m just kidding mother, you know I’m not that kind of girl. He’s ready to listen to you now. Just try to get along together, okay?”

“I’ll try if he will.” Jessica picks up the controller and pushes some buttons. Patricia fades away, leaving me back in charge. I look down at my hands, flexing my fingers and turning my wrists. I look up at … mom. Huh, must not be in total control. She looks back at me, her face tense, concerned, the remote still in her hand. “Are we going to have any trouble?”

I don’t answer right away. Taking a quick inventory, I feel like I’m back all the way, fully me, but I didn’t notice much difference when she had me at Twenty five Pink.

“Show me” I say.

She turns the controller so that I can see the display. It’s Forty Blue.

“All the way, then we talk.”

She hits a couple of more buttons and flips it in her hand so that I can read it. Fifty Blue. I honestly can’t say that I can tell the difference but I’m not telling her that. If I did, it would never be Fifty Blue again.

“Good. I’m sorry about your husband and kid. It had to be rough for you.”

“Rough? Rough?! Is that all you can say?”

“Hey! You promised her you’d try to get along. I’m trying here!”

“You heard that?”

“Of course I did … every word.” She looks embarrassed when I say that. “It’s not like I haven’t lost people too ya know. My Dad died of cancer and my Mom in a car accident. I’ve had partners killed too. Life’s a tough business, shit happens. You just gotta’ …”

“Don’t say I have to ‘move on’.”

“Okay. I won’t … but you do.”

“What do you know about grief? Pain? It’s expected that you’ll outlive your parents but not your child and not shot down in front of you.”

She didn’t mention that. Crap, no wonder she’s so screwed up. “Look, I can’t say I know how you feel cause I don’t and frankly, I hope I never know how you feel. But I can tell you that you can’t go into this thing hating your target.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying that when you go undercover to infiltrate some group, you can’t start out hating them because it’ll never work. You’re gonna spend weeks, months with these people day in, day out. If you hate them, they’ll know it. Sooner or later, you’ll slip. Doesn’t matter how good you are, you’ll slip. If they’re smart enough to catch it, you’re dead. End of story.”

“Are you saying you liked all the people you caught?”

“Yeah, most of them. Your average crook is just like you and me, they got parents, families, friends, kids, hobbies. Hell, some of them go to church, regularly confessing their sins, then go right back out and do it all over again.”

“That hardly seems admirable.”

“No, it’s not, but it’s human. Crooks are people too … just with a different sense of morality. When you’re undercover, you want them to be your pal, to trust you, talk to you, to tell you those secrets they haven’t told anybody else. They gotta like you … and you gotta like at least something about them. There was this guy, Benny, a stone cold killer. Benny had this really dry sense of humor, cracked me up all the time. I loved hanging out with the guy and he loved being with me because of all the laughing I did. By the time that job was done, he’d told me of at least fifteen guys he’d croaked on orders from … let’s say the target cause it hasn’t been that long ago. It damn near killed me to turn Benny in, but I did … damn near killed him too. He turned on the guy, went into witness relocation last I heard, but he never forgave me. And I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t either.”

“It was your job to catch these people, to bring them to justice.”

“Undercover work is dirty work and it’s not for everyone. You may find that sometime before we’re done, you may have to be friendly with Hobbes. If I’m gonna try to be his daughter’s friend, you may need to be his friend … or at least attend school events together.”

“That will never happen, besides, the daughter is the target.”

“Hobbes is the ultimate target and there is no way to predict how this will all work out in the end. You have to be ready for almost anything.” I lean forward, towards mothe … Jessica, forearms on my thighs. “It’s lonely, ugly work. The friends you make while under you’ll likely end up betraying and your friends on the force won’t trust you because you’ve been spent too much time with the enemy. The better you are at the job, the less the other cops trust you. They may seem like your best buddies and give you the occasional medal or award for a good job but, deep down, you make them uncomfortable because you’re doing something they couldn’t do, something they can’t understand. They’ll be happy as hell to use you … but you’re sure as hell not on their Christmas card list. You may be testing me but I’m also testing you. We don’t do this until we’re BOTH satisfied that the other can do the job.” I sit up and stick out my right hand. “Agreed?”

“Why is that necessary?”

I drop my hand. “Because if either of us fucks up, we’re both probably dead. I’m not gonna do this If I can’t trust you and your not gonna do it unless you trust me. We’re in this together, like it or not.”

“What about Thomas and Daniel?”

“If we go down, they’ll probably go down too, but we’re the ones taking the biggest risk, we’re the ones on the front line.”

“You mean you’re taking the biggest risk.”

“No, it’s the same for both of us; you’re just as far behind enemy lines as I am. My job may be tougher, but it’s both our asses on the line.” A thought suddenly occurs to me. “In fact, if all this works out right, you’ll be in worse shape than I will.”

“And how is that?”

“Because I go back to being an old man, win, lose or draw. You stay the same. If someone comes looking for a teenage girl to take vengeance on for ratting Hobbes out, I won’t be in there anymore. I’m back home in my rocking chair. You, on the other hand, don’t have that option. You’ll have to hide, maybe for a long time to come, even if this works, particularly if this works. Just cause Hobbes is in jail doesn’t mean he can’t get you … and he’ll have lots of time to think of ways to do it. In my case, he’ll be looking for the wrong person.”

“What if you have to testify in Court? He’ll know who you are then.”

“There’s no way Daniel will put me up on the stand in front of a jury. How the fuck does he explain it? This old guy you see before you pretended to be a teenage girl and these idiots bought it? No jury would believe how it was done. I’m in here and I’ve still got some doubts that it’s all a dream, ya know? I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that what we’re doing isn’t exactly kosher, from a legal stand point, but I think he’s figured out a way to still use the info we get. I’ll say this for Daniel Lipscomb, he’s not your usual Federal Department of Justice attorney, he’s got balls.”

“I’m not doing this unless we can get some usable evidence.”

“There’s no guarantee I’ll even get me foot through the front door. This is all a crap shoot. We may do everything perfectly and still have a dry hole.”

“Dry hole?”

“It’s an oil drilling term. You drill the hole but don’t find any oil. It’s another word for failure.”

“You seem to have taken a big risk Mr. Harris for such small chances for success.”

I smile at her. “Call me Patricia, or Patty if you like. You’re right, but I like the odds. If this works, I’m pretty sure we’ll find something that’ll make it worth our while. The whole idea is so fucking crazy, no one would ever think to make a plan to stop it from happening. It’s really brilliant.”

“If you can play your part, that is.”

“Yeah, that’s true, and I’m willing to try … if someone will just explain how the hell I’m supposed to do it! It’s not like I’ve got a lot of experience sharing a body with another … person, I guess. As far as I know, no one else has any experience either. If you’ve got an Owners Manual, I’ll be happy to read it.”

“Daniel said it should be easy, at least it was for him.”

“Well then, maybe we need to talk with him. Before we do, I want to get some ground rules established.”

“What kind of ground rules.”

“About that thing.” I point to the controller in her hand. She reflexively pulls it back towards herself.

“Such as?”

“I want some time every day at this setting, Fifty Blue. I’ll need at least an hour or so everyday to just be me. It can be at night or the morning, but I’ll need that time to get off the clock.”

“That sounds reasonable. Anything else?”

“Yeah. I want it to stay at Fifty Blue when I sleep. I don’t want any crazy shit sneaking into my head while I’m not awake to know it.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, though I’m not sure what kind of protection that gives you. I’ve never discussed that particular issue with Thomas. Is that it?”

“No. One more thing, and this is the most important. No changing those settings without warning. I want a say in what’s going on up here.” I tap the side of my head with my right index finger.

“That may not be possible. Part of my responsibilities is to evaluate how you behave at different settings. If you know what those settings are, it my skew the data.”

She could be right about that. “Alright. I’ll give that one to you while we’re still testing, but once we start the actual job, no changes without notice.”

She reaches forward, offering me her hand. “That sounds acceptable.”

I take her hand in mine. Jeez! I can barely reach around her fingers. ”Deal. Partner.” We shake on it. “Let’s call Lipscomb.”

- * * *** * * * *** * * *

“I thought you said it wouldn’t be any problem, Daniel.”

“I did say that, Jessica. A man with Peter’s skill and training should have no problem tapping the resources available to him.”

“But you said that you did it yourself.”

“Well, to be technical Jessica, I said that I could feel the influence on my mind. I didn’t seek it out; it was more like an assault. Not particularly pleasant as I recall. It was everything I could do to keep from being overwhelmed. Thomas made some adjustments to the Cerebral Balancer and everything was fine, particularly at Fifty Blue.”

“How far did you go?”

“I believe I topped out at Thirty five Blue.”

“Daniel, you should have told me about this! This is vital information!”

“I’m sure that you and Peter can work all this out between the two of you. He has a very extraordinary record of achievement, quite impressive. How far did you go on the Balancer?”

“Fifty Pink, but that was just to prove a point. He operated at Twenty five Pink and was still subconsciously fighting me hammer and tong.”

“Really! Twenty five Pink! Are you sure the Balancer was working? Perhaps Thomas should …”

“I already had him check it out. Both mine and the back-up are performing as designed.”

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help. Thirty Five Blue was my limit.”

“Peter will be very unhappy to hear this and frankly, I’m very disappointed in you Daniel. You can play lawyer all you want and weasel out of what you led me to believe but this is not a court room Daniel, this is a very dangerous game Patricia and I are about to start.”

“It is dangerous for all of us Jessica.”

“That may be true, but it is Patricia and I who will be at the pointy end of the stick, if something goes wrong, we’ll get it first. It’s not helpful if you’re not being completely forth coming.”

“I’m sorry if you think that I was intentionally misleading you. I was just expressing my confidence in Peter’s abilities. Is there anything else?”

No, there’s not. I’m not sure that I’d believe him even if there was. “No, not for the moment.”

“Make sure you keep me apprised of your progress. We need to move as quickly as possible.”

“We’ll move when I say she is good and ready, and not a moment sooner, you do remember that was our agreement?”

“Certainly Jessica, I defer to your expertise, I just wanted speed to be a factor in deciding how and when we start. Will that be a problem?”

“I have no idea now; we’ll be starting practically from scratch thanks to you. I’ll let you know. Good-bye”. I push the button on my cell phone terminating the call. Sometimes I miss the satisfaction of slamming down the receiver of an old style phone. It could be quite cathartic.

“What’d he say?” asks Patricia.

I turn to look at her hopeful face. I simply can’t call her a “he” or some other masculine name or pronoun. I know that Peter Harris is the dominant personality, at least at this setting, but her appearance and sound is all female. Once Peter joined her, Patricia became alive again, just as she had been with Daniel. The addition of another personality lets her become fully aware and functioning. It’s just extraordinary to see it happen. Too bad it’s a male personality.

“Not a great deal … and none of it good.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It seems that Daniel was not completely truthful, or at least completely clear about his time in the Construct.”

“Guess I’m not surprised, he is a lawyer after all. Where does that leave us?”

“Mostly on our own.”

“Fucking great.”

“It’s not quite that bad. I did learn a number of things from our past trial.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, if you saw the benefit of something, you accepted it quite quickly, like those high heeled shoes.”

“Wait a second, you said the control was at Thirty Pink or something like that when you had me try on those shoes. I’d never had done it if I’d had any say in it.”

“You had quite a lot of say in it. You were still arguing with me about it until you had a chance to experience life 3” further from the floor, then I could hardly stop you. Remember, you wanted boots with 5” heels.” He actually blushed when I reminded him about his acceptance of the heels. He would not react that way if his wearing of the heels were completely compulsory. There was some willing acceptance at one level or another.

“If you believe that something Patricia has, some knowledge, some insight, some influence, is helpful, you’re more willing to accept it. Tell me right now, no lying or playing macho games … will you wear heels again?”

“If I have to.”

“Is that all? Remember, this is important, I need the truth.”

She looked away from me, grimacing, then glanced back at me after a few seconds. “Alright, fine. I did enjoy wearing them. You have no idea what it’s like being so short! I mean, I’m only five feet tall for God’s sake.”

“You’re actually four feet ten inches.”

“That’s practically the same as five feet!”

“If you say so. Regardless, you saw the benefit of the heels and willingly wore them. You’re correct, it likely would not have happened at Fifty Blue, so we have one example of Patricia’s influence.”

“Okay, but you had to suggest it. How do I access her when I need her?”

She had a good point. I won’t always be around to prod her. We need to come up with some way for her to access more of Patricia’s side of the brain without pushing the Cerebral Balancer too far into the Pink.

“Have you ever tried meditation?”

- * * *** * * * *** * * *

I’m sitting on the floor in the spare bedroom at Jessica’s apartment, surrounded by all the things we bought while out shopping, the underwear, the dress, the shoes, everything. I can remember how I felt trying them all on, how I was first reluctant and then I gave in and actually started to feel comfortable. Not enjoying it, but it didn’t weird me out or anything. It’s weirding me out right now, remembering how it felt. It’s also weirding me out that I can look at all this stuff and think about wearing it again and it not bother me. I don’t need to wear the dress but, if I have to, that’s fine. Mom, crap, Jessica told me she’d leave the setting on Fifty Blue while I tried the meditation stuff, at least the first time.

I’ve been sitting here for at least an hour, just trying to clear my mind, but it’s hopeless. Every time, I keep coming back to the damn shoes. I actually liked wearing them, I still want to wear them. Is this permanent? When I go back to my old body, am I going to be a cross dresser? Lipscomb said I’d be able to go back and be right as rain but I know there have been changes in my mind, I can feel them. And it’s been less than a day. What happens after a week? Two weeks? A month? Six months? How much of me will be left? Someone knocks on my door.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.”

I pop up off the floor, pushing my self into the air just by quickly flexing my thighs and back, then landing on my feet.

God Damn! I’d never have been able to do that in my old body, even when I was young. I didn’t even think about it, I just did it, easy as that. Was this what Thomas was talking about, the Lizard Brain? What other surprises are there?

I open the door. Mom’s standing there.

“Are you okay? I thought I heard something fall.”

“No, I was just sitting on the floor, trying to meditate.”

“You don’t have to sit on the ground, you can do it wherever you’re comfortable.”

“Doesn’t matter, it wasn’t working anyway. I couldn’t clear my head.”

“Well, it was just an idea. Meditation doesn’t come naturally; you need to practice, often for years.”

“We haven’t got years.”

“I know, I said it was just an idea. It’s late, why don’t you go to bed, get some rest, and we’ll start fresh tomorrow? It’s been a busy day.”

“You’re telling me.” I sigh. “Yeah, sleep sounds good.”

“There’s a nightshirt in the bottom drawer of the dresser next to the bed. You’re welcome to use it until we buy you something better.”

Like a black silk negligee? “That’s fine, I’ll see you in the morning. Is it still set on Fifty Blue?”

“Yes, just as we agreed. Goodnight Patricia.”

“Goodnight … Mother.” She smiled when I said that. She’s got a nice smile. Wonder why I never noticed it. Probably because she doesn’t smile much. She closed the door and I stripped off my clothes, hanging them on the chair at the foot of the bed. When I pull the nightshirt from the drawer, it’s clear that it’s too large. Better get used to that kind of thing. After dropping it over my head, I climb into bed, pulling the covers around me. It only takes a couple of minutes for me to fall asleep.

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

“Yo! Chucky! Wake up dumbass!”

Startled, my eyes fly open. I’m sitting in a car, parked outside a warehouse. It’s the dead of night. It takes a couple of seconds for me to recognize where I am. Outside the old Beezo Company warehouse down by the docks. Except it doesn’t look so old. It looks like it did … thirty years ago. I‘m sitting next to Tommy Flannigan in the cab of an old panel van. This is the first solo undercover job I ever did. What the hell is going on?

“Come on Chucky my boy” he says as he opens the driver side door. “We can’t keep our friends with the guns waiting, they might get nervous … which would be bad for us all.”

He looks just like I remember him, a big, red-headed mick, large head, thick neck and hands that could crush walnuts. We’re here to buy guns for the IRA in Northern Ireland … at least that’s what we were doing thirty years ago. What the fuck are we doing today?

I look around, there’s only the two of us at the dock. There’s also a couple dozen cops in the warehouse next door, ready to spring into action when I give the high sign. The wire is digging into my crotch. The plan is that we go into the Beezo warehouse, meet the sellers, do a little business, the money changes hands, I say the code word “crackerjack”, the troops come storming in and arrest everybody. We catch an IRA gun runner and his U.S. organization, his U.S. donors, the scum bags selling the guns, plus confiscate a lot of money and firepower. At least that was the plan back then. Things didn’t work out so well.

Tommy shuts his door and quickly walks to the loading dock, leaving me trailing behind. I leap out of the passenger side of the cab and hurry to catch up but he’s already jumped up on the dock by the time I reach him.

“Hold up Tommy!” I hiss.

“Now don’t you be having second thoughts, Chucky. We need to do this now. I can feel the long arms of John law drawing closer. We got a tight schedule and I mean to keep it.”

He strolls through the open bay door onto the warehouse floor. It’s too late for me to stop him now. I jump up onto the loading dock and follow him.

There’s four other guys on the floor, along with a panel truck like ours. There’s also two guys up on the walkway above us, armed with AK 47’s. I didn’t know about them last time until too late. Unfortunately, neither Tommy nor I are packing … his idea, didn’t want to scare the sellers. The biggest of the bunch approaches us and Tommy just smiles and raises his arms, waiting for the inevitable pat down. The guy does a quick, half-assed job, looking for weapons. After he finishes with Tommy, he moves over to me. I also raise my arms, holding them straight out from my shoulders. He does the same search on my, luckily spending little time on my crotch, missing the wire.

I’ve found that one guy rarely gives another guys’ junk a thorough search.

He grunts when he’s done with me and motions for us to come in. Tommy’s all smiles and Irish friendship. He was one of the nicest criminals I ever met. We worked together for months before this night. I was trying to think of some way to stop this deal and get us both out of there alive but he was moving too fast. He’d already handed over the money and the sellers were quickly unloading the crates from the back of the van. Tommy slides up next to me and slaps me on the back.

“Aren’t they a crackerjack bunch of lads, Chucky?”

I forgot. That’s what happened last time. He said the code word and the team moved too early. We wanted everybody back in the van, not spread out on the floor. The other cops come streaming in, ordering everybody to drop their guns.

Yeah. Right. The sellers start firing wildly, including the two idiots on the catwalks. The cops shoot at anything that moves. I immediately dive for cover behind a stack of boxes but catch a round in the leg. Tommy’s ducked behind a fork truck, about thirty feet from me.

“Are you alright Chucky?” he shouts above the gunfire.

“No! I’ve been hit!”

“Is it bad? We’ve got to get out of here my boy!”

“No, I’m okay. You …” just then, one of the cops runs over to me, grabs me by the collar of my coat and starts to drag me back to their lines.

“Come on Sergeant Harris! Let’s go!”

A really brave thing to do, unfortunately, he broke my cover.

I could see Tommy’s face as I was being pulled away. He knew that I was the one who had betrayed him. He quickly looked around and found a .45 that had been dropped by one of the sellers who had been shot. He crouched behind the fork truck and fired at me. He hit the cop pulling me, who dropped to the ground, letting go of me. Tommy fired a second time, missing but the action stayed open, he was out of ammo. Dropping the gun, he charged out from behind the fork truck, red faced, screaming profanities at me.

Reaching around the downed cop, I managed to find the pistol in his leg holster, pull it, roll over onto my back and fire at Tommy.

His head exploded.

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

I sat up in the bed, breathing rapidly, the nightshirt cold and clammy from my sweat. There was a pounding at the door.

“Patricia! Patricia! Are you alright?! Patricia!”

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Hang on a minute.”

I wait a few seconds until I can calm my breathing, then carefully get out of bed. My legs are a little shaky, so I wait until I’m sure I won’t fall on my ass then go to the door and unlock it. Mom throws it open, bends down and hugs me.

“What was wrong? You were screaming about killing someone. You had me scared to death!”

“It was just a dream … nothing serious.” I start to push her away, then stop. I actually do feel better, safer, with her holding me like this. She pulls back a little so that she can see my face in the light from the hallway.

“Do you want some warm milk? Hot chocolate?”

“No, I’m … I’m … uuuhhhh … yeah … hot chocolate would be okay.”

She lets me go but keeps a grip on my right hand, leading me into the kitchen and onto a chair, only letting go when I’m settled into the chair. She opens the fridge and takes out the milk.

“What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

“No … it was just a dream … nothing serious.”

She walks over to me, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Honey, you need to tell me the truth. This could be related to the transfer. I need to know everything.”

I take a deep breath, then sigh. “Fine. Yeah it was a nightmare, a really vivid one.”

“What was it about?”

“It was one of my first long term, deep undercover jobs. The Irish Republican Army gun runners sting. We were just getting ready to spring the trap and everything went to hell. I couldn’t stop it, even though I knew exactly what was going wrong. I tried to call it off, warn Tommy, but no matter what I did, everything happened just like it did thirty years ago. Tommy died.”

“Was Tommy your partner?”

“No, he was the IRA man.”

“So why were you trying to stop it? Wasn’t that what your objective was?”

“NO! We wanted to catch them, not kill them! Catching Tommy was bad enough, but shooting him … he had a wife and two kids ya know … really cute kids … and he loved them all so much.”

“Apparently not enough to stop being a criminal.”

“It’s not like that. That’s all Tommy knew, it was his life. He’d been in the IRA since he was just a kid. His Dad before him and his grandfather before that, though it wasn’t the IRA back then. Either way, the family had a history. Tommy was a good guy, loyal, friendly, generous …”

“Terrorist.”

“One man’s freedom fighter is another man’s terrorist.”

“Surely you didn’t approve of what he did?”

“No … but I understood it. I was still ready to bring him in … but not kill him.”

She sits down next to me. “OH MY! You didn’t say that you …”

“Shot him in the head? Yeah, I sure as hell did. It was him or me. The Board said it was a clean shooting … even gave me a medal, though it wasn’t a public ceremony, naturally.”

“Why not a public ceremony?”

“Cause I was staying undercover.”

“Of course.”

“That was the first time I’d ever shot anyone, and it had to be Tommy, of all people. I’d been to his house, ate dinner with his family for God’s sake! We used to go out drinking and close the bar down!” I start to cry.

It had been years since I’d thought of that night and, even then, hadn’t cried about it. Now, I couldn’t stop bawling. Mom slides her chair next to mine, reaches over and hugs me.

“That’s okay sweetie, that’s okay. Let it all out.”

It takes me at least three minutes to get control again, Mom gently rocking me the whole time. She lets go when I’m down to sniffling.

“Do you often have nightmares about it?”

“No, that’s the weird part. I haven’t thought about it for years … well I’ve thought about it but it’s not been a problem or anything. And I don’t usually have nightmares … at least if I do, I don’t remember them.”

She stands up and walks over to the stove. “We’ll speak to Thomas about it in the morning; we’re scheduled for a check up anyway. For now, we’ll have that hot chocolate and see if that helps.”

“Thanks, that’ll be good … particularly if you’ve got a shot of bourbon to go with it.”

She turns towards me, smiling and shaking here finger. “No alcohol for you, young lady.”

“Awwww Mom.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Matthews is hovering over me with some strange device while I’m stretched out flat on an examination table. Mom’s sitting in a chair against the wall. Lipscomb’s not here today, he’s got some kind of meeting at the office. He told Mom that he’s maintaining his regular schedule to avoid any suspicion, which is a good idea. The man covers his bases.

So, why do I feel relieved that he’s not here? I mostly like the guy, a bit of a golden boy for my tastes but he works hard. He’s easily the most aggressive prosecutor I’ve ever run into, which is a point in his favor, and he’s willing to do what it takes to get this job done, which is about ten points in his favor. However, since the transfer, I feel … uneasy … around him. I can’t put my finger on it and there’s nothing I can think that he did or said to explain it, but there’s just this tiny, little, feeling in the back of my mind. It’s probably nothing, part of the adjustment process. Matthews puts his mechanical thingy down.

“Everything checks out one hundred percent, even better than Daniel at this point. How do you feel?”

“Fine, fine, no problems.”

“Now don’t say that, Patricia. Tell him about the dreams.”

“You call him Patricia?”

“I call her Patricia because that is her name. We need to stay in character at all times.”

Matthews turns to me. “What do you call her?”

“Mother or Mom, what else?”

He smiles at that. “Very interesting, though not as interesting as your dreams eh?”

“You knew about that and didn’t warn me?”

“I thought that I’d let it be an enjoyable surprise side effect.”

“Enjoyable?” said Mom. “Patricia had the most horrible nightmare last night.”

“Actually, there were three.” I said. “I had two more after going back to bed. They weren’t as bad as the first, but they were bad enough.”

“Oh Patricia, why didn’t you wake me?”

“What were you going to do about it? You needed your sleep and I knew we were coming here today.”

“I don’t understand,” said Matthews. “Daniel never had nightmares. His dreams were all positive, reliving some of his most erotic experiences, in great detail if he is to be believed.”

“Wonderful. I get sleepless nights full of terror and Golden Boy gets porn. How long does this last?”

“I can’t be certain. Daniel is still having them, though not as frequently, and his transfer was over three months ago. And they weren’t the troublesome dreams you’re having. There’s no sufficiently large enough statistical sample for me to examine.”

“Great. Do you know why this is happening to me?”

“It is just a theory. When your mind and memories were transferred, everything was swept up and moved. Daniel described the effect as a whirlwind.”

“That’s about right.”

“Good. So, all these buried memories have been stirred up and moved and now they are just floating around in your mind. Eventually, they should all settle down, like the snow in a snow globe, and they will become buried again.”

“How long will that take?” asks Mom.

“No way to be certain. It’s not a side effect that I was expecting and, as I said, I only have a theory.”

“What’s your theory as to why I get the bad stuff and he gets the good stuff?”

“I don’t have one … maybe he’s had more enjoyable sexual experiences than you.”

I’d certainly bet a dollar on that. “Is there anything you can give me?”

“Hold on Honey,” said Mom. “We don’t want to use drugs unless absolutely necessary.”

“You don’t want to use drugs, I’ll take whatever works.”

“We haven’t given mediation a fair shake yet.”

“Mediation should be good” said Matthews. “It will help settle things down in your mind.”

“And you know this how?” I ask.

“Well … I don’t for certain, though it is logical, assuming mediation does anything at all. This is all experimental Peter, there are no guarantees. Testing can give certain indications and logical assumptions can be made from those results but there is always the possibility of surprises. So far, everything is proceeding as the theoretical model predicts. How a particular person adapts to the transfer depends on their individual capacities. Daniels’ are different from yours, not better, not worse, just different. I agree with … your mother, drugs should be avoided for now, their effects are … unpredictable … at this time. My suggestion is that you continue to prepare for the assignment and I’ll continue to monitor your condition.”

That’s the most he’s ever said to me since we first met. Guess he’s right. If I’m not pulling the plug then might as well keep working on my cover. Maybe I’ll get lucky and tap some of those porno dreams.

Matthews loosens the straps around my wrists and ankles. I pull my limbs free, sit up and hop off the table, landing lightly on my feet. These physical moves are coming more naturally every day. I sure as hell don’t miss the pain. That reminds me.

“How’s my body doing?”

“You mean the old body?”

“Of course. Can I see it?”

“Certainly.” He walks over to a side door and opens it. “Come this way.” He walks through and I follow him.

There I am, laying on an inflatable mattress in a large hospital bed, a feeding tube connected to my stomach and a catheter in my dick. I’m bigger than I remember … and older, a lot older. I lean in closer to my face. My eyes are open but dull looking. I move my hand back and forth over the eyes. The pupils react to the change in light but that’s all, no movement, no reaction.

“Is this normal?”

“Yes, keeping in mind all that I said before about the transfer. Everything is as expected and predicted.”

“You take care of it Matthews. It may not be much but it’s all I got.”

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

I keep a watchful eye on Patricia as we leave the lab. It’s clear that she’s still extremely uncomfortable about being out in public. She was much more comfortable when we went shopping and the Cerebral Balancer was set on the lower and middle Pink numbers. It is possible that the shopping distracted her or maybe there was more to it than that.

When you grow up as a woman, you learn how to deal with the possibility of physical injury or assault by men. It becomes second nature to be aware of your surroundings and keep your options open. Patricia was thrust into that situation without the benefit of those years of learning. I must admit that there is a little perverse satisfaction in seeing a man put in that position but Peter was a police officer, one of the good guys, at least relatively speaking, and he’s doing this to help me. We can’t make progress on any other issues until we deal with this personal security problem. It’s possible that her comfort at the lower and middle Pink settings resulted from her subconsciously adopting these standard female safety behaviors. If I can give her some positive experiences in self-protection, she might gain enough confidence to move onto other areas.

I look over at her in the passenger seat. She’s practically cowering, shoulders and arms pulled close to her body.

“How are you feeling, Patricia?”

“I’m fine, just peachy keen.”

“Glad to hear it. I thought that you might still be worried about the safety thing, being such a small girl and all.”

“No … no … that’s not a problem. I’m okay with that … it’s no big deal.”

“I was just thinking that if you still had a problem, that you might want to take a self-defense class.”

“What kind of self-defense class?”

“I read in the newspaper that the local police are offering a three part self-defense program specifically for women. The first class is Saturday.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that.” She visibly relaxes in her seat. “They’ve been doing that for years. Lots of women take them.”

“Are you interested?”

“Well … it might be interesting, you know, to see something like that from a woman’s perspective. Not that I need it or anything.”

“No, certainly not.”

“I know how to handle myself, I’ve been in plenty of fights.”

“I’m sure you have. But it is probably good to get some practice, after all, you were retired.”

“Exactly! Practice! That’s all I need! A few rounds and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Then it’s settled. Saturday, we both take the course.”

“You’ll be there?”

“I’m sure that I can learn a thing or two myself. It’s best to be prepared.” I reach over and pat her arm.

“Thanks, Mom.”

I can hear the relief in her voice.

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

We had gone shopping a couple of times before the end of the week without much success. Patricia could not get into the right attitude until the setting was well into the Pink range. There is much too much Peter at the other settings and he refuses to let Patricia out, either that or he doesn’t know how to access her at the higher settings. We’ve continued the meditation and she has gotten a little better but it hasn’t helped the integration or the nightmares, at least not yet. It has been only five days since the transfer and we are moving into new territory, Daniel having been in only three days.

Thomas approved of the self-defense class, he was certain that Patricia was physically capable of participating. He also said that it would be a good program test. I didn’t have time to ask him what he meant by that as we were running late and Patricia did not want to be the last person there.

When we arrived at the site, it was a local grade school. They had an old gym attached to the school. We were instructed to wear sweats and tennis shoes. I had some old gray sweats and Patricia was wearing a blue outfit. The top was a little low cut for my taste so I insisted she wear a t-shirt underneath. There were about fifteen other women milling around the gym when we arrived, gathered in groups of three or four. They were of various ages, but we seemed to be the only mother/daughter pair, with Patricia clearly the youngest and smallest one of the group.

By the time the trainer called us all together, there were a total of twenty five women in the gym. There was a male trainer and another man in a heavily padded suit, including some kind of padded head gear. His hands and feet were free but the suit had padding sewn into the forearms, elbows, upper arms, shoulders, chest, thighs, knees and lower legs. He looked pretty well protected.

Patricia and I had discussed this, including my theory that she was at least subconsciously accessing the female coping techniques for self protection when the Cerebral Balancer was set in the lower Blue range. She had agreed to at least start the class at Blue 15.

The instructor clapped his hands, the sound echoing around the old gym. “Ladies. I am Officer Bill Simmons and this is Sergeant Nathan Tinker. We’re with the Dade County Police Department, city of Miami and are here to help you all learn various ways to defend yourselves should the need arise. It is best to avoid physical confrontations when ever possible. Run away to live another day is always the first choice. The second choice is to give the assailant what he or she wants. Your wallet or purse isn’t worth your life. Ninety nine times out of a hundred, you give them what they want and they’re gone in less than a minute. You call us, give us the facts and we take it from there. This class is about that one time out of a hundred.”

He strolls to the middle of the gym, talking as he walks. “It is extremely unlikely that any of you ladies will ever need to use the lessons you will learn in the next three weeks, however many of our past participants tell us that these classes gave them peace of mind and confidence. We plan to teach you just a few, simple techniques, things that you can practice at home until they become second nature. With additional practice, you can string two or three together, which can be quite effective but usually that won’t be necessary. Once most assailants discover that their prospective victim can defend herself, they move off, looking for an easier target. Now if you would all gather around the mat here, we’ll start the class.”

He’s standing on a large rectangular nylon mat, about 2” thick. The other man joins him, waddling slightly as he walks.

“I need a volunteer for the first demonstration. Sergeant Tinker is going to do a classic attack. He’s a trained instructor and is not going to hurt anyone and, as you see, it will be very difficult for you to hurt him.”

Tinker punches himself in the head and smiles. Most everyone laughs, some nervously. Patricia is silent.

“Any one want to volunteer? Anybody?” No one moves a muscle. Officer Simmons moved into the crowd. “I promise, we’ll take it easy. How about you young lady?” He’s pointing directly at Patricia. Everyone near by moves slightly away from her, including me. I feel guilty almost immediately but it’s too late, Simmons is standing right next to her in seconds. “Would you give us a hand? Everyone will get a chance before we’re done today, you’d just be the first. How about it?”

I can tell she wants to say no but she straightens up, sticks out her chin and throws her shoulders back. “Okay. Let’s do this.” She follows him back to the mat.

Both officers dwarf her. They are both over 6’ tall, with Tinker looking enormous due to the padded suit. Simmons positions Patricia about 5’ in front of Tinker.

“Now, he’s going to try to grab you. You do what ever you want to fight him off. Remember, you can’t hurt him so fight as hard as you can.” He steps back away from them. “On the count of three. One … two … three.”

Tinker lunges at her, quickly grabbing her right arm and dragging her into his body. She’s struggling and kicking but he easily picks her up and wraps his arms around her, across her chest. It may just be my imagination or all the pads, but I’d swear that he’s coping a feel. Patricia is starting to panic. Just then Simmons steps in.

“Okay. I think everyone saw that the young lady was at a distinct disadvantage this time but we can teach you some things to level the playing field. Let her go Sergeant Tinker.”

Tinker gives one final squeeze and drops Patricia to the ground. She quickly scoots away, then turns to face him, breathing hard. She looks scared, angry, humiliated and defiant, all at once. There are also tears in her eyes. The women around me are angry … so am I, but it has to happen, she’s got to get past this. Simmons steps in front of her and drops to one knee.

“What’s your name, Honey?”

That’s just a little too familiar.

“Patricia.”

“Well Patty, next time, when he reaches for you, block his arm, like this.” He extends his right arm, bent slightly at the elbow, then flings it hard to the right. “Just like that.” He repeats the motion. “Got it?” She nods her head. He gets back to his feet and Tinker moves back into position. “On three. One … two … three.”

Tinker lunges again and Patricia does exactly what Simmons showed her to do. It made no difference. Tinker has her wrapped up again and this time, everyone in the room sees him squeeze her left breast.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

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

I forgot that the standard procedure is to take the weakest person in the room and use them as the first example. If you can get them to do it right, then everybody else gets confident. They know if that old lady or that little kid can do it, then I sure as hell can.

I was the little kid.

No matter what I did, it didn’t slow Tinker down. The son of a bitch actual picked me up! Then he rubbed his crotch against my ass and cupped both my boobs. It was quick and maybe accidental, that he was just shifting me in his arms.

But I heard him chuckle when he did it.

When he let me down, I was so angry and frustrated, it was all I could do to not run from the room, but I wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction.

I was actually happy when Simmons gave me another shot at him. We never received true self-defense training at the academy. It all revolved around the equipment, guns, tasers and batons. If I had a baton, I’d show this jerk a few tricks. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with this weak, girly body.

The blocking maneuver Simmons shows me isn’t likely to work, I haven’t got enough body mass for it to make much difference, not if Tinker really wants to get me. I’m willing to give it a shot though.

Just before Simmons says “three”, I can see it in Tinker’s eyes. He’s enjoying this, manhandling women, particularly young ones. This blocking thing isn’t going to stop him. I hit his arm as hard as I can when he reaches for me but it barely moves. I twist and struggle but he’s got me wrapped up again in seconds. This time he doesn’t pick me up but he definitely gets a handful of my left breast. I desperately search for something to do, then it all becomes clear in my mind.

It’s so simple.

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

She squats, then drives upward, striking Tinker in the face with the top of her head. The padded helmet takes most of the blow but he looses his grip on her. Once free, she springs up into the air, then rotates over one hundred eighty degrees, wrapping her legs around his neck and pulling him forward, flipping him onto his back with a resounding thud. He reaches up to grab her but she’s already released him, taking a defensive stance just to his right.

As he starts to stand up, she attacks, driving her foot into the side of his right knee, breaking it with a sickening crack, followed quickly by a blood curdling scream and a string of profanities.

“OOOOHHH YOU COCK SUCKING LITTLE BITCH!! YOU BROKE MY GOD DAMN KNEE! I’M GONNA WRING YOUR FUCKING NECK WHEN I GET MY HANDS…”

She shut him up with a single, accurate, vicious punch to the neck, one of the few areas not protected by his padded suit. He collapsed on the mat, unconscious.

The room is dead silent for a few seconds, then the crowd of women begin to applaud and whoop.

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

The whole thing happened like I was on autopilot. One move flowed smoothly into the next. And I was fast! Faster than I can ever recall. No, it was quick, not fast! As soon as I saw an opening, I took it, practically instantaneously.

It takes a second or two for it to sink in. I just likely broke the knee of and punched out a cop. A cop who molested me, but a cop none the less. It’d be a good idea to get the hell out of here. Simmons is busy examining Tinker and the other women are starting to gather around, checking out my handiwork, so now’s as good a time as any. There’s no way I’m sneaking out, better just make a break for it. Someone grabs my shoulder and spins me around.

“Are you okay?” It’s Mom.

“Yeah. Look, we need to get out of here, right now.”

“Agreed. What was all that?”

“You didn’t program that stuff?”

“No, I’m against violence.”

“Oh great, another surprise. Did you give anybody our names?”

“There was a sign up sheet by the door.”

“You get our stuff, I’ll get that sheet and meet you at the car.”

Mom runs towards the bleachers where we had dropped our purses. I turn around to get my bearings and find the front door. Another woman comes up to me.

“That was so awesome! We aaall saw what that guy did to you, grabbing your boob like that. You just kicked his ass and good! What are you doing in this class? I mean, it’s not like you need it or anything, obviously. Are you a plant? That was just so cool. Are you going to teach us how to do that stuff?”

“Uhhh no. It’s all a misunderstanding. Look, I need to go, my Mom’s waiting for me and you know how mothers get when you’re late.”

“Oh … sure, I understand. Great job though!”

“Thanks.”

“See you next week.”

“Yeah. Next week.”

I run off before anybody else corrals me. The sign up sheet is on a clipboard hanging by the door. I take the list and the next three blank pages behind the list, then scoot out the door. Mom pulls up just as I run out. Quickly opening the door, I hop in, then slam the door shut behind me.

“I thought I said to meet me at the car.”

“I decided this was faster.”

“It probably is but you don’t change a plan midstream without telling everybody. If I hadn’t been stopped by this lady and held up for a few seconds, I could be in the parking lot right now, looking for you.”

“We’ll talk about this later, let’s just get home for now.”

“Fine by me. We gotta call Matthews about this.”

“He’s the only one who could have added …”

“Kung fu.”

“Whatever, to the data base.”

“If he did, he’s getting a big kiss from me.”

CHAPTER NINE

Mom hung up the phone. “Well, he said it was a resounding success.”

She sits down at the kitchen table opposite of me. I’m having my current drink of choice, skim milk. It’s either that or water, mother doesn’t approve of soft drinks.

“So he admitted that he was the one who did it?”

“Oh yes, he was quite proud of it. Thomas said that it was only logical to assume that someone in the criminal justice system should know how to defend themselves in all situations. In fact, he was surprised that it wasn’t part of your basic training to begin with. He assumed that he was just enhancing an already existing skill set.”

“How ‘enhanced’ am I?”

“He said that he programmed every existing form of martial arts that he could find.”

“DAMN!”

“Oh that’s not all! There are six different languages, PHD level science and math, four musical instruments, the list goes on.”

“So … I’m a genius?”

“Hardly. You have an incredible amount of data stored in your head, but it’s just facts and figures. Just like the behavior routines I created, you need to find a way to access and use that information. Genius is more like the inventive ways a person uses facts and figures to create new and different things. A computer can have all that information stored in its memory but no one calls a computer a genius.”

“But it’s not a bad way to start high school.”

“No, not at all, as long as you know how to get to it. Which of course raises the question, how did you know what to do today?”

“I don’t know, I was just trying to think of something I could do to get the jerk off me.”

“Clearly, you were emotionally upset and frustrated, also angry about the fact that he was … fondling you.”

“You saw that?”

“Everyone saw it. I can’t imagine why he did that in front of the whole class. Didn’t he think a group of women would see exactly what he did?”

“He may not have cared. For some of the guys, that kind of program is an excuse to feel up women. It’s easy to explain away as accidental contact when you’re trying to recreate or demonstrate a physical struggle. Not everyone gets the full touchy feely treatment, just the choice pieces of ass, which clearly I am.”

“That’s just terrible!”

“Hey, you’re a choice piece too! I didn’t mean that you weren’t …”

“That’s not what I meant! It’s terrible to use vulnerable women that way!”

“OH Yeah! Sure! I agree completely!”

“I believe you, particularly because you didn’t stop with simply escaping.”

“What?”

“You escaped after the first move. It could have stopped there, but you turned and attacked. Not just attacked but with ruthless efficiency. You disabled a much larger person in just three incredibly fast moves and one of those was intended to inflict pain more than anything else.”

I had to smile. “Yeah, but it kept him on the ground.”

“I’m not saying it didn’t, and frankly, I likely would have done the same thing if I’d been in your position, but the question remains, how did you know what to do?”

“I was still pretty pissed off.”

“But you’ve been angry before and nothing happened.”

“I don’t know, all I can say is that I really wanted the information and it was there.”

“Do you still have it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have that knowledge accessible right now, could you attack me?”

“I guess I could but I won’t.”

“Fair enough … on second thought, that’s probably a bad idea.” She sits there thinking a moment or two. “Okay, how about this, could you escape if I was holding you?”

“Look, I don’t know but I really don’t want to hurt you.”

She stands up. “Which means you probably won’t. I’m willing to take the chance to find out. Let’s go to the living room.” She walks out the door.

“Mom! Wait! Mom?” I reluctantly follow her. When I catch up, she’s already moved some of the furniture around, creating space in the middle of the room.

“All right. I’ll grab you and you try to escape.”

“This is crazy! You saw what I did to that guy, I could hurt you, or worse.”

She reaches out, touching my shoulder. “Patricia, this is important. It may be the breakthrough we’ve been looking for. We need to explore this. I trust you … I know that you won’t hurt me. Just a few, simple tests and we’ll stop, I promise.”

“Okay.” I sigh. She smiles at me. It’s always nice to see her smile.

“Good. First, I’ll re-set the Balancer to Blue 15, the setting earlier today.” She retrieved the balancer from her purse and changed the setting. I never feel it move inside my head but I have been able to notice some changes after it moves. This time I don’t notice any. She returned to the center of the room.

“All right. You stand right here.” She spun me around, facing away from her. “I’ll get behind you and grab you like this.” She wrapped both her arms around my chest, just below my breasts. “When I say go, you try to get away, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Okay … ready … set … you know that I trust you not to hurt me, right?”

I can hear the nervousness in her voice. “I know.”

“Good. Here we go. Ready … set … go!”

She pulls me tightly across the chest but both of my arms are free at the elbow. I easily reach up with my right hand, grab her right hand and bend it back at the wrist, breaking her hold on me.

“OW OW OW OWWW Okay OKAY OKAYYY. I’d say the access is still there. I’ll re-set to Blue Fifty and we’ll try again.”

Same results, though this time I use my left hand. She’s rubbing her left wrist, grimacing. “This is good. This is good. All right, this time, cross your arms in front of your chest and I’ll grab you like this.” She again wraps her arms around me but with my arms up and crossed, my hands aren’t free. “Ready … set … go!”

I twist and turn but she hangs on. I remember how I broke Tinker’s hold but she’s not wearing a padded helmet, I’d break at least her nose with that move. I’ve got nothing new to try so I just struggle for a few seconds, then she lets me go and steps back. I turn to face her. She’s rubbing her left wrist again but smiling.

“Very good! Very, very good! Thank you, Patricia!”

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hurt …”

“I’m fine dear! It’s already feeling better. We’ve learned so much today!”

“What did we learn?”

“Well, this is subject to further testing you understand, but it appears that once you establish a connection to new knowledge, that connection remains in place, except at the extreme settings on the Balancer, which practically isolates the two personalities. You also retain previously accessed information at the extreme settings but can’t acquire new information.”

“And that’s good news?”

“Very good news! I can work with this. Just give me a few weeks and we’ll have you ready for Mr. Hobbes in plenty of time to start the school year.”

“Speaking of further testing, there’s something I want to try.”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Let me try it first.”

“Certainly. What do I need to do?”

“Get a dollar bill from your purse.”

“Does it matter what the Balancer is set on?”

“Probably not. Leave it at Fifty for now.”

She goes over to her purse, takes out her wallet and removes a twenty, fresh from the cash machine. “Now what?”

“Hold it on the short side hanging straight down.” I put my right hand out with my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, then slide them to the bottom of the dangling twenty, the bill suspended between my separated digits. “Whenever you’re ready, let go of the bill.”

“Should I count down?”

“No, don’t let me know when you’re going to do it, surprise me.”

“All right.”

She waits a couple of seconds, then drops the bill. I pinch it before it drops two inches.

I’m stunned. “Try it again.”

“What does this prove?”

“I’ll explain, try it again.”

The second time it drops only about an inch and a half.

Fucking amazing!

“Okay, this time, I’m gonna close my eyes and you tell me when you drop it.”

“I really don’t see what this is supposed to prove. It seems to be some kind of magic trick or something.”

“It’s a trick alright, but humor me, one last time.”

“If you say so.”

I position my fingers on either side of the bill, close my eyes and hold my breath. All I hear is the hum of the air conditioner.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“Yes.”

She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Go!”

I pinch and open my eyes. I caught it in the middle. I have to sit down.

“Patricia, what is all this about?”

“You remember when you said that I hit that cop really fast. It wasn’t fast, it was quick.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Quick is who moves first, the fastest reflexes. Over a short distance, it’s hard to tell them apart. In a race, the quick guy starts first but a fast guy can run him down before the finish line. The longer the race, the less advantage to the quick guy. But in a fight, the quick guy always has the advantage.”

“So what does this have to do with catching a falling twenty dollar bill?”

“It’s an old bar bet, a sucker bet actually. You play it for money or drinks. If you catch it before it passes your fingers, you win. You can’t chase it; you have to leave your hand just where it is.”

“And you apparently won three times.”

“But you can’t win, it’s a sucker bet. The human nervous system is too slow. There is no way for a person to see the bill drop and then pinch his fingers together before it’s too late.”

“But you did it three times.”

“I know. I thought that maybe I was picking up subconscious clues of some kind, tendon’s flexing, fingers twitching, something that was tipping me off and giving me a head start. That’s why I did it verbally the last time. I still won.”

“This all proves what exactly?”

“That I’m quicker than any human ever born … by far.”

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

It was such a relief when she didn’t seriously hurt me. Having my hand bent back to my arm was bad enough, but after seeing her deal with that police officer, it’s clear that it could have been so much worse.

I can’t imagine what Thomas was thinking of when he added all of that information to the data list! Concert pianist! Gourmet chef! Was he insane? None of this helps the situation at all. And the martial arts! I wanted Patricia to come to terms with her physical vulnerabilities like most young women do. There is nothing wrong with a little self-confidence when faced with a threatening situation but she is way beyond that point.

I need to speak with Daniel about this as soon as possible. All of this additional knowledge that is free for the asking could complicate matters. Severely.

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

“I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Lipscomb frowns at me. “The problem, Thomas, is that you have added a number of variables to the equation, variables that were not part of our plan.”

Lipscomb, the patronizing poofta! I wouldn’t even be here if he didn’t have me over a barrel, trapped by my thirst for knowledge to benefit mankind!

The girl was practically dead when I got her! She was of no use to anyone! One foot in an unmarked paupers’ grave before I pulled her out. Did anyone thank me for that? No! Instead, I am threatened with prison! Simply because I failed to follow some technicalities concerning paperwork and consents. The opportunity presented itself and I merely took advantage. Any logical scientist would have done the same. The potential benefit clearly outweighed any theoretical harm.

And look how she turned out! If they had left her with me, I’d be halfway to my Nobel Prize by now. Admittedly, I was making very little progress until the consciousness transfer … but that was also my idea!

Lipscomb’s money has been valuable too, but I would have obtained what I needed eventually. A brief demonstration in front of the right people and I’d have had all the funding I needed.

Soon, this inconsequential diversion will be finished and I can get back to my research. Until then, I must dance to Lipscomb’s tune and answer their impertinent questions.

“You forget Daniel; that data was added while attempting to awaken Patricia’s independent consciousness.”

“Not all of it Thomas, the martial arts were added after I had been restored to my body.”

“You said that you had felt intimidated by your reduction in size and strength, it was an easy solution to the problem.”

The Warren woman speaks up. “But it is too much information. How is Patricia expected to act like a teenage girl when she has the knowledge of … the Encyclopedia Britannica in her head? Can’t you remove the unnecessary knowledge?”

It is annoying enough to have to deal with Lipscomb, but the last few weeks of having this … woman tell ME what to do have been intolerable. I created Patricia to be a superior being, free of all the petty constraints imposed by society. Yet she has been ordering me to add all the personality defects I was attempting to eliminate, jealousy, selfishness, vanity … sexuality.

“As I have explained before Jessica, the addition of data is relatively simple. Patricia was designed to acquire knowledge. The removal of data is much more difficult. Even after Daniel was restored to his body, bits and pieces of copies of his information remained behind.”

“But you will be able to put Peter back into his body, won’t you?”

“I foresee no difficulty in doing so. His was not a very complex personality, though a very large experience data base. I’d like to keep as much as I could for future use.”
She grimaced when I said that. What was wrong with wanting to broaden Patricia’s knowledge base?

“I’m sure that Peter is going to insist he be fully restored … minus those disgusting sexual behaviors he discovered. I never authorized those subroutines!”

This is too much! “I will have you know that I never …”

Lipscomb interrupted me, as usual. “What Thomas is saying is that he was simply trying to give Patricia a … well rounded knowledge of sexual behavior, something most teenage girls have … though it is certainly a shame that society doesn’t do a better job of protecting our young people from that sort of thing. However, we must deal with the world as it is, not as we wish it were. Isn’t that right Thomas? I didn’t mean to put words in your mouth.”

Like hell he didn’t. “No Daniel, you are correct. That was my intention.”

“Well I don’t like that she simply followed orders, right here in front of us all!” she further complained.

“I’m sure that was simply because she lacked the overriding consciousness that either I or Peter provide. Everything should be fine now. Right Thomas?”

“Most certainly … Daniel.”

“Where is Patricia now?” he asked.

“She wanted to go to a gym and exercise. She said that she needed to get in better shape. Hopefully, that means she’s becoming more aware of her body image and wants to improve it. Young girls always obsess about how other people view them. I dropped her off at the YWCA, we bought a day pass. If there is one good thing that has come from this, Patricia no longer complains about the Cerebral Balancer being on any setting other than Blue Fifty. In fact, she insisted on Blue Ten today.”

“That is a good sign” I said. “Each data set that is accessed makes it easier to access the next one. In theory, she should reach a tipping point where the two minds become a seamless whole, except for the influence exerted by the Balancer. Daniel decided to return to his body before I could test that theory.”

“Thomas, I had a job to return to, I could hardly make the necessary preparations for this assignment without being Daniel Lipscomb. You can test all the theories you want once we are finished.”

A day I look happily forward to.

Warren checks her watch. “I need to leave and pick her up, I’m already behind schedule.”

“She’s not frightened about being left alone?” Lipscomb asks.

“Hardly,” Warren replies. “I think she’s not afraid of anything now, since she’s become a Kung Fu master.” She gathers her things and gives me a parting angry look.

After she leaves my office, Daniel also prepares to leave.

“I want to thank you Thomas, for not telling Jessica who requested those subroutines.”

“You mean ordered, didn’t you?”

“Come now Thomas, I may have been a bit insistent.”

“Insistent and quite explicit. I expect that Mr. Harris will be … extraordinarily angry should he every experience a single one of those … behaviors.”

“That could be a bad thing, given Patricia’s recently acquired fighting skills. I really wish you had consulted with me first before adding those to the inventory, Thomas.”

“I had the best of intentions.”

“As they say, ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’. What’s done is done, I’ll deal with it.”

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

The YWCA is enormous, several connected buildings. A bit of a rat’s warren of rooms. I asked at the front desk for the aerobics area but couldn’t find Patricia there. There were some Slendercise classes scheduled but she wasn’t there either. I checked out the pool even though we haven’t bought her a bathing suit yet. I even tried the weight rooms, no luck. I was headed back to the main desk to have her paged when I heard her laugh. I think it came from the room to my right. I carefully peer in.

It’s a boxing ring. There are at least ten boys of varies ages and sizes gathered round, partially blocking my view. I enter and slowly move closer, sliding to my left until I can get a clear view of the two people in the ring.

It’s Patricia! She’s crouched down, hands in some kind of padded gloves, a helmet on her head, barely above her eyes, wearing a mouth piece, a crooked smile on her face. She’s circling the middle of the ring with a large Latino boy opposite her, also wearing the same equipment. He must weigh two hundred and fifty pounds and is in good shape.

He is not smiling. In fact, he looks quite worried.

Patricia steps towards him, throwing a punch, but then quickly pulls back. It was a feint. The boy stumbles, almost falling down, trying to dodge the non-existent punch. All the other boys laugh, bumping their fists together. The two of them resume circling each other.

It suddenly strikes me. Patricia is stalking the boy! He is afraid of her! She works him into a corner of the ring and feints again. He ducks and covers, waiting for a blow that doesn’t come. When nothing happens, he looks up, then starts dancing around again, pounding his gloves in a show of bravado. It doesn’t fool anyone in the room. They are all hooting and laughing. Patricia straightens up out of her crouch and turns around to acknowledge their cheers.

The boy charges her; hands poised to throw a devastating barrage of punches. He rises up to punch down at her but she pivots to her right, rapidly throwing a left, then right, then another left, all striking the boy’s kidney. His eyes go wide and he loudly grunts in pain. She then launches herself at his legs, bringing him crashing to the ground, while she dances away to the further cheers of the crowd, her small arms raised above her head. Just than, she sees me.

She spits her mouth piece into her left hand, vigorously waving to me with her right “Hey Mom! I’ll be with you in a minute!” It was a surprisingly feminine wave, just the right amount of looseness in the wrist, elbow and shoulder. She reached down to help the boy off the floor of the ring. He took her right hand and she pulled mightily, not helping much. Once upright, he also removed his mouth piece.

“Good fight Javier! You had me worried for awhile.” She said.

“Yeah … yeah … thanks. You were pretty good too Pee.” he replied. She slaps him on the arm and he rubs his aching kidney.

I walk up to the ring, she reaches through the ropes, hugging me around the neck for a few seconds then releases me, stepping back. She is smiling ear to ear, eyes bright, hopping lightly from foot to foot. Her breasts are bouncing quite a bit due to her wearing a normal bra instead of a sport bra … and her nipples are as hard and prominent as bullets! Could she be aroused by this? The fighting, the physically fit boys, the contact? I’ll have to speak with her later, now we need to get home.

“Get your things Patricia, we need to get home.”

“Okay. I’ll shower and be right with you.”

“Just get your things, you can shower at home.”

“AWWW Mom, I‘m a mess! Sweaty and my clothes stink! You don’t want me messing up the seats of the car, do you?”

“Fine, but be quick.”

She laughs. “I’m always quick!” Climbing back through the ropes, she jumps to the ground. Several of the other boys gather round. She slaps some hands and bumps some fists, plus there are a couple of rather elaborate handshakes, then she trots off to the locker room. The boys move off to work out on various pieces of exercise equipment scattered around the room while an older, slightly paunchy man dressed in classic gray sweats approaches me.

“Excuse me, are you Mrs. Conner?”

“Ms. Conner.”

“Sorry.” He offers me his hand. “I’m Jerry Tobias but everyone calls me Coach Tobey.”

I shake his hand. “What can I do for you Mr. Tobias?”

“Where did Da’Pee learn to fight like that?”

“Da’Pee?”

“Sorry, Patricia. They guys just couldn’t call her Patricia, or even Patty, particularly when she kicked their asses, so they gave her the nickname of ‘The Pee’ or ‘Da’Pee’. So, where’d she learn all that stuff?”

“What did she tell you?”

“Picked it up, here and there, but that’s crazy. I’ve never seen anything like her. I mean, what she did to Joey, that back flip, and Cruz … he didn’t have a chance. Nobody could catch her, let alone hit her. Crunk is as fast as a cobra, fastest son of a bitch … ‘scuse my French … I’ve ever been around and it looked like he was wearing cement shoes against her.”

“Well, far be it from me to call my daughter a liar but she’s never had any formal training as far as I know. It’s all natural talent.”

“Damn! She don’t hit that hard, hard enough, but it’s so fast!”

“I believe you mean quick.”

“Yeah! Yeah! Quick! Boom, boom, boom, before the other guy can even get out of the way! It adds up fast! Look, we don’t have a program here at the Y for girls in mixed martial arts, but I’d be happy if she wants to join our group. Once the girls get a load of her, they may want to join up. Either way, she’d be a great addition.”

“We’re new to town and Patricia is going to attend St. Ann’s so she should have a rather intense scholastic curriculum.”

“Yeah, but all work and no play.”

“That is the axiom. We’ll just have to wait and see what kind of free time she has.”

“We’d be happy to have her.”

Just then Patricia comes jogging out the locker room door, drying her hair with a towel. Several of the boys call out to her, Da’Pee, and she responds, waiving to them with that same girlish, feminine wave. Maybe it’s just my imagination but a couple of the boys appear to have more than friendship in mind.

“Did you see me, Mom?”

“Just the very end.”

“I was pretty good, wasn’t I Coach?”

“GOOD?! You were God Damn … ‘scuse my French, ladies … terrific! I was just seeing if your mother would let you join our team.”

“Is that something you want to do, Patricia?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “It sounds like fun, but I’m gonna have lots of school work, it may not be possible.”

I gently grab her shoulder and begin to walk towards the door. “Great minds think alike. We’ll see how everything works out, Mr. Tobias. Thank you for watching over my daughter today.”

“Oh it was my pleasure Ms. Conner. You come back soon Da’Pee, give my boys a chance to get even.”

“Sure thing Coach. BYE GUYS!” There’s that wave again, completely natural. I hurry her from the room and we head back to the lobby. I want to wait until we get to the car before the questions start. Once we reach the car, she opens the back door, throws her bag in, closes it, then opens the passenger door and jumps in. I start the car and pull into the traffic, headed for home.

“What was that all about … Da’Pee”

She actually giggles, I’ve never heard her giggle. “I know. It’s silly. I tried the weights but I’ve always hated weights, even back in high school when I played football and wrestled. A change in bodies didn’t change that. Aerobics seemed kinda pointless, just jumping around, lift this, twist that, on and on … though a couple of the women were definitely hot …. ‘scuse my French.” She giggled again. “Wasn’t Coach Tobey something? All polite and considerate. My football coach used to come up and kick me in the ass. I’d be in my three point stance, he’d be behind me, screaming about something, and then it’d get all quiet. I knew that he was walking up behind me to give me a swift kick. I would even count it down. Three, two, one, boot. God, I hated that bastard. Where was I? Oh yeah, Coach Tobey. When I walked in the door, he thought I was either somebody’s girlfriend or wanting to become somebody’s girlfriend. I did about five minutes on the speed bag and he changed his mind. I started at the lowest weight class, which was Spikeman, and worked my way up to Javier, the heavyweight. I took it easy on them. No one even came close to laying a glove or foot on me.” She settled back in the seat. She talked like she was on speed or something, one, long, nonstop sentence.

“I wonder if that’s what it’s like being a hummingbird.”

Now I’m getting worried. “What are you talking about?”

“You know … hummingbirds.”

“I know what a hummingbird is, what does that have to do with our situation?”

“When I was young, my mother fed hummingbirds. Well, actually, she fed a lot of birds but the hummingbirds were amazing! They’d zip this way and that way, then stop on a dime, hover a moment, then zip off again. You talk about quick! Any way, when the feeders were empty, I’d go out to fill them. All the other birds would scatter but the hummingbirds would just park themselves a couple of feet away, sitting on these unbelievably tiny branches and wait for me to finish. Sometimes, they’d actually zoom in and start drinking before I ever got the feeder back on the hook! I always wondered how they viewed people, or even other birds. They were so much quicker than everything else. Did they just think of us as slow moving landscape? They knew we weren’t a threat. It was like we were on two different planes of existence.”

“Very deep. How does it apply to us?”

“Not to us, to me. I felt like a hummingbird against those guys, small and ungodly quick. I could do whatever I wanted, go where I wanted, hit them where and when I wanted, there was no challenge whatsoever.”

“So, you’re not interested in going back?”

“It was fun and everyone was nice, particularly considering how badly I beat them. They might have been mad if it had been close, but I beat them all so easily, no one could pick on the other, the all got faced and bad. I actually felt a little sorry for Javier. He got to watch everyone else before him and my strength was his weakness, quickness. I think I had him beat before we even started.”

“So, no interest in going back at all?’

“There may be some other sport. I haven’t played basketball in some time. I used to be pretty decent as a defender and rebounder, which says I had no skills and got by on hustle and meanness. I had an endless supply of meanness on the court.”

“I just thought that you might have found some of the people there attractive.”

She chuckles. “You got that right. I didn’t say anything because I thought that it might upset you.”

“Why would I be upset, it’s only natural.”

“Sure, it’s natural but who’d believe it? I didn’t think about it myself until I was starring at the door. I get to walk into the women’s locker room and see all the naked females.”

“That’s not what I was …”

“Of course, not all of them were lookers, particularly the senior citizen swimmers, especially AFTER getting out of the pool, talk about wrinkles. But there was this group of advanced aerobic students, I mean DAMN! … ‘scuse my French.” More giggling.

“I wasn’t referring to that! I just noticed that you appeared … uhh … to be … somewhat … excited … in the ring.”

“Hey, if I wasn’t I could have got my head handed to me. Just because it was easy didn’t mean I was lazy. Taking it easy on someone can require just as much discipline and hard work as crushing them.”

“I’m sure that’s true. I’m referring to some rather obvious signs of … ahh … sexual arousal.”

“What?! No! … what? Uhhhh … what are you referring to?”

“You’re nipples were quite engorged and extended.”

“They were?! What were you doing checking out my nipples?”

“They were hard to miss. If you had hugged me a little harder, one of them could have put my eye out.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but I can’t think of any reason other than the girls’ locker room. Remember, I said that I’m a virgin and plan to stay that way.”

She did say that, now that I recall, and it may be a problem.

CHAPTER TEN

Dear Diary.

I know, I know, it’s ridiculous. Mom suggested that I use a diary to keep track of and organize my thoughts as we get closer to starting the job. She says she’s done it for years and that it has helped her. Lots of girls keep diaries. I agreed, so long as it gets burned before the job starts. Having something like this where the wrong person might find it could be disastrous. She wasn’t willing to burn hers but will send it away to a distant relative for safe keeping. That’s probably good enough for now. Here goes.

Another night, another nightmare.

It’s been almost five weeks since the transfer and things are shaping up. We’ve moved into our new place, a little house in West Miami, 2110 South West 60th Court, just off Coral Way, two stories, Mom’s bedroom is on the first floor and mine’s on the second, giving both of us some privacy. Most of the furniture was bought at Goodwill and other thrift stores, as was the balance of my wardrobe. We did get a couple of pieces of furniture off Craig’s List. Most of this stuff isn’t half bad. I’m thinking of taking some of it with me when we’re done.

We’ve spent a lot of time shopping together. When you buy at thrift stores, they’ve usually only got one of whatever it is. It might be the right color and style but the wrong size, or have a tear in it. That’s where my sewing machine comes in handy.

Turns out that one of my new skills is seamstress. It’s another one that Matthews just threw in because he thought every girl should know how to sew. I was a handyman type growing up, fixing things around the house, making things like shelves or a workbench, rough stuff, not fine furniture or anything. Mom suspects that my interest in that made accessing the sewing skills easier. Whatever the reason, I’ve been sewing up a storm. I made curtains for a couple of the windows, a bed spread, and a table cloth. There’s a smaller bedroom on the second floor where I’ve set up shop. I think Mom actually enjoys seeing the results of my work because she’s always complimentary, though she could just be saying that since I’m her daughter and all.

The whole thing is feeling more normal all the time. Once I stopped worrying about being so short and weak, it was easier to relax and experiment with the situation. I’ve actually spent time by myself, watching other girls out in public, seeing how they act together, how they walk, talk and what they wear.

Mom insists that I wear dresses most of the time, to get used to them. I’d still rather wear shorts and tops, it’s more comfortable but she does let me pick out the dresses. I’ve also spent a lot of time altering the clothes we bought. It’s tough to find anything remotely stylish for someone my size. If it fits my chest, it’s too long. If it’s the right length, too tight in the chest … naturally. It’s a minor miracle that I find something that fits off the rack that isn’t for younger girls. Altering the clothes has kept me busy. My little hands are an advantage, as are my young eyes. I’d never been able to see well enough to do most of this stuff before the transfer.

I’ve been seeing Matthews once a week for check ups, which have gone well, everything as he expected. I always stop and check in on my old body. And it’s an old body. I know it looks the same every week but I just see an aging, decrepit man when I see it.

I’m not vain or anything! I’ve only gotten my hair permed and tinted once and wear hardly any makeup, though I could because that’s a skill Mom ordered. Last Thursday, we had a kinda Girls Night. She fixed lasagna, which is a favorite of mine, and she had me practice my makeup, first on her and then on me. When I finished with her, she was a streetwalker’s streetwalker, whore 2.0! Funny as heck! I did a much more reasonable job on myself but I was ready for the prom before it was over, though, good as I look, it’s always more “cute” than “beautiful”, I’ve just got a baby face.

Mom doesn’t know that I know what she’s doing. I don’t object, it’s a smart play on her part. Makes my life easier and we’ve all got the same goal so I’m gonna have to get there eventually if this is to work.

I figured it out while sparing in the gym with the mixed martial arts team. If I concentrate on the moment, on what I’m doing right then, and what I need at that moment, it comes to me, like I suddenly remember it. I call it an “Oh Yeah!” moment. It’s like the information has always been there, I knew it was there but just forgot about it, but now, it’s oh yeah, that’s exactly what I was looking for! And once I get it, it doesn’t go away, it stays there. I don’t know if that means the piece of information got transferred to my part of the brain and it’ll go with me when I return to being Peter Harris, or there’s just some kind of connection to the other brain that remains on all the time. I don’t ask Matthews because it doesn’t really matter, it is what it is, but I hope it goes with me.

I’m pretty sure Mom’s figured it out too, that for me to get access, I have to want it, like the time I first bought high heels. She’s gone out of her way to make it enjoyable in some way anytime she wants me to be more girly. Every shopping trip ends with a food reward; ice cream, pie, or this chocolate fudge cake syrup thing that’s as close as I’ve every come to an orgasm since the transfer! The Girls Night had lasagna. The spa day was its own reward. The whole point is to make the process more a positive experience than a negative one, which is good for me, it’s a lot better than being bitched at … I shouldn’t say that.

I know this is changing me. I didn’t recognize it at first because I insisted on spending as much time at Fifty Blue as possible. Even now, I only, truly feel like Peter Harris every night when I get that one hour before I go to bed. The rest of the time, it’s usually in the low teens or high single digit Blue numbers. Last Saturday, I spent the whole day at a Mall set on Pink 20 … that was a trip! Everything was beautiful or darling or gross or stupid or I had to have it right then.

It was also the last day of my period. Don’t get me started on periods! That’s one thing I won’t miss when this is over. I don’t know how women put up with that for, like forty years. I say bring on menopause ASAP. It makes me a whole lot more sympathetic toward my three ex wives.

The most disturbing thing was all the boys at that Mall. Every where you looked, there was a guy, tall, short, fat, thin, ugly … handsome. Every where. I thought girls hung out at those places but I only saw guys. And they saw me. Oh yes, they saw me in my heather gray V neck sweater mini dress with a flounce skirt that I added and black leather knee high boots with 4” heels. $5.00 at the Salvation Army store and they fit puuurrrfectly. We had dinner at Red Lobster that night, so Mom must have been pleased.

Even at Pink 20, I’m still there; it’s just harder to assert myself. It’s easier to just sit back and go with the flow. Pink 50 still haunts me. It was like being trapped in some kind of movie with Sensesurround. I heard and felt everything but had absolutely no control at all. I’m sure Mom did it just to scare me, which it certainly did. That’s when she was being all Bad Cop.

Now it’s mostly Good Cop, except when I leave a mess somewhere in the house. Who knew she was such a neat freak! She actually punished me for leaving my clothes out on my bed instead of putting them away. It’s my room, for heaven’s sake! We had this big argument and I said some things I probably shouldn’t have said and then she told me to go to my room and stay there until I was ready to apologize. APOLOGIZE! Who did she think she was! There was no way I was going to do that! It was late anyway so I just went to bed.

Of course, I had another nightmare and woke up screaming. Mom was there like a shot and after I calmed down, we both said we were sorry, so I got away with one that time.

Any way, I’d say we’re making good progress.

I just wish the God damn nightmares would stop!

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

Dear Diary,

I don’t know how that poor girl gets any sleep at night. In the past five weeks, there has not been a single night where she hasn’t been awakened by some kind of bad dream at least once, sometimes she actual cries out loud enough for me to hear her downstairs.

She seems to be reliving her entire undercover career, though not exactly as it occurred. At first, the dreams seemed to be actual reenactments, word for word, moment by moment, starting with that terrible gun running incident. Lately, the dreams seem to be more allegorical, focusing on betrayal, either actual or emotional. The beginning situation of a given dream seems to be related to one of Peters’ assignments but then the dream veers into the fantastic, as dreams are wont to do. Regardless, they’re disturbing to Patricia, as they would be to anyone. Why these dreams are persisting is unclear. Daniel insists that his vivid dreams ceased weeks ago and he was sorry to see them go. Patricia was less than sympathetic towards him.

In fact, she seems more and more uncomfortable in his presence. Most of our contact with the rest of our group is limited to the weekly examinations by Thomas. Thankfully, Patricia is doing quite well physically and mentally, with the exception of the dreams, of course. Daniel has been present only twice at those examinations and both times, Patricia was some what withdrawn and curt. I asked her afterwards what the problem was and she was surprised both times that I asked, claiming that there was nothing wrong and that everything was normal. I’m sure that it is not my imagination but there is no explanation for now.

My revised techniques seem to be bearing fruit. Patricia is making excellent progress, I could not be happier. She has shown an active interest in observing other girls in an attempt to learn how they behave in various situations. I have offered to guide her in this but she insists on doing it her way. Since she’s the expert in undercover techniques, I plan to defer to her, at least for the present.

None the less, she seems to be unaware of my new encouragement and reward system. We are not where she needs to be by August, but there is a very good chance we will get there in time. Her mannerisms become more feminine by the week and naturally, subtly, feminine, not some kind of affected behavior. I’m not sure of the exact source of this, whether it is her observational skills, the programs I created or a combination of both, but it is working.

Most recently, we were at the Pinedale Mall and Patricia had agreed to a setting of Pink Twenty, which surprised me, it was my original suggestion and expected to have to negotiate down to a low Pink or even a Blue number but she thought about it for a moment and agreed. She may want to push her comfort zone, which I can only applaud. The stores were quite busy, being a Saturday, and it was the usual mix of boys and girls, moving in packs, along with all the older customers who were actually spending money instead of time as the teenagers were doing. I caught Patricia eyeing a number of reasonably attractive boys, who, not surprisingly, responded. She went on to display some of the classic flirting behaviors, the hair toss, the over the shoulder glance and others. I actually saw her lightly suck on her finger when a particularly good looking boy was watching her and she was aware of his interest. I am sure that a number of them would have approached her if I had not been there. While that may have been interesting, she’s not nearly ready to deal with that aspect of her new life yet. That will be one of our final hurdles.

She has proven to be quite adept at altering clothes to fit her small frame … well mostly small frame. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I envy her well endowed figure. In that respect, we do not appear to be mother and daughter. Those skills are another one of Thomas’ unauthorized additions, but it seems to be paying off. We have been able to buy a number of very nice skirts, dresses and tops that she has been able to adjust so that they are quite attractive on her, things that I thought were hopelessly too large or out of style. She’s even done a number of things for me, all well finished. On her own initiative, Patricia has created window curtains and other items for our home, which are very attractive and makes our cover better, at least that’s why she said she did it.

Last evening, I instigated a fight over how she was keeping her room after dropping the setting to Pink Ten without informing her. My plan was to see how she dealt with that kind of argument when there was a Pink bias. Patricia’s not the best housekeeper, but she’s within reason. I’d have her be a little neater if it was my choice. The subject had come up before so I thought that it would make a believable subject for a fight.

She was quite angry with me, accusing me of being unreasonable … which I was. She resisted resorting to using profanities, visibly struggling to do so at times. The strongest word she used was “frigging” but it was mostly “darn” or “heck”. When I ordered her to go to her room, I was extremely surprised that she did … but if looks could kill, I’d have been in serious trouble. I was afraid that I may have pushed her too far but she had another of her nightmares and I was able to use the opportunity to comfort her and soothe over any hurt feelings from earlier in the day. All in all, the dispute went almost exactly like those I had with my mother when I was Patricia’s age … or like those I had with Alisha, normal mother-daughter fights. It was very promising.

I have found, as I suspected, that when we make a breakthrough at any Balancer setting, most of the change remains, regardless of the future setting, except for Blue Fifty, of course. It might be easier if I kept the Balancer at high Pink settings most of the time. But Patricia won’t agree to that and it might overwhelm her if I did it on my own. Adequate progress is being made and I won’t change the process unless compelled to do so by circumstances yet to occur.

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

I was eating breakfast, having gotten up early after the most recent disturbing dream, when mother came into the kitchen, wearing a blouse that I had made for her. It was a simple pattern that I had found in a magazine on the Free Cart at the local library branch.

I’d been spending more time there in the past couple of weeks. It turns out that I’m not limited to whatever subjects they decided to put in my head. I can add my own information by simply reading it. And I’m a darn fast reader, practically a computer scanner, zipping down each page, page after page, and have perfect recall. If I see it, I remember it. I prefer to read slower than that but my slow is still extremely fast compared to everyone else. It’s easier to establish context and make connections at the slower speed. I can do the same with the faster reading but I have to review it in my mind after I read it, so why do it twice?

“Patricia, we need to start working on getting you ready for entrance exams at St. Ann’s.”

“I thought Daniel had already taken care of that.”

“Daniel used a contact of some kind to move you up the admission line. There will still be exams to make sure you are qualified and a personal interview with the Mother Superior, Sister Carmela.”

“Well, if he hasn’t gotten me in school, what good is it?”

“The waiting list is quite long. Jumping to the front is no small thing. Daniel has acquaintances in high places that owe him a favor or two, who can get you this far but apparently has no influence on the school directly, nor Sister Carmela.”

“I think I like her already.”

“There’s little we can do to prepare for the interview but we can make sure that you do well in your exams. The knowledge is already in your mind, we just need to start having you get some practice in accessing it.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“I thought that we could run you through some SAT preparation workbooks. It’s unlikely the entrance exam for St. Ann’s could be more difficult than the SATs or ACTs. Remember, we just need you to pass and get in, no need to show off. The objective is to blend in, go unnoticed, just be one of the girls.”

“The practice tests sound okay to me, but we need to talk about this blending in thing. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think it’s the wrong approach.”

“Patricia, I know what I’m talking about. The only way to get by in this kind of school is to not be outstanding. The existing social groups will be well entrenched and you are an outsider. Trust me; this will be difficult enough without the additional problems of confronting the existing social structure.”

“I understand about being the new kid in town, but in order for me to make this work, the Hobbes girl has to come to me. How is she going to do that if I’m trying to be inconspicuous?”

“Why does she need to come to you?”

“It’s one of the basics of undercover work. The best way to get inside an organization is for them to bring you in. Anybody who tries to force their way in is automatically suspect. If they seek you out and ask you to join, they have no reason to question your loyalty, at least at first.”

“This isn’t some criminal organization, it’s just a teenage girl.”

“The rule still applies. If someone from the Hobbes gang checks into how she and I became friends, it’s best that she says she approached me. I’ll need to figure out some way to catch her eye, and maybe not just her eye. We’ve got very little information about any of the students and I’ll be flying by the seat of my pants at first. I’m going to have to do something that attracts the right kind of attention from the right people. The initial stages are always dicey.”

“Social relationships between young girls are quite complex. The most important thing to a sixteen year old girl is her friends, much more important than her parents or her boyfriend.”

“Well, I won’t have to worry about the boyfriend part.”

“Probably not at first but you never know what kind of social situation may develop.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“There could be dances, group dates, we don’t know anything for certain.”

“But it’s a GIRLS school!”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t have boyfriends, they just come from some other social circle other than school. St. Ann’s isn’t affiliated with an all boys school so boyfriends could be from anywhere.”

“Well, I draw the line at dating some grabby, hormone challenged, zit faced boy.”

“Hopefully it won’t be necessary, but you’ll need to keep an open mind.”

“Fine! But that’s the only part of me that’ll be open!”

“Patricia!”

“I’m just saying. Are we done here?”

“Ahhh … yes. I’ll get some sample tests and we can tomorrow.”

I don’t say anything, just start reading the newspaper. Mom begins making her breakfast.

I don’t know why I was so snappy about the possibility of fake dating a boy. It’s completely logical to consider the possibility. God knows I’ve had fake relationships in the past while on the job; it’s one of the better ways to get information out. Wife number two started as a fake relationship. For some reason, the thought … unsettles me.

I remember what I was like as a teenager, sex obsessed and stupid. I had hoped that I was done with all that once I’d gotten older. Nobody had asked, apparently it didn’t matter, but I haven’t been able to get a reliable erection for a couple of years. Don’t know if it was medical related or what, but I didn’t care enough to find out. After wife number three divorced me, there weren’t a whole lot of opportunities and that suited me just fine. I hated even dealing with other people, let alone a relationship.

But now, the damn hormones are back. I try to ignore them as much as possible but … sometimes … I just burn. Not like the old days either. I get antsy all over. As a boy, everything was … concentrated … to my crotch and my head, what I thought about and how my dick reacted to those thoughts. Now, sometimes, I can barely concentrate at all, and the physical feelings are all over my body. Even at Fifty Blue. I’ve not done anything about them, besides checking out the plumbing now and then, but it’s getting harder to ignore. Maybe focusing on these tests will help.

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

Patricia really has taken to the test preparation, much more enthusiastically than I expected. Peter Harris never struck me as an intellectually curious person so I thought that the school work portion of this job might be a problem but it appears that I was wrong.

She started out having some trouble with the tests but has made very rapid progress. She has had a number of perfect scores and has moved on to the LSAT and GMAT prep tests. Obviously, this will all need to be minimized when she gets into St. Ann’s. Nothing will alienate her from the other students like perfect grades. It certainly caused me no end of trouble when I was in high school.

Patricia has also spent a lot of time on her sewing projects. We found a lot of discount fabrics at the local Walmart, they were closing the fabric section so it was all on clearance. Patricia has made more curtains for all the windows, placemats, and some more clothes for me.

In addition, she made some practice equipment for herself, something she called a “heavy bag” and a stuffed, full sized dummy. She hung them in the basement and works out down there. I offered to get a YWCA membership but she wasn’t interested, at least for now. She seems intent on burning up energy and staying busy. I told her that she should relax a little but she said “Idle hands are the Devil’s tools” … or something like that.

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

I’m dancing around the dummy, throwing combinations of punches as quickly as I can, working from head to torso and back. I try to put as much into each punch as possible but it’s not a lot of impact. It’s better than it was last week but a ninety pound girl can only hit so hard. I make up for it by knowing where to hit for maximum effect and hitting those spots a lot.

After twenty minutes on the dummy, I switch to the heavy bag and work on my strength. This would be a lot easier at the Y, particularly working with the Mixed Martial Arts Team, but I’m not sure I can trust myself in mixed company right now. I was watching a baseball game last night on TV and found myself paying more attention to the player’s bodies than the damn game. Mom had me set on Pink Five, but I should have been able to keep my eyes off their asses. If I go to the Y, the setting will be no better than the low Blue numbers and some of those guys weren’t bad looking … particularly Spikeman, the lightweight. He’s closer to my size, taller and heavier naturally, but reeaallly fit, probably less than five percent body fat.

It’s the same as wrestling, all the lighter weight classes are full of guys who’d naturally weigh more but fight to keep the weight off so they can work at the lower class and improve their chance of winning. When I was wrestling, I moved up a class because our man at 190 pounds was sick. The guy I fought had to be six inches taller and arms like an ape. He must have been hollow to weigh 190. Son of a bitch kicked my ass but good.

Spikeman was like 5’6”, pretty quick on his feet, blonde hair, blue eyes, veerry taught ass. I actually let him grab me once just so I could get a good squeeze of that ass. Then I tossed him across the ring, just so he knew who was in charge, but still … .

DARN! I’m just standing here, staring out into space! Get with it Girl!

I go back to working the heavy bag, grunting in this tiny, ridiculous, high pitched way with each punch. Yeah, that’ll put the fear of God in ‘em.

“Patricia, are you down here?”

It’s Mom, calling me from the top of the stairs to the basement. “Yes. Do you need something?” I keep hitting the bag.

She comes down the steps. “No, I was just looking for you.” She stops when she reaches the floor and watches me for a couple of minutes until I stop and step back, breathing hard.

“You … want … to take … a couple of whacks … yourself?”

“No thanks, not right now.”

“You probably should … get some practice … in. Never know … what might … happen.”

“You’re likely right. Maybe later.” She walks around the basement, giving the dummy a gentle shove, causing it to swing in a small circle. “You seem to be keeping very busy lately. Perhaps you should take a break.”

I strip off my gloves. “I’m fine, just working off some energy. I’m not used to being this … physical. My old body was tired most of the time.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Sure” I lie. “What other reason could there be?”

“Oh, like maybe working off some frustrations.”

What’s she up to? “What kind of frustrations? Everything’s going okay for now. I’ve got the entrance exam down cold. I’ll miss enough answers to make the score very good but believable. We’ve made a lot of progress on my social skills. You said it yourself when we were at the store two days ago and I helped those girls with their makeup selections. You said I could have been a salesgirl.”

She pushed the dummy again, sending it spinning the other way. “But we’re not completely ready yet.”

“No, we’re not. I still haven’t figured out how to attract Gretchen’s attention.”

“Gretchen?”

“Hobbes’ daughter. Her name is Gretchen, remember?”

“Oh yes … right.”

“But I will get it figured out. The only other thing right now is the interview at the school and we’ve decided to play it straight down the middle, proud mother and happy daughter, anxious to begin the academic challenges and help create a better world for kittens, puppies and unicorns, right?”

“Right … though I wouldn’t mention unicorns, a little too old for that.”

“I’ll make a note.”

She pushes the dummy a third time. “I’ve just noticed that you seem to be a little … edgy lately.”

“Maybe it’s that time of the month.”

“No, that was two weeks ago.”

“How do you know?”

“I do the laundry, remember?”

Oh yeah. “It’s probably your imagination then.”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I know it’s not.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I took up jogging when I was your age.”

“You’re sixty? You don’t look a day over fifty.”

“You know what I mean, Patricia.”

I pick up a towel from the back of a nearby chair, dry off my face and hang it around my neck. “Can’t say that I do.”

“Do I have to spell it out?”

I shrug. She walks over, reaches out to remove the towel from my neck with both hands, then quickly moves her hands to my breasts and tweaks my nipples. I jump back, covering them with my hands.

“Hey! What’s that for?!”

“You’re headlights are on high beam again.”

I move my hands away slightly and check them out. She’s right, my nipples couldn’t be any bigger. “Maybe I just like exercise.”

“And sewing. And reading. And eating. And breathing. Patricia, you’re sexually aroused and are doing you’re best to ignore it. But you can’t ignore it, trust me.”

“Really? What do you know?”

She laughs for several seconds. “Oh my! What do I know? I was a teenager too, though that may be hard to believe. A teenage girl who didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s easier to believe”

“Ha ha. I did all sorts of activities to take my mind off … the situation, and, as I said, took up jogging, but, ultimately, only one thing truly helped.”

“Getting laid?”

“That would probably have worked, but no boyfriend, so it was masturbation.”

OH JEEZ! “TMI Mother!”

“TMI?”

“Too. Much. Information. Waaay too much!”

“What? You didn’t as a guy?”

“Sure, but that’s what guys do!”

“And women don’t? We have needs too you know.”

“Well none of my three wives did.”

“How do you know? Were you home all the time?”

“Of course not. But we never had any of … those kinds of problems.”

“Maybe because they masturbated.”

“Would you not say that!”

“Doesn’t matter what I call it. Jack off, polish the pearl, self-love, it’s all the same. And I still do it regularly.”

“UUUGGGHH! There’s an image burned into my mind for like, ever! Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, since you’ve made it clear you’re not planning on dating, you better get used to … polishing the pearl. Look, part of being a girl is learning how to handle your sexuality. It can’t be ignored and if you try to ignore it, it affects your ability to pass as young woman. If you don’t embrace your sexuality, you’re never going to be able to pull this off.”

“Come on! Mothers everywhere are not telling there daughters to go get … you know or to … masturwhatever.

“No, they’re not, mostly because their friends are telling them. I told you that for girls this age, friends are more important than parents. What do you think girls talk about during sleepovers?”

“Obviously, I’ve got no idea. Why’s this so important?”

“You’re going into an environment where you need to be confidant, competent, maybe even commanding if you need to make a good impression on the right people. This will be a lot harder if you’re hiding from an important part of your personality. It’s no big deal. You’ve already said you did it as a man. Why have you been avoiding it?”

“You remember that first day of the transfer?”

“Yes.”

“You remember what happened when I just touched my breasts?”

“I don’t … no, yes I do. That won’t happen again, you hadn’t yet adapted to higher activity levels of your brain. You asked me if it was that way for all women and I told you it wasn’t.”

“What if it’s so good I don’t want to go back?”

“I don’t know where you’ve been getting your information, but sex is just sex, it’s different for women than men but it’s not better. We’ve all got the same brain chemistry, the same pleasure centers. Men may travel different roads than women but we both eventually get to the same place.”

“Well most men and women are similar, but I’m not exactly a normal woman, am I? My brain has three times the connections. What if sex is three times better?”

“I’d say lucky you.”

“I’m not joking! Something like that could be addictive.”

“Is food three times as tasty? Are smells three times as enticing?”

“No, but they are different. Everything is still sharper, brighter, more intense than before. Why wouldn’t it be the same for sex?”

“Maybe it is, so what? You’ll be giving up improved taste and smell when you go back to your old body any way. Good sex is just one more thing. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn something that sticks with you after the transfer.”

“I don’t know what to do … at least not exactly. I mean I’ve … touched myself … down there and … you know … checked things out. And it was fun and all but I don’t know much more than that.”

“I can help you, show you what to do.”

“When hell freezes over.”

“Fine. I was just making an offer. Frankly, I’d like to avoid another birds and the bees speech anyway. I’ve ordered some things online, including a DVD. It all arrived today. It’s up to you. I’ve got one final test for you.”

“What’s that?”

“The YWCA has a teen dance this weekend. You’re going. If you can make it through that, act like one of the girls, you should be ready. If you can’t, then we’ve only got two weeks left to get you ready and, frankly, I don’t know what else I could do in that two weeks.”

“How will you know if I succeed?”

“I volunteered to be a chaperon.”

“You don’t think that’ll cramp my style?”

“Probably, but that’s part of the test. What do you say?”

I give the dummy a swift kick in the cloth ribs. “Let me see what you bought.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Damn!

I was pretty sure I knew all about women and their … special places, but … damn! None of my wives ever complained about sex with me. They complained about a lot of other stuff but not sex. After watching that DVD … damn!

And all the stuff that mom bought. Vibrators, butt plugs, realistic soft plastic dildos, lotions, the works. There’s one at least twelve inches long and almost as wide as my wrist. There is no way in the world I’m ever going to use that one! It’d kill me just to try to get the tip in my … you know. She also bought this inflatable, round, flat top pillow type thing with a battery powered ten inch long vibrator attached to the middle, pointing straight up in the air, like a big, fat, pink plastic birthday candle on a giant pink plastic cake. That’s another bunch of wasted money. I wonder what Lipscomb’s gonna say when he gets that bill.

She’s probably right, I need to get past this. It’s not like I don’t enjoy sex, it’s just been awhile and I’ve never … been on the receiving end before. Since the transfer, I’ve done some touching and rubbing stuff, how could I not? But nothing inside me, at least not more than a couple of fingers a few times. I don’t even use tampons, just pads.

Probably, the easiest thing to do is just follow along with the DVD. The instructor, actress, who ever, said that I should get comfortable. Yeah, right, fat chance. She had a king size bed, silk sheets, a bunch of enormous pillows, scented candles and mood lights.

I’ve got a queen size bed, cotton sheets, three normal pillows and two sixty watt overhead bulbs. Very sexy. Oh, plus enough hardware to start my own sex shop.

The girl in the video was dressed in heels, stockings and a garter belt. She started with panties too but they didn’t stay on for very long. I don’t have any stockings or garter belts, though mom has been strongly suggesting it. Either way, I think I’ll just start out naked. And on Blue Thirty five.

Mom wanted my setting to be in the Pink numbers, she thought it would be easier for me to get into it. She’s likely right but I remember Patricia’s little show just before the transfer and I’m gonna be in as much control as I possibly can. That’s another reason I’ve been avoiding the subject. I don’t want to trigger some kind of kinky, hidden program of some kind and end up on my knees or back in front of some strange guy. I reeeaally don’t! We compromised on Blue Thirty five. I’m used to that setting and should be able to keep control.

I pull the cover down on my bed and place the pillows were I want them, one at the head and one on each side. The TV is turned so that I can easily see it and the mute is on. I’ve already watched the DVD once so I remember what it said, I just want it for the visuals this time. A couple of pieces of equipment are on the top of the bedside table, a small, beige, hard plastic vibrator, a larger, blue silicon dildo with a handle at the base, and an even larger pink silicon vibrator, about nine inches long.

Each of my wives had one of those little vibrators, they said it was for relaxing their muscles. Looks like mom was right about them. Never thought I’d be joining the sorority.

I strip out of my top, jeans, panty and bra, then climb up onto my bed, lie on my back, adjust the pillows and spread my legs a little, trying to relax. Unfortunately, the more I try to relax, the more nervous I become. Looking at the sex toys, I don’t even want to touch them, let alone sticking one into my … vagina.

Yes. My vagina. There, I said it. I have to admit that I’ve done as much as possible to ignore it as I could until now. I know I’ve got one, god knows the periods remind me. I’ve done the hygiene thing but it’s been more a case of what I didn’t have … a cock … than what I do have.

I really gave my cock a workout when I had one. Lot’s of sex, either with women or by myself. It was my favorite body part, by far. Even though it wasn’t in exactly great condition before the transfer, I still miss it and look forward to the day I get it back.

Now I’m supposed to test the organ I do have and I’m scared to do it. I close my eyes and breathe slowly. I can do this, women do this all the time … apparently. If they can, I can. Just take it slow and easy at first. Opening my eyes, I reach for the remote, turn on the TV and start the DVD.

She’s very good looking, very sexy. Nice hair, good smile, killer legs, great ass, but my boobs are bigger. My ass is just as nice too. The mute is on but I remember what she’s saying. She’s displaying some of the toys she’s going to be using and saying how important it is to keep them clean. I fast forward to where she gets down to business.

She’s on her back, legs sexily splayed out as the camera zooms towards her pussy. I try to match her pose. God … I feel so stupid!

She reaches out languidly with her right hand, removes a bottle of lubricant from the nightstand, flips the top open and squirts some onto the palm of her hand. Then she rubs the palms together and gently caresses her vulva with both hands, spreading the outer labia with her fingers and carefully lubricating the inner labia.

When I squeeze the bottle of lubricant, it shoots a stream across my breasts, hitting me in the left eye. As I reach up to wipe my eye clear, the bottle slips out of my hand and falls to the floor, spilling onto my jeans. After cleaning my eye with a tissue, I lean over the edge of my bed to check out the mess. Thank heavens the stuff is water soluble. This is not a good start.

I salvage what I can of the lubricant and coat my labia as best I can. It feels warm and slick … kinda nice. I keep rubbing the slick skin, edging towards my clit. Looking back to the TV, the girl has started the first demonstration, spreading the outer labia with the fingers of the left hand a slowly rubbing around the clitoris with the fingers of her right hand. She starts with smaller circles and short strokes but mixes in bigger circles and long strokes.

I try to match what she’s doing but I can’t get my small hands to follow hers. She’s got those long fingers and my fingers just won’t work the way hers do. It all feels good though, particularly when I touch my clit, that sends small shivers down my spine and causes my breath to catch. In fact, my breath is coming in short, quiet gasps as I continue to rub and stroke.

When I return my attention to the TV, the girl is concentrating more on the clitoris and the inner labia, stroking up and down, back and forth with her two middle fingers. This is nice too but I think I prefer the first style, the circles. I close my eyes and settle back into the pillows, trying to take deep breaths as I return to the small circles with three fingers, pressing on the clit’s hood. In a few minutes, I feel my clit swell and emerge from the hood like a tiny dick.

This is sooo cool! I can actually grasp it with two fingers, rolling and stroking it. The sensation is incredible! Not anything like jacking off. My pelvic muscles clench and release as I stroke it. If I consciously flex the pelvic muscles, the feelings intensify. My hips actually twitch in rhythm with the stroking and I hear myself softly moan between breaths.

I open my eyes and glance at the TV. She’s doing something with a vibrator but I don’t care, this is all too good. I stop pulling on my clit and return to rubbing in circles but, since it’s swollen, my clit is also being rubbed.

Ooohh yeeeaaah! That’s it, right there! Ohhhh my!

The pelvic muscles are clenching faster, squeezing my pussy with each cycle. I try to slow my breathing but they’re becoming more like out of control gasps.

“Uuuuummmmm Yeaah!” I squeal just as a muscle spasm shoots through my cunt. Another follows it and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. I don’t want mom to hear me. If she asks me what all the yelling was about, I’d just …

“Ooohhh My God!” a big spasm hits hard and I can’t help myself. I try to turn my head and bury it in a pillow but it’s too far away. Maybe I could …

“Uuuhhhhh Yess! Ohhh damn, Ohhhhhmmmmmmm!”

Fuck it! I cry out as the orgasm hits me, rolling through me like a wave, and then another wave, a third, a forth, and on and on. My muscles spasming out of control. I keep stroking my clit as my hips thrust harder. The girl on TV has got a vibrator of some kind stuffed deep into her pussy, looks like she’s having a lot of fun. Guess I’ll try that next.

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

I already have had breakfast and am sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper and nursing my last cup of coffee when I hear Patricia come down stairs. I think she was up late last night. I had a fan set on high in my room to mask the noises coming from upstairs. They went on for some time. I finally fell asleep around twelve thirty. I hadn’t heard anything from up there this morning until her shower started at about ten. Normally she’s down fairly quickly after the shower shuts off but today it’s been almost thirty minutes. I hear her walk into the kitchen but don’t turn away from the paper. Suddenly, her arms have reached around my neck from behind, giving me a big hug and she kisses my cheek!

“Good morning, Mom!’ she says brightly, kissing my cheek again and releasing me after a second hug. I’m almost afraid to look. I slowly drop the paper and turn towards her.

Instead of her normal jeans, top, and cross trainers she’s wearing a yellow sundress with sandals. Her hair is actually braided! A French braid of all things. She’s wearing just the right amount of makeup, plus both her nails and toenails are polished to match the dress, and I think I smell body spray lingering in the air from the last hug, something citrusy.

As she walks around the kitchen getting out the bowl, glass and silverware for her breakfast, I think I detect a subtle change in her movements. They are freer, more sway in the hips, smoother, more … sexy. Before, there was just the slightest hint that she was fighting her body, just a little clumsy, halting, everything not quite in sync. Unless she was exercising or fighting, then she was in total control. Not today though, today she was grace personified.

“Would you like some more coffee?” she asks sweetly.

“Uhh, no thanks, I’ve already had my two for the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for asking though.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.” She slides onto the chair, smoothing her dress as she does.

“Did you sleep well last night?” I ask.

She actually giggles a few seconds before answering. “Weeelll, what little sleep I got was good. It was the first time in weeks I didn’t have any nightmares! If masturbating keeps those nightmares away, order me a case of KY jelly and a gross of AA batteries.”

“So you …”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you enjoy …”

“Uh huh!”

“So … uh, how was it?”

“You remember how much I said I love watching the Super Bowl every year?”

“Yes.”

“How I’d get everything ready, invite people I knew, have all this booze and snacks, the whole nine yards?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Screw the Super Bowl.”

“Really?”

“Really, really and really.”

“Really?”

“Once this job is done, I’m taking a months vacation on Lipscomb’s dime before going back to my old body and I’m not leaving the hotel room. It’ll be nothing but room service, me and all those toys.”

“Sounds interesting. You know sex with the real thing is even better.”

“I’ll take your word for it; I can live with the plastic.”

“You never know until you try.”

“Then I’ll never know.”

“Seems a shame, someone as pretty as you.” She actually blushes. She’s never done that before. “That’s a new look for you, at least outside of the fitting room.”

“Yeah, about that. I just thought that I should be a little more willing to … ahhh, you know, get into the role a bit more. Not that I haven’t been up until now. It’s just that I realized that I might have been a teeny bit resistant to fully immersing myself in the total female experience.”

“A teeny bit?”

She holds up her right hand, thumb and index finger separated about half an inch. “Just a teeny bit.”

“I see … it was that good was it?”

She smiles, eyes bright, big dimples “Oh yeah, that good.”

“I’m happy for you, but if you had a boyfriend …”

“Don’t push it, mother.”

“Fine … we’ll just see how that goes in the future. For the present, we need to get you some school uniforms.”

“More shopping?”

She is trying to sound upset, but it’s an act. “Afraid so. By themselves, a uniform isn’t too much. White cotton blouse with collar, blue skirt, wool or wool blend, knee socks and saddle shoes. There’s also a skinny black necktie. The problem is that you’ll need several sets to avoid doing laundry every day.”

“Doesn’t sound very interesting.”

“It’s not supposed to be interesting, it’s a uniform. The objective is to keep competition between the students to a minimum. They don’t permit jewelry beyond religious necklaces and watches and absolutely minimum makeup.”

“What about underwear?”

“No rules about that, other than you have to wear it, top and bottom. There’s a shop that specializes in second hand school uniforms, I thought that we’d start there.”

“Let me finish breakfast first. Seems that I’ve worked up an appetite some how.”

“I know, I heard. Hurry up, we need to get to Dr. Matthews today for a checkup too.”

She suddenly tenses up. “Is Lipscomb going to be there?”

“I don’t think so. Thomas said he was in some kind of hearing.” She relaxes and starts eating her cereal. That’s not the first time Daniel’s name has put her on edge. I need to remember to ask her about it later. For now, I think I’ve exhausted my daily quota of motherly questions.

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

“You said that these uniforms were supposed to make everybody look alike. You didn’t say they were supposed to make everybody look ugly.”

Patricia is dressed in the official St. Ann’s uniform, standing in front of me, arms spread wide. She’s right, it is quite ugly, though her problem is that it is also too big for her.

“You don’t look ugly Patricia. It’s not very becoming certainly.”

“A potato sack would look better.”

Much better. “Don’t be so judgmental. We just need to find you something in the right size.”

“It’s not the size, it’s the cut. Even if it was the right size, the whole uniform is designed to hide the fact that I’m a girl … other than the skirt of course.”

“Of course. I’m surprised you’re not happy about the bagginess of the pieces. You should like that they are … nondescript.”

“Ugly, mother.”

I can’t deny it any longer. “Fine, yes, they are ugly, but they are equally ugly for everyone, so no problems.”

“If I was one of them, I’d have gone on strike, boycotted or done something to get some decent clothes.”

“You would have? YOU?”

“Weelll … yeah! Would you look at this blouse, it’s a disaster!”

“It’s a size too big, when we find …”

“It’s the smallest one here, everything I’m wearing is, but it’s all too big!”

She’s right, though the socks and shoe’s fit, we bought them new. “We can take care of that. You’re really good with that sewing machine of yours. You can alter them until they fit you just so.”

“I guess. If I take the skirt in here and I reduce …”

She suddenly goes quiet, rubbing the collar of the blouse between her fingers. After a moment, a grin creeps across her face, then blossoms into a full smile.

“That’s it! It’s perfect! I should have thought of it myself! Mom, you’re a genius!”

“Of course I am … but how exactly did I display my genius this time?”

“Shut up. I’ll need … seven complete sets. Don’t worry about the sizes, as long as they’re within two of being correct.”

“What about condition?”

“As long as it’s decent, I should be fine.”

“What’s you’re plan?”

“You’ll see.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

They came into the office together, laughing. I’d never heard either of them laugh ever before. Jessica’s was a deeper, throaty kind of laugh, one that spoke of experience, both good and bad. Patricia’s was more difficult to describe. It was high and clear, like bells ringing. She might have a lovely singing voice, but there was more there than just the tone, you could hear the emotions behind it; joy, freedom, exuberance. It was the kind of laugh that would lighten your day if you heard it, it was practically contagious.

“Well ladies, you both appear to be in a good mood today. Is there a reason?”

“Yes,” said Jessica. “We’ve made quite a bit of progress towards getting Patricia ready for St. Ann’s.”

“And I may have found a solution to my nightmare problem” added Patricia.

“Indeed! What did it?”

“I, uuhhh, can’t be sure it actually worked. It was only one time.”

“I would recommend regular and frequent testing of the supposed solution until you have sufficient data.”

She laughs again, that entrancing laugh. “You heard him Mom, doctor’s orders.”

“I heard him, honey.” They both laugh, sharing a private joke that I have apparently inadvertently stumbled into.

“Daniel will be glad to hear everything is going so well,” I say.

Patricia’s good mood immediately evaporates. Jessica notices it also.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks.

“No … no, nothing. We’ve got a lot get done today so we better get started. What do you need me to do Dr. Matthews?”

“The usual, disrobe and put on the paper gown.”

She pulls her arms up, tight against the sides of her chest. “Is that really necessary? I mean, nothing you’ve done before couldn’t have been done if I was in this dress.”

I hadn’t noticed, she was wearing a dress, a lovely yellow one. In all her prior examinations, it was jeans or shorts and some kind of top. And she had never shown any signs of modesty before. Obviously, there have been some changes since the last exam. “If you don’t want to wear the gown, that’s fine. It may be tradition more than anything else. It also limits contamination of any samples taken. If you are uncomfortable, you may remain dressed as you are.”

She smiles and relaxes. “Thanks. Do you want me on the table?”

“Yes, please.”

She quickly jumps up onto the table and settles back into the raised portion, which is at a sixty degree angle to the base. I swing the helmet over to her head and lower it. Someone has braided her hair. It is very attractive but makes fitting the helmet a bit difficult, though it should not interfere with the readings. I also attach the blood pressure cup, then switch on the helmet’s monitors. “Alright, have there been any changes since the last exam?” I inquire.

“No … not really, nothing important.”

“Patricia, tell Thomas the truth.”

“It’s not important, mother” she hisses.

“Yes it is. Patricia had her first orgasms yesterday.”

“MOTHER! Why don’t you put an add in the paper!”

“He needs to know honey, this is a big step.”

“I know … but … can’t we keep it between, you know, just us?”

There is that modesty again. Before, Harris had had no problem discussing his sexual history. Now Patricia is reluctant to even consider the subject. Something major is happening.

“I need to do some additional testing and speak with each of you privately, but first, I need a blood sample.”

“Is all this really necessary? It wasn’t a big deal, just a little … .” She stops talking.

“A little what?” I ask her.

“You know … you’re alone. At night. In bed.” She looks at me expectantly but I say nothing. “You know … alone … no pants.” I still don’t respond. “Oh come on! You’re a guy!”

“Are you referring to masturbation?”

Patricia immediately puts a finger to her nose.

“Yes, it is necessary” I say.

“Darn it!”

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

I have Jessica wait in the outer office, I want to speak with Patricia first. “It is vitally important that you tell me the complete truth Patricia. Apparently, there have been some recent … occurrences that you feel embarrassed to discuss with or in front of me. I need to know everything! The most minor detail could be of vital importance. I am not asking because I get some kind of sexual thrill from the answers. I am a scientist and this is my life’s work. You are a part of the greatest experiment in the history of neuro science. I have theories but they are just that, theories. The facts may or may not support them. These theories predict certain things, but they could be wrong. So far, they appear to be correct but I am not conceited enough to believe that I cannot be wrong. For your own safety, you need to tell me the truth. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. I want to know how you are feeling and don’t say ‘fine’ even if you are. I want you to verbalize as best as possible what is going on in your mind.”

“You mean every single thought?”

“No, I mean the process, how are you integrating your thoughts with those of the Constructs?”

“Haven’t called it that in some time.”

“If you are Patricia, what is it?”

“We are Patricia, I’m still Peter Harris, at least when the setting is Blue Fifty. Even at Blue Fifty, I can feel … the Construct, if that’s what you call it.”

“I do. Go on.”

“I decide what we do and how we do it, at least at every setting except Pink Fifty.”

“How often have you been at Pink Fifty?”

“Just once.”

“What’s the closest you’ve been to Pink Fifty since then?”

“Uhh Pink Thirty five, I think, but that was weeks ago. Normally Mom has me in the low Blue or Pink numbers most of the day, except for one hour before bed and all night, then I’m Blue Fifty.”

“So, what happens during the day?”

“Like I said, I’m in charge; we do and say what I want. It’s like … like a movie with subtitles. All the time, no matter what I’m doing, in the background there’s subtitles, though, instead of being a foreign language, it’s the Construct, with duplicate dialog or suggested behaviors. I can do what I want or take the suggestion but it’s my choice.”

“Why would you ever choose what the Construct is suggesting?”

“Sometimes it’s better. If I’m arguing with Mom, I may say something really mean or say something not so mean. The not so mean could be better so I say it instead.”

“That is a lot to consider. Every word, every action, being reviewed and cross-examined. How do you keep everything straight?”

“It didn’t start out that way. In the beginning, it was just a general feeling that maybe I ought to do something other than what I was doing. The start of the subtitles was … I don’t remember exactly when they started, but it was gradual. I’m used to it now.”

“How does what you want to do vary from what the Construct wants to do?”

“It doesn’t, like I said, I’m in charge.”

“Then how do the subtitles differ from your choices?”

She shrugs. “Usually they’re just nicer. I didn’t care much about other people’s feelings before all this. The subtitles usually show a nicer, better way to do or say something. It’s nothing big, just a different way to do the same thing.”

“So what makes you chose one way or the other?”

“That’s easy, which ever one makes me feel better.”

“Isn’t that a little … selfish?”

She shrugs again. “Maybe, but it seems to be working. Mom and I are getting along a lot better now than before.”

“And how is it different at the higher Pink settings?”

“About the same, the subtitles are just … louder I guess, harder to ignore. I can still make the choice, it’s just harder to do something other than what the subtitle says. At Pink Thirty five, it was practically impossible, though I think I’ve gotten stronger since then.”

“Stronger?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a lot of practice at the lower settings since then. Maybe we should try the higher settings again?”

“Uummm that may not be a bad idea, if only for a brief time. You might want to wait and do that after I’m finished with this series of tests.”

“Series? Is something wrong?”

“No. As you say, everything seems to be going well; I am just not sure why it is going so well.”

“Why look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“You are the first person to ever walk this road. We need to document everything, to create a map for the next person who might come after you. It’s what we scientists do. Nothing to worry about.” I open a drawer to my desk and remove a small electronic device. “I would like you to wear this for the next two days. It is a recorder of neurological activity. It will record your brain activity for me to review so that I can see how it cycles throughout the day.”

“How’s it different from what you do in the lab?”

“In the lab, I can only get a snap shot, a very detailed snap shot but the lab is not a real life situation. With the recorder, I get a movie instead of a snap shot. The movie is not as detailed but I can focus on just one or two activities and make reasonably accurate suppositions about the rest.”

She takes it from my hand and inspects it. “How does it attach? I don’t see any sensor pads or anything.”

“There aren’t any, they are built into you. There is a tiny data port on your hip that looks like a freckle. The recorder plugs in there with a very fine wire. The recorder itself can strap around your waist. I realize that it won’t be very comfortable but the data is extremely important. Will you do this for me?”

“In for a penny.”

“So … yes?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Thank you Patricia, I am quite grateful. I will show you how to attach the recorder after I have spoken with Jessica. Would you please ask her to come in?”

“Sure Doctor Matthews. You think everything is okay though, right?”

“I have no reason to think otherwise Patricia.”

She smiles brightly. “Great! I’ll go get Mom.” She smoothly rises from her chair and strides from the room.

I must be spending too much time with Daniel Lipscomb. Lying is becoming easier to do.

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

I was relived that Patricia seemed so happy when she was finished with Thomas’ interview. I’m certain that he would have given her any bad news if there was bad news, though he would have likely brought me into the room before doing so, I am her mother after all. Obviously not her real mother, more of an adoptive mother. He is typing some notes on his computer when I enter.

“Have a seat Jessica, I’ll be right with you.”

I sit down and he continues to type for a minute or so. I try to catch a look at the screen without being too blatant about it but the angle is wrong. He finishes up then looks up at me, smiling.

“I had a very interesting conversation with Patricia, very interesting. She has agreed to wear a recording device for two days so that I can have a continuous record of certain neural functions. It won’t be comfortable for her but the discomfort is temporary and the data will be invaluable.”

That doesn’t sound good. “Is there a problem of some kind?”

He smiles again, though it appears a little forced. “I have no evidence of any problems.”

“But you suspect something.”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘suspect’. I get concerned when things happen that I can’t explain. Patricia believes that everything is going well. Do you agree?”

“Yes. Yes I do. We had a rough start, which is hardly surprising, given what we are attempting to do. But things have settled down and we are getting along much better. Patricia has made absolutely remarkable progress, though she has had limited contact with large groups of teenagers. I plan to have a test this weekend to see how she performs in that kind of environment.”

“What kind of test?”

“The local YWCA has a teen dance scheduled for Saturday. We’ll attend and I’ll see how she does.”

“How will you get in?”

“Volunteer chaperone.”

“Ahhh yes. Quite clever.”

“Thank you.”

“How do you think she will do?”

“I’m confident she’ll do very well. Getting her to accept her sexuality was the last major hurdle. Just today, there has been a dramatic improvement in her attitude. It may not last though, teenagers are so volatile.”

“But Patricia isn’t really a teenager, she just looks like one.”

“Because she is a teenager. Her hormones, her reproductive system, her endocrine system, all that of a teenage girl.”

“And her mind?”

“Clearly not, at least not exactly, but I believe that my training techniques have helped Patricia understand how teenagers think and behave.”

“What training technique is that?”

I edge closer to Thomas’ desk and lower my voice. “I found things that Patricia enjoyed or wanted and subtly linked them to appropriate behavior.”

“Such as?”

“She was concerned about her sudden reduction in height. I used that desire to be taller and directed her towards high heeled shoes. She handles them very well, better than me actually. In fact, she’s wearing a pair of heeled boots to the dance Saturday and it was her choice.”

“Her choice?”

“I didn’t make the first suggestion!”

“Interesting. You believe that it is this technique which brought about these changes in her attitude and behavior?”

“I certainly do.”

“Have you discussed it with her?”

“Heavens no! If she became aware of it, it would defeat the whole program! You won’t tell her, will you?”

“No, mums the word.”

“Thank you. What was most interesting was that once one breakthrough was achieved, it was easier to make others. I believe that once a connection was made between Peter Harris and Patricia on a given subject, other similar connections were easier to make, like they traveled the same path or a similar path. The biology is not my area of expertise.”

“That is an interesting observation. I will need to give it some thought. I may need to modify some of my testing to look for groups of connections. You don’t object if I attempt to confirm how the current success was achieved?”

“Not at all! As long as Patricia is willing to cooperate.”

“She said that we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

That makes me chuckle. “It sounds exactly like something she would say. I’ve not seen a lot of introspection from that girl; hopefully, she’ll grow into it.”

“When would she grow into it?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is a short term project. Once Patricia obtains the necessary information from Raymond Hobbes, we are done. Peter Harris returns to his body and we all go our separate ways.”

“What happens to Patricia?”

“You mean the Construct?”

“Yes, yes, what ever you want to call her.”

“She will likely return to her prior state of limited consciousness. I would hope to find volunteers willing to be transferred to further my experiments.”

“And Patricia, her personality?”

“Would disappear, to be replaced by someone different with each new transfer.”

I had forgotten about that. In all my preparation and planning, I had forgotten that, if we are successful, Patricia … dies.

Severance Pay (Chapters 13 through 18 0f 78)

Author:

Meps98

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Jessica puts Patricia to the test, as does Sister Carmela of St. Ann's. Patricia returns the favor and makes initial contact with her target, Gretchen Hobbes. Themes and Elements listed apply to entire story, Rating applies to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly for editing assistance.

SEVERANCE PAY
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Patricia! We need to be leaving in the next ten minutes! I have to be there early so they can explain my duties.”

This is the third time I’ve shouted upstairs in an attempt to get her moving. She practically kicked me out of her room, insisting that she would do everything herself. I tried to explain to her how she could benefit from my years of experience but she assured me that she could handle it, this being a test of her abilities. I reluctantly agreed. Now, I’m questioning that decision. We would be on time if I had stayed with her.

“PATRICIA!”

“I”LL BE DOWN IN FIVE MINUTES!”

Well, at least she answered this time.

She has been very busy the last two days, reworking her school uniforms. She made at least four trips to the fabric store for supplies. Again, she won’t let me see what she’s doing, says that she wants it to be a surprise and that I should trust her, that she’s the expert here and that’s why we hired her. I tried to argue but she was adamant. Polite, but adamant.

Unfortunately, her nightmares returned, despite her nightly sessions with the therapy toy collection. We call it therapy due to Thomas’ suggestion at our last meeting, we both still get a laugh out of that. With any luck, he may be able to figure something out when he analyzes the data from the recorder I dropped off today at his office.

It was a little strange inserting that wire into Patricia’s faux freckle. It was another reminder of her eventual death. I teared up a little when I did it and she asked me what the problem was. I said it was nothing, just tired. She told me that I should get some rest and she’d try to do more around the house to help, with all she already has to do. The changes in her since we started this are almost beyond belief. I didn’t realize how fond I had grown of her until I began to think about life without her.

But right now, she’s starting to make me … I hear her door close and her boots on the upstairs floor. Just then, she appears at the top of the stairs.

She’s chosen her gray sweater mini dress with the flounce hem and the U neckline. It shows off her breasts but not too much, just enough to let the boys know that there’s more to see. She’s not wearing hose of any kind, just going with bare legs. If she plans on energetic dancing, that’s probably a good idea. When Robert and I went dancing and I wore hose, things often got a little uncomfortable. From this distance, her makeup is perfect. Not over done at all and highlights her best features; her beautiful eyes and that radiant smile. She’s let her hair down, reaching below her shoulders but swept back away from her ears, held in place with a couple of silver barrettes which match her silver dangling earrings.

We found those at a thrift shop, black with tarnish, and cleaned them up after supper two weeks ago … She can’t die! I won’t let her! But what about Peter Harris? It’s his life too. I start to cry again and Patricia races down the stairs, stopping on the step above me so that we are nearly eye to eye.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I reach out and gently touch her cheek. “You are very beautiful, you know that?”

She averts her eyes. “You’re my mom; you’re supposed to say stuff like that.”

“Mother or not, you are beautiful and don’t you let anyone say otherwise.”

She takes my hand in both of hers. “Thanks. We better get going.”

I wipe my eyes with my free hand. “You’re right. Have you got your purse?”

“By the front door.”

“Any condoms?”

“MOTHER!”

“Just checking.”

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

The dance is going to be in the main gym, where the basketball court is. We’re way early, like almost an hour, so I’ve got time to kill. I’ll admit that I’m nervous about this. Mom refuses to tell me what she expects me to do, just be yourself she says. What the heck does that mean? I don’t even know who I am anymore. Dressed in this hot outfit. Schtuping myself every night with those wonderful toys. I’m a sixty year old man for heavens sake! My birthday was last week and even I forgot about it until today. If I’d have mentioned it, she’d probably have bought me another sex toy … though there is this one I saw online that actually thrusts up and down by itself. That could be fun.

I slowly stroll around the gym, checking it out. They’ve got a portable stage set up at one end. It’s not very big, just about a hundred fifty square feet and two feet high. Big enough for the equipment already set up but the singer better not do a lot of jumping around or he’ll end up falling. There’s a bunch of big, double doors along one wall. I check the handles and they’re all locked except one. I open it and look in. It’s mostly empty, probably where they store the stage when not in use. There’s a bunch of basketballs in a mesh bag. I’d shoot around if they hadn’t already cranked the hoops up for the dance. I pull one from the bag and start to dribble as I walk around the floor.

I never was a ball handler when I played. In high school, I was on an intramural team. If I could dribble twenty times without booting it, that would have been a record for me. I just did the dirty work and was the enforcer if someone tried to rough up one of my guys. Now though, the ball feels really good in my hand, small as it is. I switch to my left hand and keep dribbling. Just the same. I’m ambidextrous! Why didn’t I find that out sooner? Picking up the pace a little, I try a few between the legs and some hesitation dribbles. Smooth as glass. Will wonders never cease. I don’t want to hurt the floor with my boots so I stop and head for the closet to return the ball. I hear someone slowly clapping, the sound echoing through the gym. I look around, there’s someone standing on the second level landing, watching me. It’s Coach Tobey!

I wave at him. He waves back and starts down the steps to the main floor. When he gets close, I give him a bounce pass with reverse English so that it pops up in front of him.

“Whoa! Nice pass Da’Pee. I’d ask you where you learned all those moves but you’d probably say you picked it up here and there.” He passes the ball back to me, a chest pass.

“Try me.” I pass it back to him.

“Okay. Where’d you learn all those move?” Ball back to me.

“Oh, picked them up here and there.” I throw another bounce pass out of his reach to the left but the spin brings it right back to him. He catches it.

“Smart ass … ‘scuse my French.”

“What you doing here, Coach?”

“I’m one of the chaperones. In the past, some of my boys caused a bit of trouble at one of these shindigs so I decided to be here, make sure they all behaved like gentleman instead of a bunch of shitheads … ‘scuse my French. Haven’t missed one since. They serve a mean ice cream punch.”

“Straight or over the rocks?”

“Completely straight. No one spikes anything. Anybody tries it and they’re out on their ass. We run a clean show here, no funny business. That way, tender flowers of femininity such as yourself can feel safe and secure.”

He’s a cute old guy. “Thanks Coach, but I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t I know it! If there’s trouble tonight, I’m hiding behind you.”

“There’s not much to hide behind.”

“Just as long as you’re between me and whoever is stupid enough to try something. Show doesn’t start for almost forty five minutes, why you here so early?”

“My mom’s also a chaperone.”

“Oh, so she’s here to watch out for her beautiful daughter’s safety too?”

“Bull shit … ‘scuse my French.”

He laughs loudly, the sound magnified by the echoes in the gym. “Well, I better get to the meeting Da’Pee. Already late. Be seeing you tonight.” He starts to walk away but I call out to him.

“Coach, any of the team showing up tonight?”

“Most of them, I think, though if they knew you were coming, it’d be all of them. You made quite an impression.”

“Is ahhh … Spikeman coming?”

He smiles at me, then winks. “Never misses one.”

Good. At least I’ll have one person to talk to.

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

There’s at least ten people at this meeting, split equally between men and women. I thought that I’d be one of no more than four chaperones. Seems to be overkill to have this many. A middle-age woman enters the room and steps to the front. Everybody else sits down on the folding chairs scattered around the small room, so I did the same.

“Hello everyone, I’m Martha Zendahas, director of youth activities. The Y would like to thank you all for volunteering today. I see mostly familiar faces so I can keep this brief. We are here to prevent trouble, not to prevent the children from having fun. Everyone in this room is a parent or has been a parent so you know the difference. I expect to have the usual mix of ninety nine percent good kids and one percent trouble makers, most of whom you already know from prior dances. I am aware that it would be easier to just keep the bad element out but part of our goals is to help turn those kids around, we want then to use the Y as much as possible, unless they abuse the privilege, then we will escort them out.”

Just then, another person enters the room, a man. Several people quickly waved at him, nodded towards him or quietly saying “hello”. He acknowledged their greeting with a smile and a responding wiggle of the fingers on his right hand. He scans the room and sits down in the empty chair next to me, then leans towards me.

“How you doing, Ms. Connor?” he whispers.

How does he know me? He is familiar but I … oh, he’s the coach of that fight team that Patricia worked out with.

“I’m fine, how are you Coach … Tobias is it?” I whisper back.

“Yes ma’am, but everybody calls me Tobey. I’d be pleased if you did too.”

“I see that Coach Tobey has joined us again” said Zendahas. “If you have any questions or you think you’ve spotted a potential problem and you can’t find me, find Coach Tobey. He’s been doing this longer than I have. If he doesn’t have the answer, then no one does.” A wave of quiet chuckles rolls through the room. “If no one has any questions, you can each take your normal posts, Jeff and Judy at the doors, Frank and Thelma at the refreshment table, the rest with Coach Tobey as floaters.”

I raise my hand. “Excuse me, but this is my first time as a chaperone. I’m afraid that I don’t know any of the normal routines.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ms. Connor” said the Coach. “You hang with me for awhile and I’ll show you the ropes. That okay, Martha?”

“Fine with me Coach. You couldn’t have a better guide Ms. …”

“She’s Jessica Conner and her beautiful daughter is Patricia,” said Coach Tobey. “But you may know her better as the famous Da’Pee!”

“So, she’s back! That’s one girl I want to meet! You must be very proud of her Ms. Connor.”

“Uhhh certainly. Every mother is proud of their daughter … or son.”

Several other people come over to me, introducing themselves and asking to meet Patricia. As everyone begins to leave the room for their assignments, I pull Coach Tobey aside.

“What was that all about?”

“Your daughter’s pretty famous around here. The way she ripped my guys up, that gets talked about. If a boy had done that, he’d be cock of the walk, but a girl … that’s unheard of! Some people didn’t believe it actually happened and frankly, I don’t blame them. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it either. Too fucking amazing … pardon my French, ma’am.”

“It’s Jessica, and you’re pardoned.”

“Thank you, Jessica. That little girl of yours is something else. When I came into the gym just now, she was dribbling a basketball, doing a kinda Harlem Globetrotter thing, in boots no less. She threw me a couple of passes that almost had me diving the wrong way, then the ball bounces right to me, easy as you please. She’s a natural athlete if I’ve ever seen one. Too bad she’s so short.”

I’m a little insulted. “What does her height have to do with anything? I believe she does quite well as she is.”

“No doubt Jessica, no doubt about that at all.” He takes my arm and we walk out the door towards the gym. “If she was just three or four inches taller, she’d have college scouts all over her. As it is, she’s more of a … now don’t take this the wrong way, promise?”

“I promise, she’s more of a what?”

“A curiosity.”

“How do you mean?”

“A kinda freak of nature, not in a bad way you understand, she’s just hard to pigeon hole.”

“I think she’d be very happy to hear you say that Coach Tobey.”

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

I’ve been hanging around the stage, checking out the equipment. I recognize everything and I’m pretty sure I know how to play both lead and rhythm guitar, though I’ve never touched one in my life. I could also handle the keyboard … but some how a piano seems more familiar. I wonder if there’s one around here.

I hear voices, male voices, approaching from down the hall. Sounds like a group of several boys, laughing and joking as they get closer to the gym. I hastily check my makeup as best I can in my reflection in the chrome of a nearby amp, then straighten up as they enter the gym at the far end.

It’s the guys from mixed martial arts team! I recognize Javier, Crunk, and Joey. A couple more guys trail in. There’s Cruz … and Spikeman. I start to run toward them but stop after a couple of steps. Gotta be cool about this, don’t want to seem anxious or needy. Dropping down to a slightly slower than normal gait, I drive my heel into the wooden floor with each step, making sure that there’s a sharp, loud click each time my foot hits the surface. The hem of my dress also bounces with each stride.

When I start walking towards them, the guys are all talking among themselves but by the time I reach midcourt, they’ve stopped talking and are all watching me … intently, some a little hungrily. I slow up just a bit more, drawing out the moment. Just the simple act of walking and I’ve got the full attention of every one of these testosterone charged boys. There’s a feeling of power … and control.

Is this how women feel all the time? It’s intoxicating! I’m trying to look all haughty and distant but the closer I get to them, the more I want to smile. This is so darn cool!

Cruz is closest to me, so I fix my gaze on him and slow down a tiny bit more until I’m just about four feet away, then I stop, one booted foot in front of the other, front knee slightly bent, back knee locked, hands on hips, chest out, chin forward, head cocked slightly to the side. None of them recognize me.

He glances back at the rest of the guys and they subtly encourage him to say something, tipping their heads towards him, making little motions with their hands. He turns back towards me, making slight adjustments in his posture, trying to appear more suave; squaring his shoulders, sticking out his chest a bit more, letting his arms hang a little looser. Stepping forward, he tries to stretch up a bit, to seem taller, which is hardly necessary, since I’m only five feet tall, though it’s closer to five five in these boots.

“Can I help you … baby?” he asks, doing his best Barry White impersonation. It’s all I can do to keep a straight face.

“No, there’s nothing you can … Oh wait, yes! There is something I desperately need. Could you answer one little question for me?” I take a step closer, sliding forward.

“Baby, anything for you.” Some of the guys behind him are stifling laughs. He’s looking down at me, eyes locked on my cleavage.

I reach out with my left hand and lightly touch his chest with the tips of four fingers. “That’s so nice of you … could you tell me how your arm is?”

He straightens up a little but I keep my hand on his chest. “My arm? What about my arm?”

“Oh … I was just wondering how it was … since I bent it sooo badly the last time we met.”

He pulls away from me about a foot. “What you talking … who the hell are …” I step back and take a defensive stance, crouched, fists closed and protecting my face, elbows in. He looks at me like I’m nuts. One of the guys in the back figures it out.

“Hey! It’s Da’Pee!

I straighten back up, laughing my behind off. “Gotcha that time, Cruz!”

He looks at me, stunned. “Noooo, it can’t be … but you look so … nooo … is it?”

I do a slight curtsey. “The one and only. How is that arm? I was worried that I’d damaged a ligament or something.”

He rubs his right elbow idly; the look on his face says he still isn’t certain it’s me. “Fine, hurt like hell the next day though.”

“I can imagine, sorry about that, got a little carried away.”

They all swarm around me, laughing and slapping hands. A couple got in Cruz’s face, imitating his pickup line.

“Can I help you … Baby?”

“Yeah, yeah. Can I help you … BABY! Good job Cruz!”

He’s looking pretty embarrassed, so I stand next to him. “Hey, I didn’t see any of you other guys step up and take a shot. It was a good line, just the wrong person. It takes a brave man to try that, particularly in front of his friends.”

“Thanks Pee” he says.

“You’re welcome Cruz, … though I wouldn’t do that Barry White thing, too creepy.” They all laugh again, even Cruz. I think we’re all okay.

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

She had them eating out of the palm of her hand.

When she started to strut towards those boys, I was about to shout to her but Coach stopped me. “I want to see what happens” he whispered, so we both stood just outside of the doorway and watched.

I was stunned. When she reached out and touched that boys’ chest, it was just the perfect move … a move that I wouldn’t have thought of in a million years. Where did that come from? It wasn’t part of my programming and it was much too natural for Thomas to have done on his own.

“She’s a confident one, isn’t she?” said Coach.

“Apparently so.”

He looks over at me. “Never seen her like this before, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Sometimes it’s good to see your kid in a different environment, particularly when they don’t know you’re around. I’d say she handled them pretty well. Liked the way she brought Cruz back into the group.”

“That was … very skillful.”

He steps through the doorway into the gym. “Well, time to break up this little confab.” He starts to loudly clap his hands together and whistles.

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

Everyone turns to look at whoever is making all that noise. It’s Coach Tobey … and my mom. I wonder how long she’s been there.

“What’s the Coach want?” I ask.

“We’re supposed to be setting up for the dance” said Javier. “Coach ‘volunteers’ us every time they have one, says it’s our community service. We cover this half of the court with big tarps to protect it and then setup a bunch of tables and chairs. The other half we leave open for dancing.”

“Does anybody actually dance?”

“Lot’s of people” said Crunk. “We got a reputation for being pretty light on our feet, everyone except Javier.”

“Hey, I do okay” Javier shot back.

“For an elephant” Crunk replied.

“Well maybe I’ll have to give you both a try” I said.

They both nodded and smiled. “That’s cool.”

The guys all headed for the big doors on the East side of the gym, the ones I had tried earlier but were locked. I followed behind them until someone grabbed my shoulder.

“Where you going?” It was Spikeman.

“I’m just gonna help.”

“YOU can’t help!”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re … ah … uhhh… .”

“A GIRL?”

“NO … no, you’re not a girl.”

“I’m NOT a girl?”

“NO … I mean yes, you’re a girl. I’m not stupid!”

“Couldn’t prove it by me. So you’re saying GIRLS can’t do this kind of thing.”

“NO! I didn’t say that. I meant you couldn’t do this because … uhhh …”

“Uhh what?”

“These tarps, they’re old and dirty, dusty. We have to clean up after moving them. You’re too … beautiful.”

“ERIC! Get your damn ass over here!” Coach shouted. “Pardon my French, ladies.”

Spikeman shrugged. “Sorry, gotta go!” then he turned and ran off to join the rest of the guys.

So, it’s Eric Spikeman, that’s a nice name. And he thinks I’m beautiful.

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

The boys seem to know what they are doing. Coach Tobey doesn’t have to give many directions at all. After the tarps are laid in place, they start running back and forth from the storage area, carrying tables and folding chairs. The Coach wanders back to stand next to me.

“Your team is well trained Coach. They seem to have everything well in hand.”

“It’s not me Jessica, it’s her.” He points to Patricia, who is standing on the fringe of the activity, watching the boys hurry by. “They’re putting on a show for your daughter. Never seen ‘em move this fast before. We’ll be done in record time. I think some of them want a little extra time to get cleaned up for the dance, if you know what I mean.”

“I see. What band is playing tonight?”

“I saw the poster but, frankly I forget, they’re all the same to me. One dance is a rap act, the next rock. This dance is rock, which is usually an easier crowd to handle, plus they dance more, if you call it dancing. That’s one of the things we have to watch for, dirty dancing. Martha will let some stuff slide, more than I would, but she will eventually put her foot down. Most of the kids are regulars and they know where the lines are but …”

“But they’re kids, so they are constantly pushing those lines.”

“Bingo. The way Patricia acts, you must know something about raising kids.”

“Not as much as you might think. I’m lucky she turned out so well. This is a kind of coming out party for her, introducing her to people her own age.”

“Well, just having her around helps my guys.”

“How do you mean?”

“A lot of the cultures around here don’t show much respect to women. In many families, they’re almost second class citizens. Here comes this pretty little girl, someone feminine as all get out, and she beats them at their own game, a damn macho game at that. And she didn’t beat just one or two, she beat them all. No one could call the other guy a pussy for getting beaten by a girl, they all took it on the chin. They have to respect that.”

“Interesting. Wouldn’t you be afraid that there might be some … competition among them, fighting for her undivided attention, if you will.”

“You mean they might fight to hit on her?”

“More succinctly put, but yes.”

“Not likely. No boy wants to date a woman who can beat him up, no matter how hot she is, at least a normal boy; there is the occasional kinky one.”

“Kinky ones aside, that isn’t a very open attitude. It seems to doom my daughter to spinsterhood.”

“That’s the way it is, at least when they’re this age. She’ll be okay when they all get older. Or she may find that one of those kinky ones is a nice guy over all. I’m not one to judge, got enough trouble keeping my own house in order.”

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

It doesn’t take very long for the guys to set everything up, they’re a pretty organized bunch. Eric was right, it was a kinda dirty job. They all head towards the locker room to clean up but Joey shouts to me as he leaves.

“DA’Pee!”

“What?!”

“Hold that big table up near the front for us until we get back!”

I look where he’s pointing. It’s a big oblong table, looks like it seats at least twenty. “Isn’t it too big?”

“Naw, some of us got girlfriends!” He waves and is out the door.

Girlfriends! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Idiot! Eric’s bound to have a girlfriend, someone as nice as him. There goes my evening.

They left the doors to the storage area open, so I peek inside to check it out. There’s a piano off in the corner. I make sure no one is looking, then slip inside, closing the door. It’s a baby grand, in good shape too. I lift the cover to the keyboard and lightly run my hand across the keys. Sounds like it’s in tune, wonder what they use it for. I don’t see any bench but it’s a little dark in here. It’s really a strange feeling, touching those keys. I know how to play it, like a piano is an old friend, but I also know that I’ve never played a piano before in my life, other than “Chopsticks”. It’s confusing. Looking around for the bench, I’m interrupted by Mom calling my name. I stick my head out the door and she sees me.

”There you are! What were you doing in that room?”

“Nothing.” The typical guilty reply of a teenager.

“Come over here. There are some people I’d like you to meet.”

Glancing back at the piano, I reluctantly shut the door and walk over to where Mom and a couple other adults are waiting. When I get close, she reaches out, puts her arm across my shoulder and turns me to face them.

“Patricia, this is Jeff and Judy Lassiter and this is Frank and Thelma Wilkins.” I shake their hands and say hello. “And this is Martha Zendahas, head of Youth Programming for the Y. She particularly wanted to meet you.” I offer her my hand and she grabs it, shaking it vigorously.

“Very happy to finally meet you Patricia. I wasn’t lucky enough to see you in action against Coach Tobey’s boys but I’ve heard all about it! You’re the talk of the building. One little girl, beating all of those boys. And so easily!”

She’s still shaking my hand. That little indulgence against the guy’s team may be more trouble than it was worth. All I need is to get some kind of reputation and then have a bunch of meatheads come around to challenge me. The guys are pretty cool but not every boy would have handled it so well. Probably Coach Tobey’s influence.

“They probably are exaggerating things Ms. Zendahas. I wasn’t all that great. I’m not that little either, I’m over five feet tall.”

She looks me up and down, like she doesn’t believe it, then smiles and releases my hand. “You could be right, stories do seem to grow in the retelling, regardless, a remarkable performance. Maybe we will get a chance for a repeat some day?”

“I don’t know. School will be starting soon and I’ll probably be very busy …”

“We hope to have her attend St. Ann’s” says Mom. “The enrollment test and interview are next week. We have our fingers crossed.”

“That’s a very good school, not much of an athletic program though. Their girls give it a good try but they never seem to have much talent.”

“We’re more interested in the academics for Patricia.”

“They certainly have that. Well Patricia, should you find that you have the time, we’d be very glad to have you here at the Y. We have a number of quality touring teams for girls that play AAU sports. I’m sure you would find it challenging.”

“She can handle a basketball too” said Coach Tobey as he stepped into the group. Zendahas gives me a considered look.

“Basketball eh? A multi sport athlete? I really must see you in action … and soon. We all have our jobs to do and it is almost time to open the doors. I’d like to speak with everyone at the end, just briefly, to review any problems or rough spots. Nice to meet you … Da’Pee.”

They all scatter to different parts of the gym while Mom and I walk away, her arm still over my shoulder. “What was that about?”

“Martha wanted to meet you.”

“Sounded more like she wanted to recruit me.”

“For what?”

“The YWCA’s AAU teams.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because AAU sports are becoming the primary way to recruit college and sometime pro athletes. The high school rules are too restrictive and some AAU teams are practically year round now. They travel to tourney’s all over the place, play each other. There’re no rules against recruiting athletes and there’s often money paid under the table.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Depends on how they do it. Either way, it’ll screw up your NCAA eligibility.”

“You’re not interested in any of that, are you?”

“Of course not! I just want to finish this job and go home.”

“Are you sure about that? I saw how you handled those boys just now … extremely impressive. You were a natural, better than I was at your age.”

“Sixty?”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“I know, and yes, I’m sure. There’s lots of interesting things about being Patricia Conner, but she isn’t me … or we aren’t me … whatever. When this is done, I’ll miss it, but that’s all.”

“If you say so.” I don’t think she believed me. Can’t say I blame her. I may not believe me either.

“What’s your job tonight?”

“I’m called a Floater. I just circulate; keep an eye out for trouble. Sometimes I’m on the floor, sometimes in the bathrooms, sometimes outside.”

“The bathrooms? Really?”

“That’s the job.”

“I like my job better.”

“What’s your job?”

“I sit at that table and hold it for the guys until they come back.”

“And then what?”

“I guess we hang out.”

“I was hoping you’d meet some new people.”

“I’ve already met Martha, Frank, Thelma, Jeff …”

“I meant people your own age.”

“They were my age, actually I’m older.”

“What’s getting old is that joke.”

“Fine, I get it and I know what you mean. The guys have girlfriends, so I’ll meet them too.”

“They ALL have girlfriends?”

“I don’t know about that, I haven’t taken a head count or anything.”

“It seems a shame, what nice boys.”

“That’s another joke that’s getting old … mother.”

“Who’s joking?”

“Virgin, for now and ever, remember?”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Look, I better go table sit before they open the doors. I’ll see you around.”

“You can bet on it.”

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

The doors have been open for at least fifteen minutes and they aren’t back yet. I’ve had to tell at least twenty guys to not sit here, though they didn’t move very far away. They’ve all taken seats within thirty feet of me. In fact, this area of the gym seems to be experiencing a population explosion. A dark haired girl sits down on the far side of the table.

“Excuse me, I’m holding this table for some friends.”

“The Mixed Martial Arts team, I know. They always sit at this table. I’m Terri Hughes, Javier Esposito’s girl friend.”

Now I know Javier’s last name. “Hi, I’m Patricia Connor.”

“Hi. Who’s your boyfriend?”

“Huh?”

“Which guy on the team are you dating?”

“None of them. I’m just a friend of the team.”

“The WHOLE team?”

“Yeah, it’s a little strange. I accidentally stumbled onto one of their practices and started working out on the equipment. One thing led to another and I ended up scrimmaging with them.”

“Which one?”

“Which guy?”

“Yes.”

“Eventually … all of them.”

“Why all of them? I’d think getting beaten by the first one would be enough for most girls.”

“I wasn’t beaten.”

“By who?”

“By any of them. I won all my matches.”

“You didn’t fight Javier.”

“Yes, I did. He was the last one.”

“Wait a minute. You’re saying you fought ALL the other boys of the team, one at a time, then fought my Javier … and won.”

“Yep.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

We sit in silence for a couple of minutes.

“Are you crazy?” she asks.

“No.”

“Why didn’t he tell me about this? You’re lying.”

“Not lying. I don’t know why he didn’t tell you; why not ask him when he gets here. Better yet, ask Coach Tobey, he’s over there by the stage.”

She turns her head and sees the Coach, then turns back to me. “I think I will.” She stands and rapidly marches directly over to the Coach.

I can’t hear the conversation but I can see that the Coach is very animated, using broad gestures and exclamations. It looks like he’s replaying each match for her. Every now and then, she looks back towards me, eyes wide and mouth agape. After about ten minutes, she comes back to the table, a lot slower than she left, and sits down. After a few seconds of motionlessness, she starts to look around the room, even under the table, intently checking out everything.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Am I being Punk’d?”

“Punked?”

“You know, Ashton Kutcher’s show, where they play those stupid jokes on people and tape it with hidden cameras.”

“I’ve never seen it but this isn’t a joke.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“Are you crazy?”

“You already asked me that once. The answer hasn’t changed. No, I’m not crazy?”

“But you’re a girl! Why would you do something like that?”

“Because I can.” Another girl comes over and plops down into the seat next to Terri.

“Hey Terri!”

“Hi Katie” she responded distractedly.

The new girl looks at me. “Hi.”

“Hello. Are you friends with the team?”

“Oh yeah! Billy Shore’s my boyfriend.”

“I haven’t met Billy.”

“Oh you have” said Terri, “he’s Crunk … the guy you pinned in fifty seconds.”

Katie’s attention bounces between Terri and me, a quizzical look on her face. “What?”

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

The doors have only been open for about thirty five minutes and the seating is almost gone. The tables and chairs are all occupied and the one set of bleachers that are open are almost three quarters full. The band isn’t on stage yet but it appears that the refreshment tables are almost ready. The Wilkins and a few other chaperones have everything set out. The menu appears to be pizza, cookies, chips, pretzels, canned pop and popcorn, hardly health food but the basic food groups that teenager’s thrive on. Coach Tobey is helping move a large tub of ice onto one of the tables so I walk over to see if I can help.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Not right now, Jessica” he says. “We’ll be ready once the hot dogs get here, which should be any minute. There’ll be a big rush when we open for business but it’ll fade quick. You can help with the drinks, if you don’t mind getting your hands wet.”

“Not a problem. When does the music start?”

“Eight thirty, such that it is.” He leans closer to me. “I got some of those little foam earplugs in my pocket if things get too loud for you.”

“I went to rock concerts when I was younger, saw ‘The Who’ in Pasadena. A very loud show.”

“Bet that was a few years ago.”

“Quite a few.”

He pats his pocket. “I got a pair for you if you need em.”

I look around the room until I find Patricia. She’s sitting at the largest table with a group of those boys from the fight team along with several other girls. The girls seem to be paired up with some of the boys so they must be dating. Patricia is sitting with the stag group of boys. They all appear to be talking and laughing, Patricia is smiling. Coach notices where I’m looking.

“Don’t worry about her. My guys know how to behave; there won’t be any funny business.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.” Not much at least. “I was more concerned about how she would fit in. We haven’t been in town long and I was hoping she could make some friends.”

“Where did you live before moving to Miami?”

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

“Portland, Portland Oregon. Mom lost her job almost a year ago but she was hired by a PR firm two months ago, so here we are.”

“What about your Dad?” asks Eric.

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

“My husband died in a car accident three years ago. It’s just Patricia and me now.”

“That’s terrible!” said Thelma Wilkins. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It must have been a shock.”

“It was, for both of us. Patricia really loved her father.”

“I’m sure she did, but it had to be very difficult for you too.”

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

“It was really hard for my mom, they’d been together since high school.”

“WOW!”

Some of the couples look at each other, you can read their thoughts on their faces … could that be us? Will we be together that long? Will we get married?

“I can’t imagine loosing one of my parents” said Katie. “I mean, I argue with them ALL the time, but … if one of them died. Way harsh. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, mostly. I still have nightmares now and then. Money’s tough for us.”

“I thought you said you were going to St. Ann’s” said Javier. “That’s an expensive private school, isn’t it?”

“You’re going to St. Ann’s?! I go there too!” squealed Terri.

“I’m not there yet. I have to pass the entrance exam and get through an interview. If I do, they have scholarships available.”

“Are you smart?”

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

“Patricia is very smart. Sometimes her grades don’t show it.”

“A little lazy?” asks Jeff.

“She gets bored easily. If she applies herself, she does quite well.”

“I can testify to that” added Coach Tobey. “She’s a real spitfire.”

“Well, St. Ann’s will certainly test her” said Janet. “They have nothing but college prep classes. If you graduate in the upper half of the class, you should be able to get into practically any college in the country, including Ivy League. They also don’t put up with any foolishness from the girls.”

“Foolishness?”

“The sisters who run the school don’t tolerate bad behavior.”

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

“Sister Carmela, she’s the principle, and she is a real BITCH!”

“You get on her wrong side, Terri?” I ask.

“They caught me and a friend smoking on campus and suspended my parking privileges for a month!”

“Parking privileges?”

“Almost everyone, other than freshmen, drives but you’ve got to have a parking pass. Without one, your parents have to bring you to school. My dad was really pissed at me about the whole thing.”

“Do you have to drive?”

“No, but practically everyone does. Others have chauffeurs. What do you drive?”

“We’ve only got one car and Mom needs it for work.”

“The car you drive is about the only way to stand out. You seen the uniforms?”

“Oh yeah. Where’d they get them, Florida Prison Supply?”

“I know! You try and wear anything not in the rule book and it’s a demerit! The only thing they can’t control is what you drive, so that’s where the competition is. I drive a BMW.”

“Great, now I have to find a cool ride.”

“If you don’t, you’re totally out. Totally.”

“Hey, Da’Pee, you need some wheels?” asks Cruz.

“Apparently.”

“My brother’s selling his bike. A 1997 Kawasaki KX 250, sweet ride when it runs.”

“So it doesn’t even run?”

“Not right now, some kind of fuel line problem, that’s why it’s priced to move.”

“How much?”

“For you … seven fifty. It’s a steal at that price! That bike kicks ass in low gears, you have to fight to keep the front wheel down it moves so quick.”

“A bike that keeps popping up on you isn’t exactly a selling point, Cruz.”

“Okay, okay, how about seven hundred?”

“Why so desperate to sell it?”

“He’s joining the Army and doesn’t need it anymore; Mom says he can’t keep it at home.”

“You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Terri. “A motorcycle? You’d be the only one in school!”

“Really? … When can I see it, Cruz?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Coach Tobey was not quite correct. It wasn’t a big rush when the refreshment table was opened, it was a stampede. I was grabbing cans of pop as fast as I could, reaching into the freezing water until my hands went numb. One of the other parents had to relieve me so that I could warm them enough to be able to flex my fingers. We had gone through two tubs and Coach was bringing out the third.

“Where did all this come from?” I shouted to him over the din of teenagers yelling for more food.

“Mostly donations from local businesses, some trade out for team sponsorships. Martha has her ways, she’ a real wheeler dealer.”

“When does it slow down?”

“In about two minutes, when the band starts.”

He was right this time. Just as I returned to the drink tub, I noticed four very scruffy looking kids approaching the stage with the undeniable swagger of musicians … or at least what a group of teenage proto rock gods would think the swagger would look like. They jumped onto the stage, causing a series of resounding thuds to bounce around the room, attracting the attention of the kids on the perimeter of the mob in front of our table. One of the players picked up a guitar, reached over to turn on his amp, then waited a few seconds before attempting to tune it by playing the most obnoxious series of notes that I can ever recall hearing. That attracted the attention of the rest of the mob, which rapidly dissipated as the kids returned to their seats, except for a few determined stragglers who we dealt with quickly.

The band continued to tune their instruments until one boy, likely the leader, waved them to a stop and then played a couple of more resonant chords.

“Hey Miami!” he yelled into the microphone. “How you feeling tonight?!” Some of the kids yelled back but it was just noise. “Are you ready to rock the roof off this dump?!” he continued. Their response was loud and long.

So … it’s going to be that kind of show. I look towards Patricia’s table. All the kids are shouting and waiving their hands, even Patricia, though she’s just waiving her arms with a wry smile on her face. She sees that I’m looking her way and just shrugs, still smiling and waiving

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

Turns out the band is just a bunch of local kids learning the ropes. No one seems to care, they all are screaming and yelling as if it was Lady Gaga. I think this dance is just an excuse to have a blow out before school starts in a few weeks. Everybody at my table lets loose. It’s so ridiculous, I can’t help smiling and joining in. When I see Mom watching me, I just shrug and keep going, she wanted me to join in so I’m joining in.

The lead singer seems to have exhausted his snappy patter so the band launches into a song … exactly what song I couldn’t say but a bunch of kids have already jumped into the dancing area and are working hard at having fun. The couples leave our table to join the growing throng in front of the band, myself and the stag boys, including Eric, being left behind. I haven’t had a chance to ask him if he has a girlfriend. He looks over at me and we stare at each other for a few seconds. He swallows hard, gesture towards the dance area with his right arm and says “You wouldn’t like to dance … would you?”

I hop off my chair, grab his extended arm and pull him out of his chair “Yeah, sure. Thought you’d never ask.”

We head for the middle of the crowd, trying to get close to the band but can’t get within twenty feet. They’re playing … something. It’s loud, steady and unintelligible, but it’s got a good beat to dance to, Dick. The crowd is too tightly packed to even try to actually dance, we mostly sway and twist near to one another. He smiles at me and I smile back, we don’t try to talk, it’s too loud.

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

When I find the Coach, he’s leaning up against the wall just off to the stage’s right, carefully surveying the crowd. He’s smiling. I call out to him but he doesn’t respond. I move closer, into his line of vision and shout again. He smiles and taps his right ear with his right index finger. I hold my left hand out to him, palm up. He nods his head, reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a little packet of foam hearing protectors. I tear open the packet, remove the small pieces of foam, roll them between my finger and thumb until they are small, hard peas and insert them into my ears.

The noise level quickly drops below the excruciating point as the foam expands, blocking my ear canal. I swivel my jaw and yawn to balance out the pressure, then sigh in relief.

That’s much better.

He taps my shoulder and points to the crowd. My eyes follow his extended arm and I see two kids on the edge of the crowd, grinding their bodies together, her arms tightly around his neck and his wrapped around her waist.

I look back at him and he shakes his head “No”, leaves his spot on the wall and moves into the crowd, heading for the entwined couple, me following closely behind. It doesn’t take as much effort as I though it might, the crowd seems to part in front of him as he walks forward. As we near the target, the area around them clears, leaving them exposed but unaware, as they are too wrapped up in each other. He places a hand on top of each of their heads. They both stare up at him, startled looks in their faces. He shakes his head “No” again and gently pries them apart. They appear to be embarrassed at being either caught or singled out. Coach taps the side of his head next to his eyes and backs away. They get the message, he’ll be watching. He heads back towards his previous spot but exits the gym through a door. I follow. Once the door closes, he reaches up and removes the ear plugs, so I do the same.

“My God! The noise level is insane in there! That can’t be good for their hearing.”

“I know. Their first break is in ten minutes and Martha will tell them to turn it down a notch. That way, the kids get a good dose of rebellion without knowing we’ve done anything about it.”

“What if the band complains?”

“They won’t, not if they want to get hired again. This is a pretty good gig for a local band looking for some publicity. The Y doesn’t pay much but lots of people hear their stuff.”

“Stuff, is that what it is? It certainly isn’t music, at least not my kind of music.”

“Not mine either, but I’ve heard worse at these dances. I imagine that we don’t like the same kind of music either. Who was your favorite?”

“I didn’t really have a favorite, though I did like Cyndi Lauper.”

“Benny Goodman. Each generation has their own sound, it’s always changing.”

“So does dancing styles. I assume you broke that couple up because they crossed a line.”

“Yep, do you approve?”

“Absolutely! That kind of behavior should be discouraged.”

“I’ve caught them before so the warning should be enough, at least for tonight. We keep the kids in the gym and the bathrooms. Every other place is locked, except for the kitchen and we’ve got people working there. We don’t want to have some place private for a couple to sneak off to.”

“What about outside?”

“We got people there too, plus the police increase their patrols.”

“Sounds like you’ve got this down to a science.”

He smiles. “More like trial and error but when we learn a lesson, we don’t forget it. Put your plugs back in, time for a bathroom check.”

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

I’ve been on and off the dance floor a few times. Once with Javier, and once with Crunk, with their respective girlfriends’ permission of course. The rest of the time I danced with Eric. He’s pretty smooth once there’s room to actually dance.

I never was much of a dancer before. That was one of the problems I had with wife number two. She’d never believe it if she could see me now. Once I got on the dance floor, I realized that I knew how to Rumba, Cha cha, Tango, Latin Swing, Ball room, the Funky Chicken and a whole bunch of others. Eric didn’t know any of them and this isn’t the right kind of music for that anyway, though sometimes the band got the beat just right and I could feel it, deep inside. I just wanted to mooove and so did Eric. It was fun, watching him and trying to match it, though with a little spice thrown in, more hip, more chest, more ass. I was really getting the hang of it when the band took a break. They announced they’d be back in twenty minutes. After going hard for like almost forty, I guess they deserved it.

After stopping, I realized how thirsty I was. Eric offered to get us something, and after looking at the crowd attacking the refreshment table, I accepted. It’d be nice to sit down for awhile. When I got back to the table, all the girls were gone.

“Where is everybody?”

Javier pointed to the restrooms. “You missed the train, the girls all went that away. Why do girls all go to the bathroom together? What do you do in there?”

“We talk about all the stupid things guys do.”

“No wonder it takes so long.”

“Bright boy. Tell Eric I’ll be right back.”

“Will do, Da’Pee.”

I head for the bathroom. It seems every girl in the building is waiting in line. Why does this happen? Why can’t they build enough stalls for us? It’s not like it’s a new problem. You see it everywhere there’s a big crowd. Luckily, I don’t really need to go, I just was taking the opportunity while the band was on break. I’ll just come back later.

As I head back to our table, I walk by the storage doors. Remembering the piano, I pause and check the door handle. It’s still unlocked! After looking to see if anyone is watching, I open it slightly and slip in, closing it quietly behind me.

It’s darker than before but some light is leaking in from around each door. I walk over to the piano and again feel the same confusion as before, though this time, I’m more confident that I know what I’m doing, maybe because I’ve been listening to music and playing along in my head. There’s a small tarp next to the piano, covering something. I lift it and uncover the bench. Now we’re talking!

Pulling the bench into place, I sit down, extend my hands and caress the keys with my fingers, playing quietly, first a couple of exercises I remember, then a simple tune, “Clair de Lune”. I close my eyes, as it’s too dark to clearly see the keys anyway, and let the music carry me away. I’m almost to the second bridge when I hear the door open and quickly close. I stop.

“Where are you, Patricia?”

It’s Eric! “How did you know I was in here?”

“Joey saw you duck in. When you didn’t come back to the table … I came to check on you … I thought that you might be … you know, ditching me, but then I heard the music. You can really play! What was that?”

“Oh, nothing, just a song I know, it’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? You’re great! I thought it was a CD or something. Play some more.”

“You like it?”

“Sure! Play it again.”

“Okay.” I remember a short theme from “Romeo and Juliet”, so I settle in and play that. Eyes closed again, my body moving with the music. When I finish and open my eyes, Eric is standing next to me. My eyes have adjusted to the dark.

“How was that?”

“Amazing! Just watching you, the way you were so into it … the light across your face … that smile … so beautiful.”

Did he mean me or the music? “Beautiful?”

“Yeah … beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. The guys have to hear this!”

“No! Eric! Please don’t …” It’s too late. He’s thrown open the big door, the light stinging my eyes.

“Hey Cruz, Javier, Crunk, you guys get over here and help me!” he shouted. In seconds, they’re all here.

“What’s up man?”

“Help me move this piano out by the stage.”

“What for?” ask Cruz.

“So you can all hear Patricia play it.”

“Da’Pee plays the piano?”

“Look” I say “I can play a little but this isn’t the time …”

Eric sits down next to me on the bench and takes my hand. “Don’t say that. You play like an angel, a beautiful angel. Show them what you can do. If you won’t do it for yourself, show them … for me.”

He looks so cute, holding my hand in his, his big blue eyes begging me. I should say no, I want to say no.

“Okay … yes.” SHIT!

He drops my hand and hops off the bench. “You heard the lady guys! Let’s move this puppy!”

“Is this okay with the Coach?” ask Crunk.

“Don’t worry” answered Eric. “I’ll fix it with him if there’s a problem.” He takes his position on one corner of the piano.

Crunk looks at him, then grabs the nearest corner. “As long as it’s your ass and not mine.” The other two guys also grab hold and all four rapidly move it out the door and across the floor, leaving me to carry the bench.

Naturally, when a piano appears out of nowhere and is pushed across a crowded gym, people tend to notice that sort of thing. The guys have got the piano in place and Eric has swung a mic on a boom stand from the stage to the piano. Everyone is watching as I carry the bench over to the stage, all the time thinking to myself “this is a mistake, this is a mistake, this is a big, big mistake.”

When I finally reach the piano, Eric takes the bench from my hands, sets in place and then helps me sit down. He grabs the mic and taps the wind screen a couple of times to make sure it’s on.

“Hey, everybody, uhh, while the band’s taking a break, here’s something for you to, uuhh, listen to. She’s great … really great! Trust me!” He pushes the mic away. “Go on Patricia.”

“What should I play?”

“Just play that last thing.”

“I don’t know …” My nerves are getting to me.

He takes my hands again. “Do it like before. Close your eyes. I’ll just stand here right next to you.”

I nod my head, close my eyes, take a calming breath, slowly exhale, reach out to find my place on the keyboard and begin to play.

It feels good … better than good, it feels right. All my earlier confusion is gone. I can play a piano, play it well, darn well. Now that I’m not trying to keep it quiet, I let the music soar. It’s just me, the music … and Eric.

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

Bathroom duty is harder than you would think. There’s more competition for the mirror space than anything else and I have to referee. Each girl who gets there doesn’t plan on leaving until she’s got everything just the way she likes it. We should put up a bunch of mirrors and lights in the hallway. It would get more girls out of here quicker, leaving room for those who really need the toilets. I’m going to make that suggestion to Zendahas at the wrap up meeting.

A tall blonde girl pushes her way in through the crowd.

“BECKY!”

“What?!” a girl by the mirror replies.

“Hurry up and get out here!”

“I’m not done yet!”

“Well hurry up! There’s this short girl out here playing the piano!”

“So?”

“So she’s good! Really good! Amazingly good! Hurry before she’s done!”

Short girl … piano? I follow the blonde girl as she leaves the bathroom and trots to the gym.

There’s a big crowd by the stage, I can’t see anything … but I can hear it.

Melodic, fluid, lively … passionate.

Some of the kids are standing on chairs to see. I hurry over to the bleachers, it’s further away but I can get high enough to see what’s happening. I climb to the tenth row and turn around.

It’s Patricia, playing as if she and the piano are one, the music just appearing from them as if by magic. No one is speaking, just watching and listening. I hear someone climbing the bleachers next to me but I can’t look away from her.

“She’s full of surprises, that one is.”

“She is that Coach, she is that.”

“Did you know that …”

“That she could play the piano, yes, I knew, but she’s never played in front of an audience before, at least not one this large.”

“Maybe it’s time she did.”

Just then, she finished. She remained still, hands poised over the keyboard, a broad smile on her face. The crowd was silent for a few seconds, and then applause broke out, thunderous applause along with shouts and whoops. Patricia stood up and hugged a boy standing next to her.

“Excuse me Coach, I need to speak with my daughter.”

“Sure thing, Jessica.”

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

It was like nothing I had ever experienced before in my life. Applause, waves of applause.

Suddenly, I felt Eric’s hand on my shoulder. I have to share this with him. I stood up and hugged him, my face buried in his shoulder.

“Thank you.” I whispered.

“I just helped roll it out here, that’s all.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Okay, you’re welcome.”

I let him go and turned around. Many kids were shouting at me.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“How long have you been playing?”

“You sure know your shit, you do!”

“You know anything new?”

A chant was starting to build. “More! More! More!” I don’t think I could give them more classical, the first piece was probably a fluke. I could play some jazz, there’s a piece by Oscar Peterson I really like. Then I heard someone calling my name.

“Patricia! Patricia!” It was Mom! She was trying to get closer. Some of the other ladies were helping her. Suddenly, I knew what my encore was going to be. I reached out and swung the mic back to me.

“Thanks, thank you everybody! I think there’s time for one more before the band comes back from their break. I’d like to dedicate this one to my mother.”

Sitting back down, I look up at Eric and wink.

“Hold on, we’re in for a bumpy ride.”

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

Dedicate it to me? What is she doing?

“Do you know what she’s going to play?” asks Judy.

“No idea.”

“Well I hope it’s as wonderful as that last one” said Thelma.

Patricia sat down again, disappearing behind the crowd. If only she weren’t so short! I heard the music start again, but I didn’t recognize it right away, it was familiar but …”

“Do you know it?” asks Judy.

“I think it’s … NO! She wouldn’t! She couldn’t!”

“What?”

“Hurry! We need to get up there!”

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

It’s not originally for solo piano but I should be able to make this work. The vamp is just about done so time to find out if I can do this. I lean into the mic.

I come home in the morning light,
My mother says “When you gonna live your life right?”
Oh, mother dear,
We’re not the fortunate ones,
And girls,
They wanna have fu-un
Oh, girls,
Just wanna have fun.

By now, Mom and her friends have reached the piano, she’s smiling and nodding her head in time with the music. I knew this was one of her favorite songs from when she was young.

The phone rings in the middle of the night,
My father yells “What you gonna do with your life?’
Oh, Daddy dear,
You know you’re still number one,
But girls,
They wanna have fu-un,
OH, girls just wanna have
That’s all they really waaaannntt,
Some fuuuuunnnn.

Mom turns to the two ladies with her.

“Do you know this?”

The both nod “Yes”

“Good, follow my lead.”

Just as I had hoped! Let’s kick this baby off!

When the working day is done,
Oh girls,
They wanna have fu-un,
Oh, girls,
Just wanna haaavee fuuuunn.

Mom leaned into the mic and took the chorus, her friends right behind her.

Girls,
They want,
Wanna have fun,
Girls,
Wanna have.

I kept playing and the ladies were getting into it, dancing and jumping, laughing. But all the girls around me were getting into it too, pumping their arms, clapping in time, jumping in place, dancing with each other. The guys were also clapping along, but they weren’t as into it as the girls. Time to bring it home.

Some boys take a beautiful girl,
And hide her away from the rest of the world,
I wanna be the one to walk in the sun,
OH girls,
They wanna have fu-un
OH girls,
Just wanna have
That’s all they really waaaannt,
Some fuuuuunnnn.

When the working day is done,
OH girls,
They wanna have fu-un,
OH girls,
Just wanna have fuuuuunn.

(Girls,
They want,
Wanna have fun,
Girls,
Wanna have.)

This time, the whole gym sings the chorus, repeating it over and over. I have to shout into the mic.

They just wanna,
They just wannnnaaa
They just wanna,
They just wanna,
OH
Girls just wanna have fu-un.
They just wanna,
They just waaaannnna,
They just wanna,
They just wanna,

When the workin’
When the working day is done,
OH girls,
Girls,
Just wanna have FUUUNNNN!

I stop playing but the girls around me keep singing, clapping and jumping around. Eric grabs me around the waist and lifts me up onto the piano bench. It’s too unsteady for me to do anything but bow and wave my hands. As I look around, I see the band off in the corner, staring at the pandemonium. One of them sees me looking their way and waves weakly at me. I just shrug and wave back.

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

Most everything has been put away, the tables and chairs folded and stored, the tarps rolled up and stashed. Coach Tobey’s boys are dusting the floor with these enormous, four foot wide mops, racing each other up and down the court.

They haven’t put the piano away yet. It’s been rolled into a corner. Patricia is still playing it, some kind of light jazz tune I don’t recognize. That boy is sitting next to her on the bench, his right arm gently around her waist. She’s concentrating on the music but she occasionally looks over and smiles at him.

I’m watching her from across the gym, sitting on the bottom row of the bleachers. All the other adults have left already. Every one of them told me how impressed they were with Patricia and her talent. Judy and Thelma said they had never enjoyed a dance so much and hoped we’d be here for the next one. I thanked them but didn’t make any promises.

Patricia continues playing. She plays as if she always has, you would never know that tonight was the first time. And her singing! It’s not a trained voice by any means, but it’s a true voice, clear, bright and real. She played a torch song during the band’s second break, “That Man of Mine”. It broke every woman’s heart in the room. You could feel the pain and anguish in her voice, something no sixteen year old girl should know anything about. Of course, she has sixty years of experience behind that voice, but it was a man’s experience.

Where did all that empathy come from? There is more going on in her than we were told to expect. My technique could not be responsible for all her changes; I definitely need to speak to Thomas and Daniel about this. I don’t want to needlessly alarm Patricia though.

Coach Tobey ambles over to where I’m sitting and drops down next to me with a groan.

“Uuhhhggg. It’s been a long day Jessica, can’t wait to get home and put my feet up.”

“I didn’t know you ever left this place.”

“Seems that way sometimes. I let all my guys go, all except that one”. He jerks his thumb towards the piano. “I didn’t want to interrupt them.”

“Who is he?”

“Eric Spikeman, my lightweight. Good kid, real good kid. Responsible, motivated, a team leader. Good student too. Parents are divorced but he handles it well enough. Had a little trouble a couple of years ago before he joined the team but nothing since.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“The way he’s looking at my daughter tells me I need to know.”

“No, you don’t, at least not from me. I know what I know because he told me in confidence. He trusted me. If this becomes anything, he’ll tell her eventually, he’s that kind of kid. What she tells you depends on your relationship with your daughter. From what I’ve seen, you’re probably safe.”

I can see why his team behaves as they do. He’s not just their coach. I might as well trust him too, for now at least. The music stops and I look back towards the piano.

They’re talking, Eric and Patricia. I can’t hear anything and I’m straining to do so. She stretches up and kisses him on the cheek. He stands up and gives her a little good-bye wave. She does the same. He trots over to where we’re sitting, Patricia watching him the entire way.

“Sorry I wasn’t much help with the clean-up, Coach.”

“Don’t worry about it, Spikeman.” He nods towards Patricia. “Special circumstances tonight. You can make up for it next time. This is Ms. Conner, Patricia’s mother.”

I offer him my hand and he shakes it. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Conner.”

“Pleased to meet you Eric. Are we going to be seeing more of you in the future?”

“Uuhh … well … I uuhh don’t know … maybe … we haven’t … uuhh …”

“Better get home, son” said Coach. “Your mother will be calling me, wanting to know what I’ve done with her boy.”

“Sure Coach, thanks” he said with relief. He ran for the door but gave Patricia one last wave before exiting. Her eyes never left him the entire time. Once he was gone, she returned to playing.

“That was kinda mean what you did to that boy.”

“You are absolutely right Coach, it was. It’s best he knows who he is dealing with right up front. When it comes to Patricia, I plan on being very mean.”

“Well don’t go too far, she could do a lot worse than Eric.” He stands up, groaning again. “As much as I like listening to Da’Pee play, I gotta lock up.”

“What about the piano, don’t we need to put it away?”

“Martha said to leave it where it is, she’ll have it taken care of in the morning.”

“Thank you Coach Tobey, for everything.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Conner. It’s been fun. Something interesting always happens when your daughter shows up.”

“So it would seem. Good night.”

“Night.”

Coach shuffles off and I walk over to Patricia, sitting down next to her as she continues to play.

“So … did I pass?”

“Pass?”

“You said tonight was a test. Did I pass?”

“Well, that’s hard to say. I wasn’t planning on the concert.”

“And I was? Besides, it wasn’t a concert; it was just a few songs.”

“Seven to be exact.”

“Really? Must have lost count, what with all the applause and everything.”

“Then you enjoyed yourself?”

“It was … interesting.”

“That’s what Coach Tobey said, that interesting things happen when you’re around.”

“I have a tendency not to blend in.”

“Putting it mildly. What about Eric Spikeman?”

She stops playing. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“I’m sure he’s not.”

“What?”

“I’m just agreeing with you.”

“Why? What did he say to you?”

“It’s not so much what he said, it’s what Coach Tobey said.”

“Which was?”

“That boys tend to not date girls who can beat them up.”

“Oh, that’s just crazy! Why would a guy care if I could … could … hhmmm … darn it!”

“Darn what?”

“He’s right. Of course he’s right. What was I thinking?!”

“I don’t know, what were you thinking?”

She pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I was thinking that having a boyfriend would only complicate matters. Beyond the obvious fact that I am a man inside here …”

“Obviously.”

She gives me a dirty look, then continues. “There’s also the fact that I’d be too busy doing my job to maintain any kind of a relationship.”

“Though … having a boyfriend could help you appear to be one of the girls … theoretically speaking.”

“Yes … that’s possible, but it wouldn’t be fair to the boy. I’m only in here for a little while, a few months at most. I’d have to break it off when the job was finished, leaving him heartbroken. I know what that’s like for a guy.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem. Teenage relationships are brief most of the time. They fall in and out of love so easily. A few months is enough time for a boy to date two or three girls. The relationships are so superficial.”

“Are you saying we couldn’t be serious about each other, that it’s just some kind of … infatuation?!”

“That you couldn’t be serious about who?”

“ERIC!”

“I thought you said you weren’t serious, that he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

“Well … he’s not.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset … I’m not … I’m just … surprised that you think that I’m that kind of girl.”

“What kind is that?”

“You know, flighty and flirty, loose with her … affections.”

“You mean the type who would kiss a boy on the cheek at a dance after only knowing him a day or so.” Patricia’s face turns bright red but she says nothing. “Patricia, is that what you meant?”

“I was only trying to prove that I knew how a girl might act under those circumstances and that I could do what was necessary to act like a girl.”

“I see, and that was the only reason?”

“Certainly. What other reason could there be?”

“None that I can think of. I am curious about one thing. How did you know that I was watching? I was all the way across the gym, talking with Coach Tobey. How did you know that I was watching you kiss Eric on the cheek just before he left to check in with the Coach?”

“I didn’t know you were watching.”

“If you didn’t know I was watching, who were you trying to convince that you could act like a girl by kissing him?”

She’s silent again for a moment. “I was proving it to myself.”

Riiighhht. “I see. Well, we better get moving. The Coach is waiting for us to leave so he can lock up and get home. We’ve held him up long enough. Where’s your purse?”

“I put it with yours, over by the bleachers.”

“Good, let’s get them and head home, it’s been a long day.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“I know.”

We both stand up and walk side by side towards the bleachers. I put my right arm over her shoulder.

“You know that test you were asking about?”

“Yeah?”

“Flying colors, honey. Flying colors.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mom is more nervous than I am.

The entrance exam was yesterday. Piece of cake. I missed a dozen questions on purpose, not enough to screw things up for me but enough to not draw attention … unless someone is pretty astute. I’m interested in seeing if anyone picks up on what I did.

Mom doesn’t know which questions I missed, just that I missed some. We’ll see how it goes.

I’m dressed in a nice outfit, black skirt that’s just above my knees and cream colored top with a high neck, short sleeves and black accents. The shoes match the skirt and have only 2” heels.

We’re waiting outside Sister Carmela’s office, sitting on a couple of hardback wooden chairs, watching her secretary type some letters.

They gave us a tour of the school before leaving us here. It looks old on the outside but is surprisingly up to date inside. The science labs look first rate and so do the language labs. Every student gets a laptop, the same laptop naturally, to avoid one-upsmanship. The classrooms are all equipped with quality AV technology. It all looks pretty high tech to me.

I came from a school system that viewed colored chalk as the latest in educational tools, though that was over forty years ago. I didn’t actually graduate from high school. Back when I joined the force, it was more about who you knew. Luckily, I knew the right people so my lack of a diploma didn’t matter.

Back in my school days, if I was sitting outside the principles’ office, it was because I was in trouble for something. I wasn’t a thug or anything, just a pain in the ass. It’s amazing how many cops were less than well behaved as teenagers. The principle and I got off on the wrong foot when I was caught shuffling the index cards in the library. I never recovered, after that I was always on his shit list. Looks like I’ve got a second chance to make a good impression.

You can see the softball field from the office window. We also were given a tour of the grounds. The up to date condition of the scholastic facilities doesn’t extend to the rest of the school. The cafeteria is okay but the sports fields could use some work. The gym is a cracker box, smelling like a fifty year battle between mold and bleach was being won by the mold. It’s pretty clear what they put their emphasis on. They may not have a lot of choice. The school is landlocked, surrounded by extremely expensive homes. If you knocked the school down, you could sell the land for millions of dollars. There’s probably a small army of real estate developers hoping the next hurricane flattens the place. Right now, it’s a slightly rolling island encircled by an eight foot iron fence and a concrete sidewalk.

Mom reaches out, laying the palm of her hand on my leg.

“Are you sure you passed the test Patricia?” She sounds like she’s worried.

“I’m sure. It was exactly what we expected”. I lower my voice so the secretary can’t hear me. “I missed enough questions to keep from being outstanding but not enough to cause trouble … just the way you wanted.”

Not exactly the way she wanted, I made a few adjustments.

“Good, good. When we see the Sister, let me do the talking. I’ve dealt with people like her in the past. We are so close, no reason to make a mistake now.”

“Whatever you say, Mom.” She pats my leg, then returns her hand to her lap.

The outer office is very plain. A few pictures on the wall, one of the current bishop, one of the Pope, another of the past principle. The rest of the decorations seem to be family related, they probably belong to the secretary. Her desk phone buzzes and she picks it up.

“Sister Carmela will see you now ladies” she announces, pointing towards the inner door. We both stand up, Mom putting her hand on my shoulder.

“Thank you” she says, acknowledging the secretary. I open the door and we both step into the room.

It’s as plain as the outer office but without the homey touches. Sister Carmela is seated at her modest desk. She’s wearing a dark brown long sleeve dress and a modified wimple, not the full ones nuns used to wear back in my day, but a simpler one that’s more like a hair band with a brim and a short cape. A pair of glasses dangle from a chain around her neck.

“I’m Sister Carmela, principle of St. Ann’s. Please have a seat.”

There are two wooden chairs opposite her desk, just like the ones in the outer office. We sit down but Mom keeps her hand on my shoulder, like she’s afraid I’m going to make a break for it.

“I’m very pleased to finally meet you Sister. I am Jessica Conner and this is my daughter, Patricia.”

The Sister nods her head towards each of us in turn, acknowledging the introduction. I raise my right hand to shoulder height and wave it slightly, then return it to my lap.

“Normally Ms. Conner, this enrollment process takes place in the Spring Semester in anticipation of the Fall Semester. Fortuitously for you, an opening has occurred due to the parents of two of our children being transferred out of the country. A wonderful opportunity for the children and an equally wonderful opportunity for your daughter to join us at St. Ann’s.” She looks down at her desk and shuffles some papers. “There were a number of applicants in line ahead of your daughter but I had a special request from Senator Douglas to give her consideration for one of the vacancies.” She looks up from the desk, directly at me. “I promised him that I would consider her but that acceptance was contingent on her test results, prior grades and this interview.”

“I would expect nothing less Sister Carmela. Patricia should only be permitted to enroll if she is qualified … though I am sure she is.”

“I am certain you are, Ms. Conner.” She returns to the papers on her desk. “Patricia’s test results are good, very good actually, though not spectacular. Her prior grades certainly meet our standards.” She looks up again. “How do you know Senator Douglas?”

“Just a friend of a friend” Mom answers, smiling nonchalantly.

“Mmmm. A very influential friend of a friend.”

She continues to smile. “I wouldn’t know anything about that Sister. My friend just said she knew him.”

“SHE? Well that explains a great deal. Senator Douglas has a bit of a reputation, though he has been good to St. Ann’s. I try to accommodate his requests, whenever I can, without compromising the integrity of the school.”

“I assure you, accepting Patricia as a student will not harm the school in any way. She’s a very talented child!”

“Most parents are convinced their child is talented, some scholastically, some artistically, others athletically. In what way is Patricia talented?”

Mom stepped into it there. Her answer will be interesting. She wanted to sell the Sister on me as a student but didn’t want to make me out to be some kind of extraordinary kid.

“Well Sister, it may be presumptuous for me to say so, but Patricia has more than adequate capabilities in all of those areas.”

“I see.”

She doesn’t believe her. That’s fine, all I need is a chance.

“Ms. Conner, I always like to speak with the child separately, just for a few minutes, before making my decision. If you could wait outside, this shouldn’t take long.”

Mom’s hand on my shoulder tightens, she wasn’t planning on this. She’s afraid I may say something wrong and blow the deal. The Sister’s not giving her a choice though.

“Certainly … I understand … a very reasonable thing to do”. She slowly stands, her hand still on my shoulder. “I’ll just be outside Patricia, if you need me”. I look up into her eyes and can read exactly what she’s thinking. ‘Be careful, watch out, don’t say anything that makes you stick out too much’. I smile at her and nod my head slightly, trying to reassure her. She lets her hand fall to her side but doesn’t move.

“It will only be a few minutes, Ms. Conner. I assure you, your daughter is safe with me.”

“I’m sure she will be Sister.” Mom opens the door, glances pleadingly at me one final time, and leaves, carefully closing the door behind her. I turn and face Sister Carmela.

“You’ve been silent this entire interview Patricia, why is that?”

“You haven’t asked me any questions.”

“The questions I asked were directed at both you and your mother. She chose to answer them and you chose to let her.”

“She is my mother after all.”

“Do you always do what she tells you to do?”

“Most of the time, when I agree with her.”

“And if you don’t agree with her?”

“I do what needs to be done. She eventually agrees with me.”

“I see. I’m afraid that I wasn’t completely truthful with your mother. I rarely speak alone with a potential student as part of the interview.”

“Why the exception in my case?”

“I thought that you might be more candid in your responses if she weren’t in the room.”

“About what?”

She holds up a sheet of paper. “These test results.”

“What about them?”

“We use the results of our entrance test for more than determining if a potential student is qualified to matriculate at St. Ann’s. Are you familiar with that word, matriculate?”

“Yes, it means to enroll as a member of a body or a group but particularly applies to schools, primarily colleges or universities.”

“I thought you might. The results show you have an extremely broad vocabulary. In fact, you excel in all areas we test.” She grasps the dangling glasses and puts them on. “We also use the tests to determine a particular student’s education level and what assistance we can provide to maximize their achievement. No one ever gets a perfect score, it is designed that way.”

“It was a hard test. I know that I missed several questions.”

She looks at the paper again. “Twelve, to be exact.”

“I’ll try to do better the next time.”

She looks up from the papers on her desk, fixing her eyes squarely on mine. “I don’t know how you could. You see, the twelve questions you missed were among the easiest on the test.”

She’s a smart old bird! She caught what I did. I just look at her, expressionless.

“Do you have an explanation for this, Patricia?”

“No.” Balls back in your court.

“None?”

“No.”

“Well I do.”

“What is it?”

“There are several. The first is obvious, that you cheated some how, that you had a copy of the test, had the sequence of the answer’s either memorized or written on something that we didn’t catch, and made a mistake of some kind.”

“What are the others?”

“That it was intentional, that you knew the answers but missed them on purpose.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m not sure, perhaps to make your course load easier, higher test results equals higher expectations.”

“But if I was smart enough to do that, why wouldn’t I miss the hard questions instead of the easy ones, not attract attention?”

“That’s true … but what if it was done as a test … to send a message of some kind.”

“What kind of message?”

“I’m uncertain at this point.”

“Do you think I cheated?”

“No … your demeanor isn’t that of a cheater who has been caught.”

“What is my demeanor?”

“Of someone who just had a suspicion confirmed.”

“What suspicion?”

“Again, I am not sure. The test results indicate that you do not even need to attend high school; you should go straight to college.”

“Someone my age, in college? That would be difficult.”

“Attending school here might also be difficult. Though we have a few students on scholarship, most of the students are from the upper upper crust of society. It is a constant battle to keep their attention on school work and off trying to show who has the better material possessions. As a scholarship student, frankly, you would be looked down upon by a certain segment of the student body.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Fair or not, it is how life works. Things could be even worse than that; I understand that there is a certain amount of bullying that takes place here at St. Ann’s.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Yes, but very hard to catch someone in the act, very hard to prove. Girls this age are more likely to use psychological means instead of physical means, though I have heard rumors about some physical threats.”

“Why don’t you stop it?”

“Often it happens off school grounds or on the internet, or the victim refuses to come forward. My hands are tied. Why would you want to willing step into that situation?”

“Sister, there is only one person on the face of the earth that I have to please … my mother. We haven’t had an easy time since my father died, in fact it’s been pretty tough. She wants me to go to St. Ann’s so I’m going to do what’s necessary to get into St. Ann’s. We don’t have much money, and I don’t care what anybody else thinks about that, we get by. You may have noticed that I’m not very tall.”

“I did, you’re four foot what?”

“I’m practically five feet tall. My point is people have been trying to push me around all my life but I’m still here. They think that because I’m … slightly below average in height, I’m an easy target. I can take care of myself. If you have any questions about that, call the Fifth Street YWCA, they know me there, ask for Coach Tobey.”

“Do you think you can be a good student here, follow the rules?”

“I’m a stickler for the rules.”

“Do you think you will be able to handle the … culture here at St. Ann’s?”

“If I can’t solve my own problems, you’ll be the first to know.”

She rises and offers me her hand. “Welcome to St. Ann’s Class of 2013, Miss Conner.”

I stand up and lean over her desk to shake her hand. “Thanks, thanks a lot. You have no idea how happy you’ve made my Mom.”

“Just don’t disappoint me Miss Conner. I feel that I am taking a risk in admitting you.”

“It never hurts to shake up the status quo now and then, don’t you think?”

“Shake yes, upend, no.”

“Understood. I do have one question. It’s about the uniforms.”

“Not you too. All the girls complain about them. We have very strict rules about …”

“I know, I downloaded them from your website. My problem is that we had to buy mine used … because of finances and all … and they don’t exactly fit … me being almost five feet tall … so I was wondering if it was okay if I altered them so that they did fit me.”

“You can sew?”

“Sure, you can’t?”

“I can but most girls your age don’t.”

“My Mom taught me practically everything I know about sewing.”

“As long as you comply with the rules, there will be no problem. I look forward to seeing your work. You and your mother may go downstairs to Sister Rita’s office. She’ll help you with the final paperwork.” She sits back down. I open the door and look back at her.

“Thanks Sister.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Conner.”

I step out, close the door and give Mom a thumb’s up. She rushes over to me, giving me a big hug.

“I knew you could do it, honey! I knew it!”

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

My intercom buzzes just as I’m ready to go to lunch. It’s Sister Carmela.

“Yes, Sister?”

“Rita, I’m sending down a Ms. Conner and her daughter Patricia. She’s taking the vacancy in the Junior class. She’s also getting the last scholarship.”

“Certainly Sister. Is there anything special I should know?”

“Yes, the girl is extraordinarily bright, extremely mature in her attitude, is quite self confident … Oh, she is also a little sensitive about her height, so don’t comment on it if you can avoid it.”

“I’ll do my best. Is there anything else?”

“Unless I am totally wrong, she could be the answer to our McBride problem.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I’m here Thomas. What was so important that I had to cancel my 3:00 o’clock to meet with you?”

Lipscomb’s just arrived at my lab and he’s already being unpleasant. Well, if he can be abrupt, so can I.

“The most recent test results indicate that we need to stop this operation immediately.”

“What are you talking about Matthews? The last report I had from Jessica was that Patricia was accepted into St. Ann’s and school would be starting within the week. She was confident that Patricia could successfully pass as a high school Junior. We are finally ready to start and you want to pull the plug?”

“I don’t want to pull the plug, the test results require it.”

“What tests?”

“The last time Patricia was here for her checkup, I received the same information, everything was going well … actually better than my models had predicted.”

“And this is a problem how?”

“Too rapid an adjustment can be just as much a problem as too slow an adjustment.”

“Not from where I'm standing, Thomas.”

“Any variances from predicted norms needs to be explained, whether it is convenient for you or not. Patricia told me several things that caught my attention as did Jessica. I needed additional data to determine what was happening so Patricia agreed to wear a multi-day recording device. I’ve just now been able to integrate that data with a series of blood test results. I believe I know why Harris’ adaptation has been so successful.”

Lipscomb looks at his watch. “I know that finding out how is a giant wet dream for you Thomas, but I only care about results.”

“One of the results you are so interested in could be that Peter Harris is irretrievably lost.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“I have discovered that, when a series of options is presented to Harris by the Construct, he chooses the one that makes him feel better.”

“Is that a surprise? Most people would do the same thing.”

“But WHY does a certain choice make him feel better? At the settings he is operating at, Harris should be able to keep control.”

“Jessica claims that he is.”

“I'm not so sure. My long term recording data indicates that when Harris follows the recommendations of the Construct, he is rewarded with a miniscule dose of endorphins.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“Because endorphin is a naturally occurring chemical that triggers the pleasure emitting parts of the brain. Harris is being trained by the programming of the Construct to act as the Construct wants, as it is programmed to want. Slowly but surely, the Construct is changing the way Peter Harris thinks and behaves, just by using extremely small but still potent doses of endorphins.”

“Like Pavlov’s Dogs?”

“Much more sophisticated, more elegant … and more effective I’m afraid. Jessica mentioned that she was using a reward system to get Patricia to do certain things. I believe that the programming of the Construct learned from that and devised its own reward system.”

“Did you program it to do that?”

“Certainly not! Neither did Jessica. If we do not remove Peter Harris from the Construct as soon as possible, there may not be a Peter Harris to remove in the future, at least not the same Peter Harris who went in.”

“Is the physical architecture still intact?”

“Yes, physically there are still two distinct entities and the Balancer is doing its job, but from a behavioral standpoint, the two entities could be approaching a unified state, such that the physical separation is rendered moot. If two nearly identical brains occupy separate spaces, what is the point of maintaining separate spaces?”

“Is the Neutralizer still operational?”

“Of course! That isn’t even located in the brain. I still don’t understand why you had me install it in the first place.”

“Because I am a cautious man, Thomas. Wouldn’t it be possible that Mr. Harris would return to normal once he is returned to his body?”

“Why would he? There would be no counter program subtly pushing him to behave like a man. Besides, when I say the two entities are approaching a unified state, I mean that the Construct’s programming is also changing.”

“How is that possible?”

“The Construct was designed to be a learning organism, even without the addition of an outside personality. Learning requires the ability to grow and change.”

“Wasn’t it also your objective that the two parts of the brain become integrated into one, smoothly functioning whole.”

“Yes, but the two parts would still be different, just integrated. You would still be able to recognize Peter Harris as Peter Harris and be able to separate him from the whole. The Construct would lose the attributes that he brought to the whole once he was removed. If I am right, there would be no Peter Harris to remove, just Patricia.”

“You said IF you are right, you aren’t certain?”

“Well, no … there isn’t enough data and I would need several weeks of additional testing to confirm exactly what is occurring. I am confident though that my original theories are wrong.”

“But you aren’t sure what is right, correct?”

“Yes, that’s true but we are risking a mans’ life here! Surely this … assignment is not worth that potential loss!”

“On the contrary Thomas, Peter knew that he was risking his life when he agreed to do this. He risked getting found out, risked getting killed, risked that something else might go wrong.”

“But we assured him that he would return to his body a whole person, the same person, once he was done. I may not be able to guarantee that now.”

“But it is also possible that it will all workout fine.”

“Maybe, but if current trends continue …”

“We all started this operation without guarantees. I have put my career on the line, my future, betting that this will work. I refuse to end it just when we are ready to begin!”

“Shouldn’t Peter be given a say in this?”

“And what would you tell him? Something MAY be happening in his head that you MAY not be able to easily reverse in the future, the answer depending on a number of yet to be determined variables? What kind of information is that to base a choice on? He will soon be starting the most dangerous part of his mission to date. I don’t want to burden him with incomplete information about a possible problem. You may continue to study and track the situation. Is there anything he might do to minimize the potential damages?”

“Yes, the more time he spends on the Pink settings, the more he is exposed to the manipulations of the programming. It still occurs at the lower Blue settings but at a lesser intensity. The time that he spends at Blue Fifty likely helps him recover from the manipulation, but it will only delay the inevitable.”

“You can advise them to follow those guidelines but no more than that. If a problem develops that threatens our success, then we can inform him of the problem. Until then, Patricia goes to school, just as we planned.”

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

What is that saying, a bird in a gilded cage? That’s what I am, though the people guarding my cage carry guns. They’re never more than fifty feet from me. I can see Henry’s head just above the hedge at the end of the patio and Lou is inside the house … where it’s air conditioned. Henry probably drew the short straw. I can dive into the pool whenever I get too hot but he’s stuck out here until I go inside. Outside by the pool, there’s at least the illusion of freedom. When I go inside, I can go anywhere I want to in the house … except where Father says I can’t.

He doesn’t think I know what he does for a living. I’m not a stupid child! I hear what the girls at school whisper behind my back. Mafia Princess. Drug lords’ daughter. And those are the nice ones.

I can’t believe that school starts this week! You’d think that I’d be happy, that at least I’m out of the house, away from my prison but St. Ann’s is worse. Hundreds of girls and not a friend among them. They all just stare at me or ignore me. Even if I had a friend, Father wouldn’t let them in the house. No one gets in here without being invited,

I might as well be going to school on the moon!

There’s the sound of a buzzer and Henry touches his left ear and mumbles something. He nods his head and then walks towards me.

“It’s lunch time, Gretchen.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Your Father wants you to come to lunch.”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“Gretchen, I work for him, not you. If you have a message, give it to him yourself. I’m not getting into this shit.”

“I … I’ll be there as soon as I change. Is that okay with you?”

“I’ll give him THAT message.” He goes back to where he was originally standing, touches his ear again and mumbles another answer, then pauses, looking at me, waiting for me to get up and go inside.

Sighing, I stand up, leaving my towel and sunscreen on the table next to my chair. “What is for lunch anyway?” I shout.

“Lobster!”

A very gilded cage.

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

Dear Diary,
Here is a typical conversation with my mother this week.

“Do you have everything ready, books, supplies, backpack?”

“Kids don’t use backpacks any more Mom.”

“They don’t? When did that happen?”

“I don’t know when, they just don’t now.”

“Well, when I was in school …”

Thus starts another trip down memory lane for Mom. Ever since I was accepted by St. Ann’s, it’s been one story after another about her days in high school. Her academic success, her social isolation, and eventual triumph over the forces of evil. She’s also made it quite plain that I’m expected to perform just as well, regardless of our ultimate objective. I just nod and take it all in without comment, other than saying how much I admire her hard work and perseverance.

Which is surprisingly true. For all her naiveté about the real job we’re ready to start, she’s been true to her word. She did an extraordinary amount of work getting me prepared for this job, something that I was unsure about. When I agreed to do this, I had my doubts about being able to pull it off. When you’re undercover, you’ve got so much to worry about, so much to be on the alert for, one thing you’ve got to have down cold is the character your playing. It has to be a part of you, it has to be natural. You can’t act it, you have to live it. There can’t be any false steps.

I planned to violate that rule with this job. I thought that I could probably learn enough to get by. The situation at school wouldn’t be so high pressure that I couldn’t afford the occasional slip up. After all, I just had to make friends with a young girl and get invited to her house, how tough is that? I would just do what Mom suggested, fly below the radar, make her acquaintance, get in, find what I could and get out. Simple.

Unfortunately, the more I thought about it and researched how relationships between girls actually work, the more I realized that plan wouldn’t work. First off, that’s not me. I never did any of my prior jobs that way. If I stop doing what I’m good at, if I second guess myself, I’m already in trouble. The only way for this to work is for me to be me … which means I have to be comfortable as a girl, to live and breathe as a sixteen year old girl.

I’ll admit I was resistant at first, what man wouldn’t be? Even after three marriages, I couldn’t tell you how women think, what they thought, it was a complete mystery. Frankly, the chance to solve that mystery was one of the things that attracted me to this job, but when push came to shove, when it was time to actually open up to those thoughts and feelings, to surrender part of myself, I was afraid and backed off.

Mom helped me through that, at first with that bogus reward program, like I was too stupid not to see it. Eventually though, we connected. Maybe it was simply calling each other Mother and Daughter all the time, no exceptions. If you repeat a lie often enough, you start to believe it. I think there may be something to that, but really, I think there’s more to it. On some level, I do think of her as my mother. I know she’s not my real mother, that she’s been dead for years … but I still miss her. You never truly get over the loss of a parent … or a child. It’s just nice to have a mother back in my life, doing for me what my real mother did. Doing it differently but it rings a bunch of old familiar bells in my head. Sometimes she’s infuriating, sometimes she’s sweet, sometimes she’s right when I’m wrong … just like old times. It’s not the same, yet it’s pleasantly familiar.

I think I may do the same for her. I’m not Alisha, I wouldn’t try to be Alisha even if I could, but sometimes, there’s just this look in her eyes, the same look I saw in my mother’s eyes years ago.

We haven’t talked about any of this. I might spoil it by saying something. We’re too close to starting the actual job to risk screwing up our relationship now.

This is the last entry before I burn this diary, can’t afford to take the chance someone may find it and ruin everything, get us all killed.

I love you, Mom.

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

“Do you have everything ready for tomorrow? Your clothes, your books, your … “

“YES MOTHER!”

“You don’t have to shout! I just want to make sure that … “

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It’s just that you’ve been on my back this whole week and … “

“I’m sorry too Patricia. I’m worried about this whole thing. Up until now, it’s just been an abstract plan but now …”

I squat down next to her chair and take her hands in mine.

“Yeah, I know. Now it’s serious.”

“Can you really do this, be a typical teen age girl?”

“No.”

“NO?! We’ve wasted all this time, all this effort, all …”

“Hold it! We’ve wasted nothing. I didn’t plan on being a typical teen age girl. I need to understand them but I can’t actually be one, I’m still a sixty year old man inside, I can’t forget that, it’s a part of me.”

“Then I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“What I need is to be comfortable with my situation, comfortable in my body, comfortable in dealing with teenagers, male and female, comfortable with dressing as a girl. I’ve still got to be me when all is said and done but this is a new me. I had to find the new me, which you helped me discover. Now I can concentrate on the job.”

“Are you done learning about the new you?”

“Are you done learning about yourself? It’s never ending.”

“I was thinking along the lines of you and a certain young fighter.”

“Okay, I’ll admit that I’m confused about that, there are a lot of conflicted feelings on that subject. I honestly don’t want to do anything I can’t live with later, once I go back.”

“I don’t know what would be wrong about just exploring the relationship. I’m not saying you just jump into bed with him but a date couldn’t hurt.”

“What are you, his agent? We’ve got a job to do and I don’t have to resolve this issue in order to do it. Lot’s of girls are confused about what they should do with those feelings, I’ll fit right in.”

“I thought you had to ‘be me’.”

“With any luck, we’ll be done before it ever comes up. From here on out, this is where I earn my money. Of our little group, I’m the only one with real life experience undercover, and I’ve got lots of it.”

“As your nightmares can attest to.”

“Don’t remind me. My point is, from here on out, I’m in charge.”

“I have no say in it? At all?”

“No. I trust your opinion and I plan on discussing everything I can with you but when a decision is made, we both need to stick with it … our lives may depend on it. If you can’t trust me, then we don’t do this, simple as that. So … do you trust me?”

She looked away for just a moment, then looked back at me, our eyes locked on each other. She was clearly thinking about it.

“Yes, I trust you Patricia.”

I relax. I wasn’t aware how tense I was until I relaxed.

“Great. There’s one other thing you need to know about undercover work. You never are sure who to trust. I’ve never had a partner before while going dark. I’ve had contacts and bosses and targets, but no partner. I trust you and you trust me, we’re in this together, but we can’t completely trust anyone else.”

“Are you saying that Thomas or Daniel might harm us in some way?”

“I’m not saying they will or they won’t. I’m saying we’ve got to keep our eyes and options open. When ever I went dark, I always had a place I could run to if I needed to disappear from everybody. A place that no one else knew. If it all went to hell, either from the target or my bosses, I could go there and get away, if only for a little while, until things cooled off. In my entire career, I only had to use it twice, but both times I was darn glad it was there. I’ve still got that place … and I’m giving you the address. Memorize this, don’t ever writeit down, leave no tracks. This is your final ace card, only play it as a last resort. Hopefully, it never comes into play, the odds are it won’t, but I want you protected if the stuff hits the fan.”

She’s getting all teary eyed … and so am I.

“Alright Patricia, what’s the address?”

“1105 North Cabana Boulevard, Randi’s Place. It’s a bar owned by someone who owes me an enormous favor. Just tell them I sent you, I mean Peter Harris, not Patricia Conner. You got that?”

“Yes, 1105 North Cabana Boulevard.”

“We’ll repeat it for a couple of days until it’s burned into your memory. Now … let’s go pick out my outfit for tomorrow. I want to make a good first impression.”

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

The first day of school always starts with such promise. The girls come streaming through our open gates, some with their parents, some with drivers, most driving themselves. Parking is always a problem, our space is so limited. We really should try to discourage the use of cars by the students. Of course, that would cause as much a problem as the uniforms did years ago and it’s a fight I don’t need right now.

“Hello, Sister Carmela!”

“Hello, Peyton, did you enjoy your summer?”

“Oh yes! We went to Europe for two months!”

“How nice for you. We’ll talk later.”

Few of the students greet me as they come up the steps to the front door, most of them avoid me. That is as it should be. I’m not their best friend, I’m their principle. A number of them are already in the building but the majority are loitering in the parking lot, greeting each other, some for the first time since school ended in May. It’s as if they are trying to delay the first day of school as long as possible.

There is a small group of girls gathered by three matching Mercedes convertibles. It’s Caitlin McBride and her posse, of which Olivia Sinclair and Kendall Woodruff are her chief lieutenants. The rest are just opportunistic sycophants. They go were the power is, in this case, popularity. I’ve taught in inner city schools riddled with gangs and sometimes I long for those days. It was easier to deal with the simple, straight forward, crude techniques of the gangs rather than the clever, restrained, subtle and ultimately effective manipulations by Miss McBride and her supplicants. Unfortunately, she has had a number of excellent teachers. Three sisters, each two years older than the previous one, all students at St. Ann’s, all leaders of the most popular clique of girls at the time, each learning from the other. Fortunately, Caitlin is the last but she is also the worst, more skilled than her older sisters but motivated only by her petty desires for power. In the big scheme of things, none of her ploys prevent the school from performing its primary function, providing an outstanding education to its students, but it is poison to the social environment.

I would put an end to it, if I could. I know what is happening and how but she never crosses the line that lets me expel her, at least not that I can prove it. This year may be different though.

“Good morning, Sister Carmela.”

Sister Rita joins me at the top of the steps to the schools’ entrance. “Good morning, Sister Rita.”

“It’s almost 7:50, nearly time to lock the gates.”

“I know. How many students do you think will be late for the first day this year?”

“I have three in the pool.”

“The pool? I certainly hope that no money is being bet.”

“Just chores. I thought that your lecture at the end of last year and the written warnings sent out last week would be effective in reducing the number from last years six.”

“We will see. Have you seen Miss Conner yet?”

“The new junior class student?”

“Yes.”

“No, I haven’t, but to be honest, I haven't been searching for her. Given her height, she would be easy to overlook.”

“Possibly. Speaking of height, did you see Gretchen Hobbes?
The girl must have grown during the summer. She’s over six feet tall now! A shame she can’t play basketball.”

“Her father would never permit it even if she could. We will be fine without her. I think that there is a very good chance that the team could win two or three games this year.”

“Are the blind girls school on our schedule?”

“SISTER CARMELA!”

“I am sorry Rita. I know that you do the best you can with what you have to work with but … we stink.”

“God will provide, Sister Carmela.”

“He better, because it would take a miracle.”

Just then, the first bell rings. I raise my arm and signal the two staff members at the gate to shut and lock it. As it begins to swing shut, I hear a throaty staccato sound in the distance. It rapidly grows louder as the gate continues to close. They are within two feet of closure when a motorcycle appears over the hill just up the street from the school, likely breaking the speed limit. It slides to a halt at the gates just as they clang shut.

The rider is a girl, dressed in a black leather coat, full helmet and a skirt. It’s not one of my girls because the skirt isn’t the same as our uniform. Same color but wrong style. The girl just sits there, gunning the engine. It is one of those smaller motorcycles; I believe they are called dirt bikes, thin knobby tires, high ground clearance. The raucous noise has drawn everyones attention, including a number of students who have already entered the building, they are looking out several of the open windows.

The girl lets the engine drop back to a rough idle, stands up in the seat, looks around, then guns the engine again, her rear wheel spinning as the motorcycle pivots around the front wheel, then rapidly accelerates down the sidewalk, parallel to our eight foot wrought iron fence, away from the entrance. The sidewalk has a number of undulations in it, small hills that occasionally block her from the view of those watching her from the ground. And everyone is still watching her. However, from the top of the front steps, we can see her the entire way. She reaches the end of the fence, brakes and again slides to a stop, the motorcycle now pointed back up the sidewalk the way she just came. She guns the engine several times and then accelerates faster than before, along the sidewalk, back towards the gate, her engine roaring like the devil himself.

“What is she doing?” shouted Sister Rita.

“I don’t have the faintest idea. I’ve seen this type of motorcycle on television before in some kind of indoor race. They can be quite acrobatic.”

“You don’t suppose that she’s …”

“No! That would be insane!”

The girl is now speeding down the sidewalk, rising up in the seat as the motorcycle skips along, barely lifting into the air as it crosses the tops of a couple of the smaller hills in the sidewalk. The driver settles down as she approaches the largest hill and the engines’ roar increases.

“Sister Carmela, I think she intends to … OH MY LORD!”

The motorcycle is flying in the air, the girl having launched it off the last hill, the engine screaming … along with every girl watching the spectacle. The motorcycle rises up in a graceful arc, well above the fence but still on the street side. Just as it reaches the peak of its’ flight, the girl pitches the motorcycle over on its’ side, performing a complete 360 degree barrel roll, putting it on the school side of the fence, the motorcycle landing on two wheels with a resounding thud in the outfield of the softball field. The girl immediately cuts her speed and continues to leisurely ride along the inside of the fence until she reaches the gate, turns into the parking lot and takes the last empty spot, the furthest from the entrance, the one assigned to Patricia Conner. The girl takes her time unfastening her helmet, then carefully removes it, shakes out her hair and smiles at all the girls starring at her in stunned silence. She hops off the vehicle, unhooks a bag from the rear of the seat, throws a strap over her shoulder and quickly trots towards me, all eyes on her and her non-regulation skirt.

The silence is deafening. It could be for her spectacular entrance or the skirt. My guess is forty five percent entrance and fifty five percent skirt. She continues her rapid pace towards the steps, then bounds up them two at a time until she’s standing right in front of me.

“Sorry I’m late, Sister Carmela. I thought I had that fuel line fixed but it broke loose about a mile away so I had to stop and fix it again. I’m pretty sure I got it this time but I’ll double check it when I get home tonight.”

“Miss Conner.”

She looks up at me, smiling brightly. “Yes, Sister Carmela?”

“My office. Now.”

“Yes, Sister Carmela.”

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

“Who the fuck was that? Is she INSANE?!”

“I know! What was she wearing?!”

“Carmela’s going to demerit her to hell and back.”

“If she doesn’t expel her on the spot.”

None of them are looking at the big picture. Why am I surrounded by idiots? Olivia’s at least smart enough to notice I haven’t said anything yet.

“Caitlin … what do you think?”

“I think … that this new girl is going to be trouble … big trouble.”

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

It’s even worse than I first thought. As soon as she took off that black leather jacket, it was obvious.

Her blouse fit her perfectly, as if it were tailored by a professional seamstress. It actually looked good on her. As if the skirt wasn’t bad enough by itself. In heaven’s name … pleats! It really is too much. I am just about to start when there is a knock at my door.

“Yes?”

It slowly opens and Sister Rita leans in through the opening. “I thought that I should be present Sister Carmela, in my capacity as Dean of Students.”

“Certainly Sister, have a seat.” She sits next to the still smiling Miss Conner.

“Good morning, Sister Rita,” she says brightly, as if nothing has happened.

“Good morning, Miss Conner,” Rita replies warily. Best we get down to business quickly.

“You were late today Miss Conner. I am afraid that will be one demerit.”

“I understand completely Sister Carmela, you are absolutely correct. Rules are rules. I was late, regardless of the reasons, I deserve the demerit. I hope that it is the last one I ever receive.”

No arguing, no complaining about the unfairness of it all, no extenuating circumstances, just acceptance. Rita looks as surprised as I am.

“Ahh, yes, unfortunately there could be some additional demerits. Your skirt is not in compliance with our uniform rules, nor is your blouse.”

“I will admit that they look different from what the other girls wear, but I’m pretty sure that they meet all the rules posted online. In fact, the skirt is one quarter inch longer than required and my top button is one half inch higher.”

“Those pleats are not in the rules.”

“They are neither required nor prohibited. The rules are silent about them. It doesn’t mention petticoats either.” She stands up and moves away from the chair. “That’s why the skirt is fuller and just a little bouncy. It’s not a full petticoat, like a square dancer might wear, it’s more a demi-petticoat, but I think it works nicely.” She does a quick spin, the skirt moving with her. If any of the other girls had tried that, her skirt would likely have pulled at her legs.

“It’s lovely, but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point, Sister?”

“It’s different from everybody else.”

“I simply followed the rules, Sister. Whoever wrote them seemed to be more concerned about short hemlines, low waists, cleavage and butt cracks. There’s a whole lot you can do within those rules to make the uniform more stylish, more attractive. I just took advantage of that space. I’ve got seven different skirts and five different blouses. There’s this pencil skirt I can’t wait to wear!”

Seven different skirts! The other girls will riot! Their parents will go ballistic! “Patricia, we can not permit you to wear these clothes, even if they do comply with our uniform guidelines. If necessary, the school can purchase some for you, given your financial circumstances but …”

“No, Sister Carmela.”

“No?!”

“That’s right. I’ve followed your rules, to the letter. I told you that I’m a stickler for the rules. If you wish to change those rules, you can, but I have done nothing wrong and you can not punish me for behavior that is clearly within the rules.”

“What about jumping the fence with that motorcycle of yours? Certainly that violated the schools rules!”

She sits back down next to Sister Rita, her arms crossed. “Which ones?”

“What?”

“Which rule or rules did I violate? I’ve read them all very closely before coming in today and I couldn’t find a single one that applied, not even if you stretched it. I’ll admit, it would have taken a person with a very good imagination to even consider the possibility of this happening, but that’s the nature of rules. The people who write them rarely think out of the box.”

“How about creating a disturbance among the students?”

“They seemed pretty quiet to me when I was in the parking lot.”

“Disrupting classes?”

“Classes didn’t begin for another three minutes.”

“Property damage?” I was reaching and they both knew it.

“If I had hit the fence, maybe. But I cleared it.”

I look over at Rita. “Sister Rita, you’re Dean of Students, tell her which rules she violated.”

“Ahhh … Sister … perhaps … it’s very likely … you see …”

“What are you saying, Sister Rita?” I’m afraid I don’t want to hear this.

“It seems Miss Conner is correct … about everything. You have spent a number of years developing the reputation of a strict disciplinarian, fairly and impartially enforcing the rules of St. Ann’s. Miss Conner seems to have discovered a number of gaps or loop holes in our rules. To punish her would seem to be … hypocritical.”

“To say the least,” added Connor, still smiling.

“We cannot permit the uniform requirement to become … emasculated. We have fought every fashion trend for the last ten years. To loosen the requirements now invites chaos!”

“I know that I’ve created some problems here but I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have a solution too.”

“And what is that, Miss Conner?”

“Let anybody do what I did, alter the uniforms themselves, no hired guns, each girl does it by themselves.”

“How do we make sure no one cheats?” I can think of three very likely candidates.

“Set up a room here at school, buy a couple of used sewing machines for less than a hundred bucks. Heck, you could oversee it, you said you knew how to sew. Any girl who wants to try it learns a new skill. I think that you’ll get very few takers, but if you do, so much the better, you end up with more well rounded and educated students. They can work during the lunch hour.”

“What about you, you did your work at home, how do I know that you did not have help?”

“You don’t trust me, Sister?”

“I may, others may not.”

“I have logs, photos and videos, but I’ll tell you what … you set up the room and I’ll help one other girl … just to prove I can do it.”

“Which girl?”

“I don’t know, I’ll find a volunteer.”

“The whole concept does sound interesting, it would certainly silence most protests, giving each girl the opportunity to do the same, make alterations within the existing rules, however there could be problems.”

“Sister Carmela,” Conner said, a touch of exasperation in her voice. “You let me enroll in St. Ann’s because I was qualified … but be honest, you had some other reasons too. You want me to do something for you. You weren’t exactly specific and I didn’t ask for details, plausible deniability and all, but for this to work, I have to be a target. The clothes and entrance should take care of that, don’t you think?”

“I would say that you are now or soon will be, one of the best known students in the entire school.”

“So, mission accomplished.” She stood up, smoothing her dress as she did. “You can do what you want about your uniform rule, but my sewing room idea is your best bet. The girls who might be able to make their own clothes are not your trouble makers; it’s the ones who would consider it beneath them that are. I have to run, already late for Calculus, don’t want to fall behind this early in the semester.”

With that, she grabbed her book bag from off the floor and hurried from the office, leaving us staring in her wake.

“Sister Carmela?”

“Yes, Sister Rita?”

“That little girl planned all of this, the motorcycle, jumping over the fence, that skirt, this meeting … all of it.”

“Yes … she did.”

“We have been played by a sixteen year old girl, haven’t we?”

“Played up down left and right, Sister.” I plop back down in my chair. “Let us hope that, in the future, she uses her powers for good instead of evil.”

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

Most of the girls didn’t know what to make of me the first day, though they all watched me wherever I went. A couple of the braver ones said “Hi” and quickly moved on down the hall, like they didn’t want to be caught in the blast should I spontaneously combust. Most of the rest just watched me … including Gretchen Hobbes. She was one girl who was hard to miss.

Six foot plus tall, hard to say for sure exactly, she walked slumped over, like she was trying to make herself smaller, less noticed. Her mother had been a tall model, with that cool, confident Nordic look, blue eyes and blonde hair. Unfortunately for her and Gretchen, mom was a party girl who never grew up. Gretchen has the same height but is more that smoldering latin look, darker skin, brown-black eyes, full dark black hair, nice eyebrows, bright white teeth, which you only see when she eats because she doesn’t smile … at anything. A slim figure. A pencil skirt would look really good on her. On me, it’s more of a bad joke. I just can’t be sophisticated, I’m too darn cute!

Gretchen clearly doesn’t know how good she could look. Even with the schools’ puritanical rules, she could at least do something with her hair, get it out of her face. She could stand up, be confident. She’s so shy and withdrawn, my original plan doesn’t seem likely to succeed. It’s unlikely that she’ll approach me, so I’ll need to find some reason to make contact with her.

I find a place to sit at lunch, a smaller table off to the side of the cafeteria that’s empty. I want to see how the crowd circulates, figure out who’s what. I just start to eat my soup when another girl comes up.

“Hi Patricia, can I sit here with you?”

I look up and recognize her. “Sure Terri, sit down.”

“Thanks.” She drops down into the seat opposite of me, opens her milk carton, takes a sip, then leans across the table towards me. “Are you crazy?” she whispers.

“I don’t know why you keep asking me that.”

“Because you keep doing stuff only a crazy person would do!”

“You mean jumping the fence.”

“No, that was freaking cool and all, super freaking cool really. I mean that skirt and blouse. I’d already warned you about Carmela and then you go and do something like that! How many demerits did you get?”

“One … for being late.”

“ONE! Only one?! How the hell did you only get one?”

“We had a nice talk about my skirt and I pointed out that the rules didn’t prohibit what I had done. It took a while but she and Sister Rita eventually agreed with me.”

“She brought Rita in too? And you only got one demerit?”

“Like I said, they agreed that my clothes were not prohibited by the rules.”

“So they’re gonna change those uniform rules?”

“Maybe more like amend them slightly.”

”And we can wear stuff like you’re wearing?”

“It probably won’t be as easy as that. But yeah, you could wear a skirt like this.”

“Freaking Awesome! Where’d you buy them?”

“I didn’t buy them, I made them.”

“Really? Like with needles and thread and cloth, that kinda thing?”

“Exactly like that kinda thing.”

“So … any of us can just go buy something like you’re wearing and we’re safe?”

“I’d wait and see what Sister Carmela says before doing anything. It should only be a couple of days before the pressure causes them to do something. So … who’s the big dog around here?”

“I told you, Sister Carmela.”

“I meant of the students, who runs things?”

She leans in closer. “That’d be Caitlin McBride. She’s got all these people who do what she tells them to do.”

“And why do they do that?”

“Cause she’s a big bitch, that’s why.”

“If she’s such a big bitch, why do they follow her?”

“Because they just do. She’s little Miss Popular and if you don’t want to be pushed around or ignored by everybody, you do what she says.”

“So they actually get physical, beat some one up?”

“Yeah, sometimes, but it’s not like that exactly. They might push you around but I’ve never seen an actual fight, not at school at least. Sometimes, a girl might come to school with bruises but nobody talks about it.”

“So … you think she might come after me?”

“If you piss her off enough, sure … OHHHH! WAIT! She probably doesn’t know about you. OMG! If she tried that, you’d … that would be sooo cool! God! If someone would just put her in her place, stand up to her.”

“So, the other girls don’t actually like her?”

“NO!” She leaned in even closer. “We hate her!” she whispered. “She’s only got like four or five real friends, the rest of them just hang around because she’s like the queen bee.”

“Thanks Terri. That’s good to know.”

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

By the time I get home from work, Patricia already has dinner started. She’s quite the little cook. I picked up a few cookbooks at the library, she read them overnight and now she’s got them down pat. There were a couple of less than great meals because the books weren’t exactly specific about certain techniques but she figured it out very quickly. She doesn’t mind doing it, says it’s relaxing, at least most of the time. I still do most of the shopping and the dishes after the meal, but she is generally in charge of supper and weekend meals. I still fix some of my favorites from time to time though, to give her a break or when she’s busy with something else. I think she’s cooking a pork roast, there was a good sale on boneless pork loins last week and I bought several.

I’ve been nervous all day, expecting a call from St. Ann’s about my renegade daughter, but it never came. I stick my head into the kitchen.

“So … how was your first day?”

Her back is too me, stirring gravy in a pan on the stove, still dressed in her school uniform, which is surprising. I thought she would change back to her usual T-shirt and shorts as soon as she got home.

“Just great Mom, just great.”

“Any problems at all?”

“Gretchen Hobbes is going to be tougher than I thought she might be, but I’ve got a couple of ideas that should work, though it might take longer than we originally planned.”

“Daniel won’t be happy to hear that.”

“Daniel Lipscomb can go … can drop dead if he doesn’t like it.”

“Patricia!”

“I know … there’s just something about him that makes me … I can’t put my finger on it but the more I see him, the less I trust him. It’s just my gut telling me something isn’t right.”

“Have you seen him do or say something to make you feel this way?”

“No, nothing. I know it isn’t logical. I just feel on edge around him.”

“Is it … sexual?”

“PLEASE GOD NO! Why do you always jump on that? I wouldn’t … do anything with him, ever, not even at gun point.”

“He is reasonably good looking.”

“Not at gunpoint, Mother.”

“So you’re sure?” She just looks at me and rolls her eyes. She’s sure. “Then what is it?”

“I told you, I don’t know, it’s just my gut.”

“He’ll want a report about today; we’ve all been working towards this day Patricia.”

“You, I and Dr. Matthews have been working towards this day. Lipscomb has been sitting on his ass.”

“That’s not fair, Daniel has done his part. Most of his job starts once we get him the evidence he needs to put Hobbes away.”

“Then you call him and tell him it’s all going according to plan. If I have to talk with him, I will, but not on an empty stomach. Sit down, dinners ready.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“So, Gretchen, how was your first day back at St. Ann’s?”

Father always insists we eat meals together, he thinks that it makes us more of a family, even though he spends most of the meal reading papers of some kind, just like tonight.

As if!

It doesn’t matter what I want, it’s the same routine every day, unless he’s not out of town on “business”, then I eat by myself in my room. At least then I can watch TV while I eat.

“Gretchen, I asked you a question.”

“It was fine, Father.” Just like all the other days at school, everybody staring at the big, clumsy geek.

“Nothing interesting happen?”

“No, nothing …” Does he really care? Is he even listening? Does he really want to know what is happening to me?

“Actually, something did happen before school started. A girl showed up riding a motorcycle but she got to the gate just after they locked it, so she couldn’t get in. She didn‘t let that stop her though, she drove all the way down to the softball field, turned around and drove really fast back to the gate. When she hit one of the hills in the sidewalk, she jumped the entire motorcycle high into the air, then did some kind of twisting thing so that the motorcycle landed on the other side of the fence. She must have been thirty feet in the air! Then she walks into school and she’s not wearing the same uniform as the rest of us … though it was kinda like the regular uniform. It was the same color and everything but hers actually fit her, like regular clothes. What was really strange was they didn’t send her home to change, which is what they usually do. She’s in two of my classes, French and Physics. She seems nice, smiles at everybody and says ‘Hello’, though she’s really really short! I heard someone say that she’s one of the scholarship girls, so she’s poor, but she seems friendly.”

He doesn’t even look up. “That certainly sounds interesting.”

Why does he bother to ask when he doesn’t care what I say? I don’t know why I even try.

I wonder what that other girl’s life is like. Going where ever she wants on that motorcycle, totally free, even locked gates can’t stop her. She dresses different from everybody else and gets away with it. How does she do that? She’s not rich or famous or anything. No one else ever got away with wearing something different at St. Ann’s. What makes her so special?

“Are any of your classes going to be difficult?”

UUgggghhhhh!

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

It took almost two weeks, but eventually they announced a change to the uniform rules. I kept wearing my altered uniforms, changing skirts and blouses enough that there was something new everyday. That alone kept me in the eyes of the girls. Some were really interested in how I had done what I’d done. I might have been wrong about how many girls would actually participate in a sewing program. Others were clearly upset, make that jealous. Particularly the girls that Terri had pointed out to me. They didn’t say anything to me but they never responded when I said “Hello” or “Hi”.

Sister Carmela took my suggestion and let the girls alter their own uniforms at school … within the existing rules. Apparently one of the parents donated some equipment. I imagine there were a lot of complaints from the parents, they’re probably more competitive than their kids. To Sister Carmelas’ credit, I didn’t hear anymore from her about it. She didn’t try to force me back into the standard uniform, which would have been the easy way out. That tells me she’s at least temporarily on board with what I’m doing.

So far, the classes have been easy. We decided to keep my Balancer set on Blue Five. That setting gives me ready access to all the knowledge originally added by Dr. Matthews and Mom, plus all the stuff I’ve added on my own but it’s still far enough in the blue that I don’t have to fight for control of my body. For some reason, Dr. Matthews thought it should be even higher. He’s never had an opinion about the settings in the past. He just had an academic interest about how I functioned at different settings. He also suggested I spend all weekend at Blue Fifty, which was fine by me. Unfortunately, nothing seems to stop the bad dreams.

They all still revolve around my years as an undercover cop. If the reason for that is my disturbed memories after the transfer, that should have settled down months ago. Free floating memories don’t happen in anything else I do. They’re as bad as ever, but I’ve mostly adapted. Occasionally I wake up shouting, but that only happens once or twice a week now.

Other than that, things are going well. I still haven’t had a chance to make contact with Gretchen Hobbes. She hasn’t said anything to me yet, though she’s been in the group of girls who’ve asked how I altered my uniform but she didn’t ask any questions herself. She doesn’t seem to have any friends at all. Eats lunch by herself, sits alone in the library, and doesn’t hang with anyone. I asked Terri about her and she said that she’s that drug dealers’ daughter. Apparently, everyone is familiar with her background and nobody wants to be associated with her. I’ve wondered how she got into St. Ann’s in the first place … probably the same way I did. A lot of people likely are under Ray Hobbes’ control, including those who look reputable on the surface. I think that Sister Carmela would have told him off if he came to her directly. She’s a realist but you won’t get far trying to threaten or bully her directly. I respect that.

Mom tells me that Lipscomb is getting anxious for some progress, and he’s right. I need to find an opportunity to connect with Gretchen.

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

The Teachers’ Lounge is usually an island of calm in a sea of activity. To call our facility a lounge is pushing the definition of the word. It’s only a fairly nondescript room with a few comfortable chairs, a long table, a microwave, refrigerator and television. Teachers can eat lunch here if they don’t have cafeteria duty that day. I try to spend some time here regularly to make sure that the students are behaving. I’d rather not wait for the behavior to deteriorate to the point the teacher sends a girl to my office, I’d rather know about it early and head the problem off now.

Today, only Francis Truax and Sarah Connelly are in the Lounge. They are our French and Science teachers.

“Good afternoon, Francis, Sarah.”

“Afternoon, Sister Rita” answered Francis. I’d caught Sarah chewing on a bite from her sandwich, so she just nodded my direction.

“Have the students settled into regular routines yet?”

“Most of mine have” answered Francis. “My first quiz is next week.”

“Any trouble from the uniform bruha?”

“Not at all! Patricia Conner is probably my best student. Without tests, I can’t say for certain, some students freak out when tested, but she’s always prepared, never misses a homework assignment and can be relied on for the right answer, though she’s not one of those pushy know-it-alls, waiving her hand in your face before you even get the question out of your mouth.”

“How does she get along with the other students?”

“The other students or the Three Headed Gorgon?”

“Let’s keep that nickname to ourselves, Francis.”

“McClairuff aren’t taking French this semester, thank God. The rest of the girls don’t know what to make of Conner. She’s generally friendly but I think they’re too intimidated to respond. I think McBride and her cohorts have put the kibosh on her.”

“I see. What about you Sarah? Any troubles brewing?”

“With Patricia Conner? None at all. In fact, she helped me today explain a complex astrophysics concept to the class.”

“How did she do that?”

“I try to integrate current events into my class when ever possible, to keep it topical. There was a recent article in the newspaper about the discovery of planets more than 50 million light years from earth. I was trying to explain how the scientists were able to determine their existence by observing the slight wobbles in the orbit of the neighboring sun. The girls weren’t getting it until Patricia had Gretchen Hobbes come up and help with a demonstration. Gretchen was very reluctant, but Patricia managed to convince her.”

“What kind of demonstration?”

“Patricia first had Gretchen spin in place, her arms extended straight out from her shoulders. Then they faced each other, held hands and she spun around Gretchen. Then they did the same thing again but Patricia told everyone to imagine that she was invisible, to concentrate on Gretchen’s movements. The entire class got it immediately. It was such a simple demonstration that clearly illustrated the concept. It was so elegant! I wish I could claim credit, but she came up with it all by herself.”

“Why Gretchen Hobbes?”

“Simple, Gretchen is the tallest girl and Patricia …”

“Is the shortest, now I understand. How does she get along with the other students?”

“Just as Francis said, Patricia is friendly but most of the other girls are not responsive. They aren’t hostile, just neutral. Something needs to be done about McClairuff, and soon.”

“I would really appreciate it that McBride, Sinclair and Woodruff not be referred to as McClairuff.”

“Some of the students already do,” said Francis.

“Then let’s not encourage them by joining in.”

“Fine, but is Sister Carmela finally going to do something about them?”

“She’s working on it, trust me.”

“I hope you’re right, Sister Rita,” said Sarah. “Patricia Conner must be having a very hard time, being shunned the way she is.”

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

I could smell the fried rice as soon as I entered the house. Patricia had found the recipe in a Minute Rice ad and made a few changes. It was quick, simple and delicious! I really must have her write some of these down before we are finished. I wonder which part of the brain will retain that information when Peter Harris separates and returns to his body.

When I enter the kitchen, she is stirring something in the electric wok on the kitchen counter, her back to me. I don’t say anything right away, just watch her. There are a number of small bowls of vegetables arranged on the counter next to her. She picks one up with her left hand, empties it in the wok and continues stirring with her right. She then wipes her eyes with her left hand.

Is she crying?

“Patricia?” She quickly turns her head my way, eyes red and bright with tears. “Is there a problem, honey?”

“No, no … I’m fine. It’s just … the onions.” She wipes her eyes again, picks up the bowl with the onions and adds the contents to the wok, stirring vigorously. “I’m fine. You just surprised me. You’re home early.” She sniffs, then forces a smile.

“I have to go in early tomorrow so they gave me some comp time today. Can I help?”

“I’m almost done, just have to add the broccoli and the shrimp, it’ll be another seven or eight minutes. You can set the table.”

“Bowls or plates?”

“Plates.”

“Okay. I’ll just go wash my hands and be right back.” I walk out of the kitchen but stop just as soon as I leave the kitchen and hide, my back against the wall. I’m sure that she was crying about something. She’s never cried when working with onions before. I peek back into the kitchen. She’s dabbing her eyes with a paper napkin, then blows her nose. I could be the onions … but I doubt it.

I hurry to the bathroom, wash and dry my hands and rush back to the kitchen, slowing as I cross the threshold. Removing the plates from the cabinet, I begin to set the table.

We both work in silence for a few minutes before I speak up.

“Any progress at school today?”

“Yeah, I may have an opening.”

“Really, that’s wonderful! How did you do it?”

“Don’t get too excited. I just made contact, it may not lead to anything.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it work, I have absolute confidence in you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” She unplugs the wok and brings it to the table, setting it in the middle as I distribute the napkins, then we both sit down.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s nothing, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Too late now. You know that you have to tell me, that’s our deal.”

“It’s all your fault.”

“What are you talking about, Patricia?”

“I shouldn’t care what any of them think … but I do. I sure as heck didn’t before, but now I do.”

“Care what who thinks?”

“The other girls. There’s no reason in the world that I should worry about what a bunch of teenage girls thinks about me. This is just a job, when it’s done, I’m out of here, leaving this all behind. So why do I find it so hard to stop myself from doing things to make them like me?”

“The other girls don’t like you?”

“Of course they don’t! I show up dressed differently, knowing all the answers in class, upsetting the social structure. The prima donnas warn everybody else to give me the silent treatment, who’s going to be my friend?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, of course I did! Everything is going fine … so why do I so desperately want to abandon the whole plan and conform? Explain that to me.”

“Well, it’s only natural to want to fit in, whoever or wherever you are. Even I …”

“No, it’s not natural for me. I don’t give a darn … jeez, I can’t even curse anymore. Peter Harris didn’t care what other people thought, that’s why I was so good at what I did. I understood what they thought and why, but I didn’t care. Now, every time I try to be nice to someone and they ignore me, it hurts. Way down deep, it hurts. It’s that gosh darn programming that you and Dr. Matthews did, to try to make me behave like one of them. It’s changing me!”

“Maybe it’s just ahhh … personal growth?”

“It’s not personal growth! I’m sixty, the only personal growth I experience is gaining weight, which by the way, I gained two pounds and feel like a blimp, another one of your additions to my psyche, thank you very much.”

“Don’t blame us for this! We were just doing what we thought was right. You had to know what it was like if you were going to pass as a girl.”

“Knowing intellectually is one thing, but now I’ve got the whole package of feelings, including insecurity and declining self-confidence.”

“Maybe if we changed the settings?”

“It doesn’t help much. It’s worse in the Pink numbers but still there in the Blue.”

“Even Blue Fifty?”

“No, but I can still feel the old pain, I just don’t create any new pain.”

“You seem to be handling it well.”

“For now. Sometimes though, it all builds up and I just have to … well, you saw me today.”

“Cry?”

“Yeah.”

I reach out and take her left hand in mine. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll do fine. I still have absolute confidence in you.”

She looks at me, a smile on her face. “Thanks, that’s nice to hear now and then.”

“I’ll tell you as often as you need to hear it. Remember, this is only temporary. Soon, you’ll be back to your old grumpy self.”

Her smile disappears. “Yeah, my old self. We better finish this before it gets cold.”

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

Another day, another lunch in the cafeteria by myself. I have barely started eating when I hear a voice behind me.

“Can I sit here?”

I turn my head to look … it’s her! “Su..su..sure, sit down.”

“Thanks!”

She sits right next to me, like it’s no big deal.

“Hi! You’re Gretchen, right? I’m Patricia, Patricia Conner.”

“H..h..hello, I’m Gretchen … Hobbes.”

“Nice to meet you Gretchen. Thanks for helping out in Physics last week. I know that it was probably embarrassing and all, but you were just perfect for that demonstration. You did it so well too!”

“Thanks.”

“Ms. Connelly told me later that she was really impressed with it.”

“She told me the same. I told her it wasn’t my idea.”

“She told me that she wanted to use it in the future, maybe even tell other physics teachers about it. She asked me if that was okay. I said it was. You don’t mind, do you?”

“As long as I don’t have to do it again.”

“But you were perfect! No one else could have done it as well. You just stood there, rock steady, spinning like a top. We should copyright it. The Hobbes-Conner remote planetary detection demonstration.”

“No! You thought of it, you can have it!”

“I was just joking about the copyright thing. We couldn’t make any money off it anyway. There is one thing you could help me with though.”

“What’s that?”

“You probably know about the change in the uniform rules, right?”

I snort. “Who doesn’t?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s big news or something.”

“No one had ever gotten away with what you did … ever.”

“Well, I haven’t gotten away with anything yet. I promised Sister Carmela that, if she changed the rule, I’d help someone else make changes to their uniform, to prove I did mine on my own. I’d like to help you change yours, if you don’t mind. You’d really be helping me out. If I can’t find someone to volunteer, then I have to go back to a regular uniform and I’m not even sure they make them in my size.”

“I don’t know. I already get more attention than I want.”

“Sure, I understand. It’s just … I know that I can make something that’ll look really good on you. There’s this pencil skirt I did for me but it’s just wrong for my … shape, but on you, it’d be great! I could do a criss-cross lacing in the front panel, really classy.”

It sounds tempting, but … “I’m still not sure. Why me?”

“Because you’re the most beautiful girl in school. Duh?”

“I’m what?!”

“The most beautiful girl in school. What do you say? None of it’s permanent. You don’t like the results, you can always wear a regular uniform. It would really help me out, Gretchen.”

She thinks I’m the most beautiful girl in school? Is she crazy?! She looks sincere. I don’t think she’s joking. It’s been a long time since anybody has actually tried to be friendly towards me. What have I got to lose?

“Okay. I’ll help.”

“Great! Wonderful! You won’t regret this! We can start tomorrow. Bring a spare uniform when you come to school. I checked out their equipment and it’s pretty good. I’d prefer to use mine, but rules are rules.” She hops up out of her seat. “Thanks a lot Gretchen, you’re a lifesaver. See you in French.” She waves her hand and hurries off.

What have I gotten myself into?

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

I peak around the door of the room where Patricia told me to meet her. I don’t see anybody in there, just a couple of sewing machines, a big table and a full length mirror. Slowly stepping into the room, I look around. Nothing. It was all probably a joke. And I fell for it. Yeah … most beautiful girl in school. What an idiot!

“Hey Gretchen!”

I jump when I hear her behind me, dropping the bag holding my extra uniform. “H..h..hii Patricia.”

She quickly walks over to the table and throws her bag on the top. “We don’t have much time today. I thought we could take some measurements, I could show you my sketches and we could work on a schedule. Can you stay late after school some days? Like for an hour?”

“No. My Father wants me home right away. The car is always waiting right as school lets out.”

“A chauffeured car huh? Must be nice.”

“I think your motorcycle is … nice.”

“It’s okay. I got a good deal but the maintenance is a pain in the butt. The carb is always giving me trouble.”

“You fix it yourself?”

“Sure. You ride an old bike, you better know how to fix it.” She opens her bag and pulls out a handful of folded papers, opening them and spreading them out on the table. “A bike can be a lot of fun … until it rains. I keep a rain suit stashed under the seat but I still get wet. Take a look at these and tell me what you think.”

I walk around to her side of the table and look down at one of the papers. It looks like a charcoal sketch of an attractive, thin, tall girl with full, luxuriant hair, posed sexily, wearing a tight, long skirt and a tailored shirt with wide collars. The other papers are more sketches of the same girl from different angles in different fashion poses.

“Where’d you get these?”

“I drew them last night, to give you an idea what I had in mind.”

“They’re really good! Who’s the girl?”

“You, of course.”

“I don’t look like that.”

“You could though. You are beautiful.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Cause it’s true. Here,” she reaches out, takes my hand and turns me towards the mirror “stand up straight. Come on, really straight, shoulders back, chest forward, head up.”

At school, I always try to be shorter than I am, to avoid attention. Now, I plant both feet and stand tall, stretching my neck.

“There you go, that’s the way!” she says. “Now look in the mirror.”

I don’t see anything that I don’t see every morning. “Sorry, I don’t see it.”

“That’s cause you’re not looking close enough. Your cheek bones, they are classic. Your chin, eyes, nose, darn near perfect, particularly those eyes. Great shape, wonderful spacing. Lashes that most girls would kill for. Don’t think of it as your face, think of it as someone else’s face.”

I look back at the mirror. She’s got to be kidding me. I’ve seen pictures of models, mostly friends of my mother, and I don’t look anything … my eye lashes are pretty full and long though. Turning my head to the right, I can see why she says my nose is good … my chin too. I’d never even considered the possibility that I might be … pretty. I’d grown over a foot in the last couple of years and have been an uncoordinated geek. Maybe …

“My mom was a model.”

“That explains it. Do you look like her?”

“Not really. She was blonde and blue eyed, Swedish. I’ve got dark hair and brown eyes.”

“Your mom was blonde?”

“Yeah, she died when I was little.”

“Way harsh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you have a step-mother?”

“No, Father never remarried, had a lot of girlfriends though.”

“Live in?”

“Sometimes.”

“Any of them nice?”

“Not really.”

“That sucks. My mom never remarried but hasn’t dated either.”

“Your father died?”

“Yes, an auto accident three years ago.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah. It hasn’t been easy.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I know. Only having one parent sucks.”

“At least you’ve got a mother.”

“Dad’s are important too.”

“I’d rather have a mother.”

“Well … I’m just glad I’ve got my mom. Enough of this sad stuff, what do you think of the design?”

“It’s wonderful! Can you do that? Make one of these ugly uniforms into that?”

“It’s not simple, but yeah, I can do it … or I should say we can do it, that’s my deal with Sister Carmela. Step up on this folding chair and I’ll take some measurements.”

She opens up a folding chair that had been leaning up against the table. It looks a little rickety.

“Is that safe?”

“Sure. Just step up and don’t wiggle around. You can hold onto my shoulder if you want.”

She’s so short, I’d have to hold onto her head. “No thanks, I’ll be careful.” I put my left foot in the middle of the seat, lean forward and step up with my right. The chair wobbles slightly but I carefully stand up.

“Good,” she says. “Just stand still and I’ll be quick.”
She runs a measuring tape around my waist, then around my hips, my thighs and finally down both legs to my knees. “I’m done, you can hop down.”

“That’s okay, I’ll just step down.”

“I’ll hold the chair.”

“Thanks.”

I squat down, step off with my left foot and then immediately follow with my right.

“We need to come up with something better than that.”

“You’re right, I’ll find or make something. We only need a big wooden box. I need to take some measurements for the blouse.”

She takes several measurements at different levels around my chest and breasts, sleeves and neck. “That’s it. I’ll take your extra uniform home with me and see if we need extra fabric to finish the job. I’ll also mark the skirt and blouse for cutting, I don’t think that violates the new rules.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“Maybe a week, assuming we work after lunch every day and there’s no competition for time with the machines.”

No one else has come in since we got here. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“You’re probably right, though that may change after the girls get a look at you. One of us is a curiosity, two is a trend.”

“Don’t hold your breath, there’s only one trend setter in this school, Caitlin McBride.”

“Haven’t met her yet.”

“You’re better off if you don’t.”

“We’ll see. Guess we’re done for today. Can you meet again tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure. This was … fun.”

She smiled at me; she’s got a really nice smile. “It was fun for me too Gretchen, and we didn’t actually do very much. We’ll get down to business next time.” She picked up her bag and my extra uniform, then handed me her sketches. “You can keep these, I’ve got more at home.”

“Thanks.”

“See you in French, Gretchen. Good luck on the quiz.”

“Thanks Patricia, you too.”

She hurried out of the room. She always seems to be in a hurry, headed to the next thing. I look again at the sketches in my hands. They are very professionally done. Wonder what else she can do.

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

“PATRICIA, I’M HOME.”

“I’M UPSTAIRS MOM.”

I go upstairs but Patricia isn’t in her room. I look in her sewing room, she’s there, working on another uniform, though it looks larger than one of hers.

“Is that one of yours, Patricia?”

“No, it’s Gretchen Hobbes’.”

“That’s great news! You’ve made a connection! Are you going to be able to make friends with her?”

“I think I already have.”

“Oh Patricia! That’s just … just …” I start to tear up. After all these years, we are almost there, almost ready to take down Raymond Hobbes.

“She’s a nice girl, Mom.”

“What?”

“She’s a nice girl, doesn’t have any friends.”

“That’s hardly surprising. Who would want their daughter to be friends with the child of a crime czar?”

“No one … unless you’re a lawyer, of course. I’m just saying this girl is desperate, it’s like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“So much the better for us. What is the next step?”

She sighs. “Keep growing the relationship.”

“How long do you think it will take you to get inside?”

“I can’t say. First thing I’ll need to do is find a good reason to be there. I don’t think simple friendship will be good enough. We’ll have to see.”

“You’ll think of something. You have no idea how happy you’ve made me Patricia. I can’t wait to tell Daniel.”

“I think we’ll need to start using the dead drop system for future reports. Once I get close to Gretchen, anything could happen. Hobbes’ paranoia might kick in and we could end up being investigated by his people before we’re ready. We can’t afford to be linked to a Federal Prosecutor.”

“I understand, you’re right. I’ll contact Thomas and implement it right away. Anything else?”

“Yes. Now is when this gets dangerous. We’ve just been getting ready up till today. From here until we’re done, we must be extremely careful. Remember what I told you about where to go if the stuff hits the fan.”

“I remember and I’ll be extra cautious, but I’m sure we will win in the end.”

“The good guys don’t win just because they’re the good guys. Good guys get killed every day, so do good girls … and nice, innocent daughters.”

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

Finally, progress! Thomas called me today with the news. Patricia has made successful contact with Gretchen Hobbes. Not only contact, but quite likely a friendly relationship. Patricia is confident enough to implement our secure communication procedure. Using dead drops is much more cumbersome than phone calls or email but we cannot take any chances now. We should make a few practice runs before there is any real information to transfer.

Walter Tyson has been true to his word. Once he authorized this operation, he has not bothered me at all, not once asked about progress. We’ve been alone a few times and I could tell that he was resisting the urge to ask me, but he did resist. He’s likely satisfied that I’ve stopped bothering him for higher profile assignments. It took me a while to realize that this is the best way for me to achieve the power and status that I deserve. There will be collateral damage, but that can’t be avoided. Best not count the chickens before the eggs hatch though, we are a long way from the ultimate goal. However, progress is nice to see.

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

“How you doing on that seam Gretch?”

“Uhh … fine … I think. Why don’t you do it?”

“Because I promised Carmela I’d help someone else learn, not do it for you.” She stands behind me and looks over my shoulder. “That’s great! With a little practice, you could do one of these by yourself. You should get your dad to buy you a nice sewing machine.”

“He’s got no idea I’m doing this. He’d say that sewing is for peasants.”

“Should I be insulted?”

“NO! I wouldn’t say that! I think you’re great! Wonderful! My Father would say something like that, not me!”

“Weeeellll, I guess you’re forgiven. Stand up and try this on.”

Patty’s hung a couple of sheets from the ceiling, making a kind of changing room. I was nervous trying things on in the room, anybody could walk in. Patty pointed out it was a girls’ school but I was still uncomfortable. I’ve never gotten used to showers after gym, though Patty said it’s one of her favorite times of the week. She doesn’t strike me as a clean freak.

“Be careful. It’s almost finished.”

I take the new blouse behind the sheet, take off my old blouse and carefully slip my arms through the sleeves of the new one and button up the front. The seams down both sides are still open, so the blouse is more like a mini poncho than a shirt. I step back into the room and see Patty has her pin cushion wrist band on. She notices the fear in my eyes.

“Take it easy, I’ll be careful.”

“That’s what you said when you did the skirt. My butt still hurts.”

“It was an accident and the pin didn’t go in more than a quarter inch. You really are a big baby, you know that?”

“And you’re a vicious little troll.”

“Touché. Step over here, the light’s better. Good. Now just stand normally, don’t be tense.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You want this to fit right, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then relax. I’ll pin both seams, then sew it up and we’ll be finished.”

“Shouldn’t I do them?”

“No, they’ll be tricky. We want the blouse to be fitted but not too tight. You’ll have to watch your weight as it is. You could gain ten pounds with the old uniform and no one would notice. Now, a couple of pounds will be obvious.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“I didn’t say you were, I said that you wouldn’t want to get fat.”

“Who’d care if I did?”

“I’d care. I can’t be seen hanging around a fat girlfriend … it’s bad for my reputation.”

“You’ve already got a bad reputation.”

“That’s why you like me, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Patricia Conner, bad girl of St. Ann’s. The Motorcycle Momma. The Furious Fashionista. The Suspicious Scholar. The Seamy Seamstress. The …”

I start giggling. “SHUT UP! If you don’t stop, I can’t stay still and then you’ll blame me when you stick me … again.”

“Boy! One little mistake and you’re marked for life.” She reaches up and pulls the seam together on the left side. “Exhale, unless you plan on holding your breath every time you wear this.”

I exhale and relax. Patty pinches and pins, working her way down the seams, switching sides every few pins, until she reaches the hem that I sewed all by myself.

“There, done. Carefully take it off and I’ll finish it. We’ve got about ten minutes left before French. I forgot to ask, how’d you do on the last quiz?”

“Terrible! I have twice as much trouble with French as I have with everything else combined. I just don’t get it! I wanted to take Spanish but Father insisted on French. That’s what he took in school and so that’s what I have to take.”

“Does he help you at home?”

“Are you kidding? I might as well be an orphan.”

“What if I told you that there was a way to get a perfect score on every French test and you don’t even have to know a single word of French?”

“WHAT?!”

“Guaranteed.”

“You mean …” I look around to make sure no one can hear us “… cheating?”

“No cheating, just simple logic.”

“Okay, what’s the trick?”

“This has to stay between you and me. If you tell a bunch of other people, the secret gets out and ruins it for you. You also don’t want to get a perfect score. If you’re not that good a student, she may figure something’s up.”

“If I can’t get a hundred, what’s the use?”

“A middle ‘A’ will help your grade a lot. You’ll still have to do the homework but the tests are three quarters of the grade. A solid ‘A’ for seventy five percent of your total grade isn’t bad. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure, what’s the secret?”

“The tests are multiple choice and Truax is lazy. For each question, there are five answers … one right and four wrong.”

“Big whoop.”

She smiles that brilliant smile of hers. It actually makes me a little weak in the knees. “It is a big whoop. Because she’s lazy, she changes only one word in the right answer to make a wrong answer instead of writing a completely different wrong answer. She changes four different words to make four very similar wrong answers and one right answer.”

“So?”

“That means, the one answer with the most in common with the other answers is always right. You don’t have to know the first thing about French.”

“What?”

“Let me show you.”

She takes a pen and paper from her bag and starts writing. After a few seconds, she hands the paper to me.

“Tell me, which one is the right answer; a, b, c, d or e?”

The paper just has a series of numbers.

a. 1495
b. 1265
c. 1295
d. 7295
e. 1298

“What’s the question?”

“I doesn’t matter, the correct answer is the one with the most in common with the other four.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Just look at the answers. What’s the most common number in the first column?”

“Uhhh, one?”

“Right! The second column?

“Two.”

“The third?”

“Nine.”

“And the …”

“Five!”

“So the correct answer is?”

“C, 1295!”

“That’s right. You compare the first word in each answer and the word that shows up most frequently is the first word of the correct answer. You do the same with the second, third, fourth words and so on and you end up with the correct answer.”

“Is this how you decided which was the right answer?”

“Non, je parle le meilleur Francais.”

“Huh?”

“I can speak French. I knew which answers were correct and which ones were wrong, so it was easier to spot the pattern. Remember, keep this to yourself and don’t abuse it. You work hard on the homework and you’ve got yourself an ‘A-’, maybe even an ‘A’.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“It’s been her pattern for the first two quizzes so far this semester. If no one blabs, she’s got no reason to change it. If you want, just use it to check the answers you know are right and guess at the ones you’re unsure of. You’ll still have to study because if you blow off your homework, a high test grade looks suspicious. You’ve got to do well enough on everything else so that the good test grade doesn’t stand out too much.”

“This isn’t cheating?”

“I wouldn’t call it cheating; it’s just taking advantage of a lazy teacher. Besides, you’ve still got to study and do the homework. You’ll learn whatever you’re going to learn either way, you just guarantee a good grade … and keep your father off your back. Does he ever use French for business or talking to other people?”

“Not that I’ve heard, though he tries to keep me away from his business.”

“Does he speak French around the house?”

“Of course not.”

“Then he probably doesn’t remember much from his school classes. Language skills are the kind of thing that you lose if you don’t use.”

“Then how do you know so much French? I’ve never heard you use it outside of class.”

She taps the side of her head with her right index finger. “My brain’s not like the average brain.”

“How’s that?”

“It just different. I need to get these last two seams finished so you can wear this tomorrow.” She hurries to the nearest sewing machine, sits down, sets the head against the fabric and begins.

“Do I have to wear it tomorrow?”

She keeps feeding the blouse into the bobbing needle, her little hands nimbly guiding the fabric exactly where she wants it. “Why wouldn’t you wear the new stuff tomorrow? You want to save it for a special occasion?”

“No … I’m just not sure I want everyone to … be looking at me.”

“I thought we’d already been through all that. You know you’re beautiful, right? This just shows everybody else that you’re beautiful.”

“Why does anybody else have to know?”

“You can’t hide forever Gretchen. The world is a different place for beautiful people, an easier place. A beautiful woman can go places, do things, other woman can’t.”

“Do you go to those places, do those things?”

“Me? I’m not beautiful, I’m cute. There’s a big difference. Cute gives me some room to maneuver, buys me some goodwill a plain girl might not automatically get, but it’s the minor leagues when compared to what a beautiful girl can do.”

“What if I decide I don’t want to be beautiful?”

She finishes the last seam, pulls the blouse up to her teeth and bites the thread, breaking it off. “That’s up to you. Being attractive isn’t for everyone. Some people let it go to their heads, some get so wrapped up in it that they never get beyond it, never develop as a person. Some people weald the power of beauty for bad purposes. Like they say in Spiderman, with great power comes great responsibility.”

“Isn’t that a movie?”

“A comic first, then a movie but it’s still a valid point. I think you’re a good enough person to know how to handle the attention and not let it go to your head. If you don’t like it, you can always go back to the old, dull uniform and slump around the school. None of this is permanent. In fact, to use another quote, beauty is fleeting. You’re seventeen years old, so you’ve got thirteen, maybe eighteen years, depending on your genes and how well you take care of yourself, before the next generation of beautiful young girls comes along and replaces you. By then though, you’ll have moved on to something better, however, it will have been fun while it lasted!”

“How much fun?”

“Lots more than what you’ve been doing up till now.”

Why did I let her talk me into this? Father doesn’t know anything about it, I don’t have any idea how he’ll react. I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep to the background, not stand out. Why should I change it all now?

“I still don’t know.”

“I understand, it’s a big change. If you like your life the way it is, keep going the way you are. If you want to try something different, meet me tomorrow morning in the locker room an hour before school. I’ll do your hair and makeup.”

“Will you be disappointed if I don’t show up?”

“Maybe a little but that’s not a reason for you to be there. You have to be comfortable with your choice.”

“Will you still be my … my friend if I don’t show up?”

“Of course! We’re cool either way. You helped me by doing all you’ve done so far. As long as Sister Carmela sees the final product, I’ve kept my deal with her. We’re out of time, better get to French class. You take the blouse with you, have it ironed and bring both it and the skirt tomorrow. Or not, it’s up to you.”

“What would you do, Patty?”

She gives me that bright, cocky smile. “I’ve already done it, Gretch.”

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

Tomorrow isn’t make or break, but I’m still nervous. Lately, when I get nervous, I bake bread. For some reason, it calms me down. Baking is more physical than cooking. Kneading dough, twisting it, pushing it, pounding it, releases a lot of tension that stirring a sauce just can’t match.

Mom’s got another late afternoon at work, so by the time she gets home, I’ve got three loaves baked with two more ready and proofed. I don’t hear the car pull up but I do hear the key turning in the lock in the front door.

“I’M HOME PATRICIA!”

“IN THE KITCHEN.”

She looks in and sees the bread. “Smells wonderful. What’s the problem?”

You can’t get one by Mom. Most of the time. “Nothing serious. Gretchen’s having second thoughts.”

“Why isn’t that a big problem?”

“She’s worried that if she doesn’t wear the new uniform, I won’t be her friend. I told her it doesn’t matter. Either way, the friendship’s intact. I was hoping to use her new found interest in looking good to get her to invite me to her home and work on her clothes there to alter them to fit as nicely as the uniform. That would take several weekends and after school evenings.”

“Giving you the opportunity you need, very clever. So what do you do if she backs out?”

“Think of something else.”

“How long would that take?”

“How do I know? It takes as long as it takes. This can’t be rushed Mother.”

“I know, but Daniel is getting impatient in his messages.”

“Tell Lipscomb to keep his pants on, quote me. If he’s got a problem with that, he can see me directly and stop bothering you.”

“I don’t mind honey, that’s part of my job, to be the buffer between you and he.”

“You shouldn’t have to be, he should know better.”

“He just wants this to work, we all do.”

I put the last two loaves in the oven. “I know. We’ll find out tomorrow.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I’ve never been to school at this time of day before. I told Father that I had to be here early to work on a project. Since he never lets me stay late or bring anyone to our home, like anyone wants to come to our house, the only time available is early in the morning. He wanted to know a bunch of details so I told him it was a history project and I needed to use the school library. He finally bought it and had Lou bring me in early but stay in the parking lot until my usual drop off time.

Once in the locker room, I don’t see Patty anywhere. Her stuff is here but she’s not. I hear a ball bouncing in the gym so I head that way to check it out.

It’s Patty, shooting a basketball. She’s dribbling about five feet away from the basket. She stops, turns and banks one in off the glass. She catches the ball as it falls through the net and banks another one in from the other side. She hurries to get the ball, dribbles out ten feet and shoots again, this time directly into the net, no banking off the backboard. She hits again. Quickly moving toward the ball, she scoops it up on the dribble, comes over to the other side ten feet from the basket and hits her fourth consecutive shot.

She keeps repeating the cycle, a shot from one side, a hit, a shot from the other side, a hit, move five feet further out and repeat. By now, she’s well outside the three point line and still hasn’t missed once. In fact, she hasn’t even hit the rim, every shot is the bottom of the net. Three cycles later, she’s at the middle of the court. I’m standing just inside the doorway, where she can’t see me.

This time, she eyes the basket a bit more carefully before she shoots but the results are the same … swish. After retrieving the ball, she comes over to this side of the half-court stripe and swishes again. Two more cycles and she’s at three quarter court. When she hits the second shot, the ball takes a crazy bounce and heads for the open doorway where I’m standing. I step into the gym, bend down and pickup the ball as it rolls towards me.

“HEY, GRETCHEN!” She shouts. “THROW IT BACK, ONE MORE SHOT!”

I toss the ball underhanded towards her but it’s off line. She tracks it down, dribbles until she’s underneath the far basket, stops, carefully eyes the basket at the end of the court, rolls the ball in her hands and launches it towards the other end of the court with a loud grunt that echoes around the empty gym. The ball arcs up, nearly hitting the ceiling, then drops down, slicing through the basket, banging onto the court, bounces up, hitting the bottom of the backboard, bounces off the back wall and rolls up the court back to where Patty is waiting for it. She picks the ball up, dribbles a couple of times behind her back, then between her legs and finally walks towards me, dribbling with first her left, then right hand, back and forth until she’s standing right in front of me.

“I found the ball in the locker room and was fooling around until you got here.”

“You didn’t miss once! Not even from way out!”

“Yeah, it’s easier than it looks. It all comes down to physics. The angles, the force vectors, air resistance. I missed several shots before you got here, but once I got the calculations dialed in, it was fairly simple.”

“SIMPLE?! You hit a basket the entire length of the court!”

“True, but no one was guarding me. It’s a lot harder if you’re being guarded. So, I take it you decided to try the new uniform.”

Sometimes, she changes subjects so fast it gives me whiplash. “Uhh, yes, I did.”

“Great! I hoped you would! Let’s get started. Take off that blouse and I’ll shampoo your hair.”

“I already shampooed this morning.”

“Not with this stuff you didn’t. It’s really good plus it’s got a matching conditioner. Trust me, it’ll be really wonderful. I haven’t been wrong yet, have I?”

“Guess not.”

“Okay then, lose the blouse, wrap a towel around your shoulders and let’s get started.”

I glance around as we walk back into the locker room to make sure we’re alone, then unbutton my blouse and hang it on a hook by the showers. Patty hands me a towel which I unfold and wrap around my shoulders, the loose ends covering my bra.

“This’d be easier in the shower,” she said “but we haven’t got time for both of us to undress and do it that way. Just lean down over the sink and put your head in as far as you can.”

“Are you sure …”

“Yes, I’m sure. I have done this before you know … though I don’t have to bend down as far as you do.”

“You’d have to stand on a box.”

“Funny. Keep it up and I’ll use cold water.” She turns on the faucet, adjusts the water temperature, then helps guide my head where she wants it. The water quickly soaks my hair, splashing onto the neighboring sinks and the floor. Suddenly, the water stops and I start to stand up.

“Hold on, not yet. Just stay there while I get the shampoo.”

I stop, hair plastered to both sides of my head and piled in the sink. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her squeeze a big glop of gel into the palm of her hand, rub them together and then she starts to gently work it into my hair.

I’ve never had someone else wash my hair before … well not since I was little, when my mother did it. I get my hair cut by a stylist who comes to the house but she doesn’t do anything else. It feels nice. I pull the towel tighter against my neck to keep the soap from dribbling down my back.

“You okay?” Patty asks.

“Yeah, fine.”

“I’m almost done.”

She continues to push her fingers through my hair, piling it on top and moving it around. I wish we had more time for this.

“Alright, I’m going to rinse you off. There’s no hose so I’ve got a bowl here. Keep your head down in the sink.”

I try to get my head as far down as I can, my chin resting inside the rim of the sink. She turns the water back on and then pours water on the back of my head while massaging my hair. She does this several times before all the soap is gone.

“Okay. Bring your head up a little and I’ll do the conditioner.”

We repeat the whole process with the conditioner. Just as my neck and lower back are starting to hurt, she finishes.

“I’m done. Stay there and I’ll wrap a towel around your head.” She puts another towel on my back, pulls my hair out of my face, puts the hair on the towel and rolls it up and over my head, tucking the ends together. “You can stand up now.”

I stand up, stretching my neck and back, then look into the mirror. The towel is wrapped tightly around my head, not a single hair showing. Reaching up with my hands, I pat the towel.

“How’d you learn to do all that?”

“Watched a couple of videos, read a few magazine articles.”

“You’ve never done this before?”

“Not on another person. Sit down and I’ll do your makeup while the hair dries a bit.”

“I don’t wear makeup.”

“I know but most of the other girls do. The dress code’s pretty strict about it but we might as well take advantage where we can. Have a seat on the bench, just sit still and look straight ahead.”

I can see my face in the mirror over the sink until she moves around in front of me. “What are you going to do?”

“Not much. Just the lightest touch of mascara on your lashes.” She drags a mascara brush lightly through the lashes of my right eye, then my left. “The barest hint of a blush on your cheeks.” She takes a large fluffy brush and just barely kisses my cheeks with it. “And a mere glistening of your lips with some lipstick. Pucker up.” I purse my lips and she glides a reddish brown lipstick along my upper and lower lips. She caps the lipstick.

“Now, the hair. It’d be better if I had a curling iron but I can do a lot with a hand dryer and a brush. Slide down the bench closer to the outlet.”

I scoot down the bench toward the wall and away from the mirrors. Patty loosens the towel and removes it, my damp hair falling down around my shoulders. She pulls a small tubular hair dryer from her bag, plugs it in the wall and switches it on. A blast of air hits me in the face, and then swings into my hair. Patty moves the dryer around with her left hand as she brushes my hair with a small plastic brush in her right. I expected a bunch of tangles but the conditioner must have smoothed them out. She moves around me, left to right, back to front. After a couple of minutes, she stops using the brush and fluffs my hair with her fingers while still moving the dryer around. My hair is feeling lighter and fuller. She turns the dryer off but still fusses with my hair using her fingers.

“That’s it, take a look.” She steps away from me and I walk over to the nearest mirror.

I’m surprised. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

It’s like I aged four years in twenty minutes. I swear I could pass for twenty one … well, at least twenty. I turn my head slowly to the right, then back to the left. My hair is fuller than it’s ever been, with gentle, soft curls. Patty steps next to me so that I can see her face in the mirror.

“What do you think?”

“I … I … it’s … how did you … I …”

She gives me that big, bright smile of hers. “Freaky, isn’t it?”

“Yeah … freaky.”

“Change clothes. It’s almost time for our entrance.”

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

I like to hang out near my locker before school starts each morning, keeping an eye on my domain. It’s strategically located between the main entrance and the cafeteria. You can keep track of who comes in with who, who’s friendly with who, if anyone is becoming more popular than they deserve. I had to persuade the prior owner of the locker that it was in her best interest to trade with me. I also had to persuade her neighbors to do the same with Olivia and Kendall; I need to keep my girls near me. It’s important that we keep any other power centers from developing. There’s over two hundred girls in this school and it would be impossible for me to keep control if the majority, or even a large minority decided to ignore me.

I initially thought I might have a problem with that new girl, Patricia Conner, but I put the word out that she was to be shunned. I learned about it in Comparative Religion class. Those Amish are reeeaaally passive aggressive. For some reason, it didn’t seem to bother her but it did keep her from making any friends, which was good enough. The bitch still walks around here in her pretty clothes but nobody else has broken ranks. If anyone in this prison deserves those clothes, it’s me!

Olivia is sorting through her tweets before class starts. All phones have to be turned off after 7:30. People are constantly sneaking peeks during the day but the penguins keep a sharp eye out. You get caught, it’s a demerit and you lose your phone until the end of the day. The only time during the day we can turn them on is during lunch. Some of the girls barely have time to eat.

We’re surrounded by the morons who think they’re my friends. They’re a necessary evil. I let them think we’re all buddy buddy, let them do stuff for me, let them hang around with us. It gives me legitimacy as THE girl in school. I am number one and they are my posse. The posse is one short this morning.

“Olivia, where’s Kendall?”

“She’s got a dental appointment this morning, broke a crown two days ago.”

“How’d she do that?”

“Not sure. She was eating mashed potatoes and it popped out. She thought it was the potatoes that did it.”

“She would.”

“Totally.”

Kendall’s meter doesn’t exactly reach five bars but she does a good job of handling the posse, keeping them in line, which keeps everybody else in line. Olivia is closer to thinking like me, which means I need to keep an eye on her. She’s never done anything disloyal before … but there’s always the first time.

Abruptly, there’s a subtle change in the sound of the hallway. It’s gotten quieter. I look towards the entrance doors and see the crowd parting slightly as someone walks through. Craning my neck, I can see a tall girl headed my way but I don’t recognize her, she looks more like a college kid or a student teacher.

“Who’s that?” whispers Olivia.

“Don’t know” I answer. “She looks familiar though.” She gets closer and the crowd thins a little. It appears that she’s wearing the school colors, maybe a graduate from a couple of years ago? Then I see the Connor bitch walking with her, smiling and laughing.

“SHIT!”

“What?” asks Olivia.

“It’s Gretchen Hobbes!”

“NO! Where’s her uniform?”

“She’s wearing it! Conner fixed it!”

“What about her hair? And her face? She looks …”

“I know!”

Hobbes and Conner sweep by us, never even looking my direction, not even caring what I thought. It looks like they’re heading toward Carmela’s office.

“What is she up to?” asks Olivia.

“I don’t know, but she’s picked the perfect person.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s Gretchen HOBBES.”

“Ohhhh … right. Wow, she’s good.”

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

As soon as we get to the front door, Patty elbows me.

“Remember, stand tall and proud” she whispers.

I was hunched over a little but didn’t realize it until she told me to stand up.

“I don’t know about this Patty. Maybe I …”

“Maybe you should show everybody how great you look. What are they going to do about it? You’re completely within the rules. Sister Carmela won’t do anything.”

“I’m not worried about Sister Carmela. What’s Caitlin McBride gonna do?”

“Is she a friend of yours?”

“NO … of course not.”

“Then why care?”

“She won’t like it.”

“Again, why care?”

“She may do something.”

“To you? Not likely. Besides, what could she do? Not talk with you? She already doesn’t. Tell people not to be your friend? No offense, but your not beating them off with a stick right now. Hit you? She’s a coward.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“She could do something to you.”

“I’m already not her favorite person. I can handle whatever she’s got. Let’s go turn some heads.”

“Are you sure …” she grabs my arm and pulls me up the steps and into the school.

Everybody near the door stops talking and stares at us. I start to back out but Patty tightens her grip on my arm.

“Tall and proud” she whispers.

What the hell. I stretch up as tall as I can and we walk down the hall side by side.

Most everybody stops talking as we walk by, looking at us, at me. People have stared at me before but this is different.

“They’re staring at us” I say in a low voice out of the side of my mouth.

“Of course they are! We’re two hot looking girls … well one hot looking girl and her slightly shorter friend.”

“Slightly?”

“It’s just envy my dear. They all wish they could look like you. Let’s go get Sister Carmela’s seal of approval.”

She keeps her hand on my arm and guides me towards the school office. The other girls actually move out of our way as we move down the hallway. I turn and look behind as Patty continues to propel me forward. Most of the girls continue to just stare at us, the others are huddled together, whispering. I turn back forward just as we step through the office door and stop in front of the school secretary’s desk.

“Hi Ms. Jensen. Is Sister Carmela in?” asks Patty, hitting her with her brightest, most innocent smile.

Ms. Jensen looks us both up and down, me twice. She screws her mouth into a half frown, half smile, like she doesn’t approve of what’s happening and plans to enjoy it when we get smacked down.

“Good morning, Ms. Conner. I’ll check and see.” She leans over towards the phone, picks it up, puts it to her ear and pushes a button. It buzzes three times, then stops.

“Sister Carmela. Ms. Conner and a friend are asking to see you, if you have a moment. … Yes, I would say it’s important. … Very good, I’ll have them wait.” She hangs up the phone. “Sister will see you in a few minutes. Have a seat … ladies.”

“Thanks Ms. Jensen,” replied Patty. “You look nice today.”

“Uhh, thank you Ms. Conner. Have a seat please.”

Patty just smiles and drops into one of the wooden chairs lined up against the wall. I slowly settle into the chair next to hers.

I can see out of the office windows into the hallway. Lots of girls are walking by, looking in. Several of them turn around and walk right back to get a second look. A few take a third pass. Patty seems completely unconcerned, like it’s no big deal. I haven’t even talked to Carmela since my entrance interview three years ago. All I know about her is what the other girls say … which isn’t good.

The knob on the office door squeaks several times and my heart freezes. My eyes immediately lock onto the floor in front of me. I hear the door creak as it swings open. Patty pulls me to my feet and we walk in, stopping in front of Carmela’s desk.

“Eye’s up” Patty hisses.

I look up and see Sister Carmela sitting in her chair, leaning forward on her elbows, fingers intertwined, thumbs slowly banging together.

“Thanks for seeing us Sister” Patty says cheerily. “I just wanted to show you that I had kept my part of the bargain.” She steps away and extends her hands towards me, palms up. “TA DA!”

Sister Carmela slowly stands, walks around her desk, then around me, carefully inspecting my clothes. I keep my eyes focused straight ahead. She brings her head close to mine, a neutral look on her face. I think she’s checking out my makeup. After a few seconds, she pulls away and returns to her chair, sitting down. She fixes her gaze on me.

“Very lovely, Ms. Hobbes. Very lovely indeed. My compliments on your work, Ms. Conner.”

“Gretchen helped.”

“I’m sure she did, Ms. Conner.”

“I could do wonders with your outfit, Sister Carmela.”

“No doubt you could, Ms. Conner. Perhaps some other time. Ms. Hobbes?”

“Yyyeees?”

“I would like to speak privately with Ms. Conner for a few minutes. Please have a seat outside.”

I glance over at Patty and she gives me a wink. I quickly turn, open the door, scoot out and close it behind me, happy to be out of there. I hope Patty’s gonna be okay.

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

Looking at Patricia Conner, I can’t help but think she is the personification of an imp; short, bright, energetic and politely impudent, with just a hint of malice … well, maybe more than a hint.

“Why did you choose Gretchen Hobbes to be your … cohort?”

“Because she’s bullet proof.”

“Meaning what exactly, Ms. Conner?”

“There’s not a girl in this school who’s stupid enough to bother her.”

“Because of her father.”

“Exactly.”

“While she may be ‘bullet proof’ as you put it, she is also an emotionally fragile girl, friendless and alone, at least as far as the other students at St. Ann’s are concerned. I don’t know what her home life is like.”

“It’s not any better, probably worse.”

“So you were aware of the situation?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you still chose her to prove your point?”

“I didn’t just pick her at random Sister. She agreed to do it. No one else was knocking at my door. McBride has them all under her thumb. Gretchen was less afraid than the others because she’s already been ostracized … at least to a certain point. No one will do anything to her out of fear of what might happen to them, including McBride and her friends. It won’t get any worse for her and maybe better, who knows for sure.”

“And what are your intentions towards Ms. Hobbes now?”

“You mean am I going to make an honest woman out of her?” There’s that expansive, impudent smile again.

“You understand what I mean. I would be extremely disappointed if it turns out that she is just a pawn in this game.”

“Sister Carmela, I can guarantee you that Gretchen is a friend of mine and anybody who hurts her in any way will have me to deal with … and I won’t be nice about it.”

Much more than a hint of malice. The way she talks, you would think she was a menacing hulk and not a mere slip of a girl … and yet, I find it very easy to believe her.

“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that. I noticed that Ms. Hobbes was wearing makeup.”

“She was, I did it myself.”

“As I suspected. You do like to push the boundaries, don’t you?”

“I just use all the space that’s available to me, Sister.”

“That’s a difficult line to walk.”

“Sometimes, but that’s what makes life interesting, don’t you think?”

“Possibly too interesting. You have kept your part of our agreement Ms. Conner so I shall keep mine. You may continue to wear your … restyled uniforms, as can any student who does the work herself on school grounds with school equipment and within the existing guidelines.”

“Thanks Sister.” She turns and reaches for the door.

“Ahhh, before you go Ms. Conner, just between you and I, how did you get such dramatic results with Ms. Hobbes using those few changes?”

She pauses, hand on the door knob, looking back over her shoulder at me. “That’s the other reason I chose her. I knew that she was a knockout just waiting to be uncovered.” She smiles at me. “See you later, Sister.” Conner opens the door and skips out, closing it behind her.

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

Lou didn’t recognize me at all. I was standing right next to the driver’s side door and he told me to beat it. I told him to drop dead. He was out the door in seconds; ready to do who knows what when I said it was me. The look on his face said he still didn’t completely believe it. All the way home, he kept looking at me through the rear view mirror. He adjusted it several times to get a better look. He actually got out and opened the door for me when we got home. I can’t remember the last time he did that.

Roberto tried to stop me as I came through the door but Lou told him that it was me. Roberto’s eyes got real big and his mouth hung open for a few seconds. Lou told him to snap out of it.

I did what I normally do when I get home from school, go upstairs to my room. As I climbed the spiral staircase, I glanced back at the front door. Both Roberto and Lou were staring at me. Once inside my room, I dropped my book bag, walked over to my full length mirror and took a good, long, look.

It really was remarkable. Even after an entire day, my hair still looked great. Full bodied, soft, wavy, perfectly framing my face. Patty did all that with just a pocket hair dryer, a brush, and her fingers. I’d had my hair done by professionals all my life and it never looked one tenth as good. The little bit of makeup was still there too, unsmudged. I never knew what to do with makeup; I’d never had anyone to teach me. None of the nannies had even tried, though I had asked. I think they were afraid of what Father might say. None of them lasted very long anyway. The longest any ever stayed was a year and a half. You tend to stop investing your emotions in a person who’s gonna be gone before the next Christmas.

Until I got a look at myself in the big mirror, I wasn’t aware of the full effect. No wonder all the other girls stared at me. The hair, the face, the clothes … it was like nothing I had ever seen before. The uniform was still pretty simple and basic, but it fit like it was made just for me, which I guess it was. None of my other clothes made me look this good. I turned this way and that in front of the mirror, checking out how the skirt moved with me, how the blouse revealed my figure without actually showing anything. Amazing.

There was a knock on the door.

“Time for supper Gretche … Ms. Hobbes.”

It was Henry. Sounds like Lou talked to him ‘cause neither of them had called me Ms. Hobbes in years.

“I’ll be right down Henry … thank you.”

I’ve got a decision to make. Do I go downstairs as I am or do I change and have supper looking like I’ve looked the last ten years? Some of the guys have already seen the new me and I know they’ll talk to each other about it, maybe even eventually to Father, probably not directly but certainly Enrique will hear of it, he knows everything, sooner or later. If I flatten and tie up my hair, change clothes and scrub my face, it will buy me some time … but to do what? I like the way I look, the way it makes me feel … and Patricia likes it too. There’s really no choice. I deal with it now or later, so it might as well be now.

As I walk down the stairs, there are more of Father’s men in the foyer than there were before. They don’t stare outright at me but they’re all checking me out, some more subtly than others. I try to just act as normal as possible. When I get to the dining room, Father is reading some papers, as usual. I pull my chair out and slide in.

“Good evening, Father.”

He doesn’t look up. “Good evening Gretchen. Did anything interesting happen at school today?”

“Yes, something did.… I had to see Sister Carmela.”

“Gretchen! What did you do …” he looked up from his handful of papers and saw me sitting across from him. His eyes widened. He was actually looking at me and saw me, for like the first time in years. “What have you done with your … your … what have you done?”

“A friend of mine fixed my hair at school this morning.”

“And the … rest?”

“She also did my makeup.”

“And where is your school uniform?”

“This IS my uniform. The school lets us make changes if we do it ourselves on school time. We spent the last two weeks after lunch working on it and Sister Carmela said it was okay, that’s why I had to see her.”

“Did this same friend help you with the uniform?”

“Yes. She actually did most of it. She’s really smart and nice. I don’t think there’s anything she can’t do. I told you about the girl who jumped the fence riding a motorcycle, well she’s the one who did it. She also helped me with my French and she …”

Father raised his hand for me to stop talking. If he hadn’t, I don’t know if I could have stopped on my own. I was just blabbing on and on about Patty, like I couldn’t stop. It was probably nerves.

“And what is this friends’ name, Gretchen?”

Suddenly, telling Father about Patty didn’t seem like such a good idea. “She’s just a friend … a school friend.”

“What is her name?”

“Patty … Patricia Conner.”

“How long have you known her?”

“She’s new this semester.”

“So, only a few weeks.”

“Yes, but she is my friend. I want you to leave her alone.”

“I have no reason to bother her in any way.” He stands up and walks over next to me. I look up at him. He moves a loose strand of hair away from my face. “I had forgotten how much you look like your mother. She was a very beautiful woman.”

“Patty says I’m beautiful too.”

“She is right, you are. Let us eat before our supper gets cold, shall we?”

“Fine, but you leave Patty alone.”

Father walks back to his chair and sits down. “As I said, I have no reason to do anything to her.”

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

Immediately after supper, I summon Enrique to my office. He arrives within ten minutes.

“Were you aware that my daughter has a new friend?” I ask as soon as he enters the room.

“No, I was not, though I did know about her … style changes.”

“Before today?”

“No, unfortunately not.”

“So, now all of a sudden, my daughter is keeping secrets from me?”

“She is a teenage girl, X-ray. Their lives are nothing but secret from their parents. It is normal behavior.”

“Not for MY daughter it isn’t. No one keeps secrets from me! Not even Gretchen … particularly not Gretchen. I want you to find out all you can about this Patricia Conner.”

“How quickly?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Any limitations?”

“Do not harm anyone … yet.”

“The Sisters at St. Ann’s?”

“Are you mad! You do not harm a nun or a priest! Never! God would never forgive you … or me! You may talk with them but do not threaten them. Business is hard enough already without God cursing me.”

Severance Pay (Chapters 19 through 24 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Peter/Patricia tires of Caitlin McBride's antics and decides to remove her as queen bee. Gretchen's father takes notice of her new best friend. Themes and Elements listed apply to entire story, Rating applies to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for editing assistance.

SEVERANCE PAY

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It’s been two days since Gretchen made her grand entrance. She’s gone back to wearing her old uniforms but she’s interested in making alterations. I’d like to help her but Sister Carmela’s going to be hardnosed about girls doing the work themselves. That’s one way to make sure only the most dedicated take advantage of the loophole. So far, I’ve only seen a couple of girls even make the attempt, and the results weren’t pretty. To be honest about it, that doesn’t bother me at all. If it works out that I’m the only girl with attractive uniforms, so be it.

Gretchen and I hang out at lunch and whenever we aren’t in class. I’ve told her that I could probably make all her clothes fit as well as the altered uniform. Have sewing machine will travel. I can tell she wants it badly but doesn’t think her dad will allow me to come to the house. I can’t push her but I can keep making sure she knows the offer is available. With luck, I can wear her down and she can try to wear him down.

She told me that she told her dad about me, which is very good news. I want him to know my name, to know as much as he can about me. Not the real me, of course, but the public me. I’d send him my resume if I could.

By the end of the day, I can’t wait to climb onto my bike and ride home. Physics was a bear today. Even if the knowledge is in my head, I’ve still got to understand it to use it; I can’t just spit out a bunch of factoids. Connelly was trying to make a connection between physics and economics, and then she expected me to explain it to the rest of the class. I had no idea what she was talking about. It was a tense class to say the least.

As I approach my bike, I notice three girls loitering around it, looking suspicious. You have to be an expert to intentionally “hang around” without standing out like a sore thumb, and these girls weren’t experts. When I got closer, I saw it was Caitlin McBride and her two henchmen, Sinclair and Woodruff. It’s taken them longer than I thought to get around to this. It should improve my mood.

Woodruff is partially blocking the right side so I pull my helmet on and mount from the left. I kick out the starter and hop up to fire the engine when McBride reaches out and grabs the handle bars.

“We need to talk.”

I settle back into the seat and flip up my helmet’s visor. “About what?”

“I know what you did for Gretchen Hobbes.”

“So do most of the girls in St. Ann’s.”

“I’m not most of the girls.”

“Really. Who are you? I don’t think we share any classes.” That’ll piss her off.

“She’s Caitlin McBride you stupid little BITCH!” said Sinclair.

“No use getting rude about it. I’m Patricia Conner. What can I do for you all?”

McBride’s grip on my handle bars tightens.

“You can fix my uniforms so that they’re better than yours or Hobbes’.”

“Just yours, not all three of you?”

“Well sure … eventually, but mine are first.”

There’s just a hint of uncertainty on Sinclair’s and Woodruff’s faces.

“Sorry, can’t help you. The rules are you have to do it yourself. Sister Carmela might let me be an instructor but that’s probably as far as she’d go.”

“I don’t care what Carmela’s rules are. You’re going to do what I tell you or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else things will get hard for you around here.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“What?”

“Could you give me some more details as to your specific threat?”

“Never mind how we’d do it, we can do it.”

“I don’t think you can. You see, there’s nothing I have that you can take from me.”

Woodruff steps closer, her fist drawn back. “What if I just punch your lights out right here? Is that good enough for you?”

“Here? Now? In broad daylight with all of these security cameras focused on the parking lot?”

Sinclair and Woodruff start looking around, suddenly aware of the three security cameras Sister Carmela uses to monitor the parking lot, mostly to watch for smokers but also to protect all the expensive cars the different girls drive. Woodruff drops her hand to her side and unclenches her fist, but McBride keeps staring at me.

“We have our ways.”

“Well, when you feel like telling me about them, you know where you can find me. Until then, I suggest that you let go of my bike so I can go home. My mom’s expecting me and I hate to disappoint her. Of course, if you don’t want to let go, we can get involved in some kind of fight, which would lead to your expulsion.”

“Or maybe yours. It would be our word against your word.”

“Plus the video cameras, plus three against one, plus you three are so much bigger than little old me, plus you’re not exactly Sister Carmela’s favorite person, are you? I like those odds. So … what is it going to be?”

McBride’s hands flex several times, then she suddenly releases my handlebars and steps back, scowling at me. The other two also step away.

“This isn’t over, Conner. I’ll be seeing you later.”

“I look forward to it, ladies.”

I drop the visor, hop up and push down on the starter, gun the engine a couple of times and roar off, doing a little bit of a wheelie as I head for home.

Not a bad start.

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

As I pull up to the house, there’s a Florida Power and Light van parked in the street opposite it, two guys sitting in the front seat. They eye me as I turn into the driveway, slide to a stop and kill the engine. I keep a watch on them with my side view mirrors as they get out of the van and walk up behind me. When they get about ten feet away, I pull off my helmet and hop off the bike, facing them. The taller guy, a young blonde hangs back a couple of steps as the older guy, salt and pepper hair, mostly balding, walks closer, smiling.

“Afternoon little lady, is this the Connor residence?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Good. We’ve got a work order. The automated meter has been sending some weird data. Either it’s broken or you’ve got a big power surge somewhere in the house. We need to check all the circuitry to make sure everything is safe. Is your mother home?”

Interesting. He didn’t ask if a parent was home, he specifically asked about my mother. It may just be the normal sexist assumption that the woman of the house should be at home this time of day … or maybe they already know something about me.

“I’m afraid she’s still at work. Could I see your work order?”

“Sure.” The older guy reaches back and the younger guy hands him an electronic pad. He punches in a couple of numbers and touches the screen, then steps closer, handing it to me but not letting go. “It’s right here.”

I turn the pad a little to reduce the glare reflecting off the screen. It looks legitimate. I’d never seen the electronic version before but I’d used the same trick back in the day to plant bugs in some target’s home, only my work orders were paper and on a clipboard. I swear, you could go darn near anywhere you wanted if you wore a hard hat, carried a clipboard and acted like you knew what you were doing but weren’t happy about doing it. The power of the appearance of authority and expertise. It was hard to keep from smiling at these guys.

“Gosh. It sure looks official. I guess it would be okay for you to come in. My mom would want me to see some I.D.s’ though. Do you have an I.D.?”

Baldy gives me that condescending smile you reserve for children and pets. “I certainly do, little lady.” He reaches up to his shirt collar and pulls out a laminated card on a chain around his neck. Blondie does the same. I check out Baldy’s first, then Blondie’s, memorizing both of them. Ryan Koharchick and Zach Rosing.

“Well Mr. Koharchick, I better let you in so you and Mr. Rosing can get to work. Mom should be home in an hour or so. How long should this take?”

Baldy stuffed his I.D. back into his shirt. “Not too long Miss. I can check the meter and Mr. Rosing can start checking each room.”

“EVERY room? My bedroom’s kinda a mess. If you give me a couple of minutes I can straighten up and …”

“That’s not necessary Miss. We’ve seen it all in this business, haven’t we Mr. Rosing?”

“Uh … Yeah.” Blondie hasn’t had much experience with this, Baldy’s clearly the Senior Partner.

Baldy takes back the electronic pad, handing it to Blondie, who puts it in his tool bag. “If you could just show me to the electric meter, I’ll get started and we’ll be out of your pretty hair in no time.” Oh, he’s gooood.

I lead them to the back door. The meter is on the wall next to it. Baldy stops there as I open the door and Blondie follows me in. I drop my book bag on the kitchen table and pull out a chair.

“Do you need anything from me?”

“No … nothing.”

He really needs to work on his patter. I sit down and take some books from my bag. “Okay. I’ll just be here, working on my homework. You can call if you want me.”

Blondie strolls out of the kitchen, carrying his tool bag. I spread my books out on the table and then carefully listen as he moves through the house. I’d rather follow him around, it’d be easier to find the bugs after they leave but it would just cramp their style, making them suspicious. After about ten minutes, Baldy comes in through the back door. He‘s surprised to find me sitting there but recovers quickly.

“Was the meter alright?” I ask.

“I can’t say yet, it seemed to be but we won’t know until we check the rest of the house.”

“Do you need to check the kitchen?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not in the way am I?”

“No … no, you’re not in the way.”

As long as I stay in the kitchen, they can’t plant a bug in here. This is the one room they’d really like to cover, people spend a lot of time in the kitchen, but I’m not budging. This will give us a safe area.

I watch Baldy as he messes around with a hand held meter while checking each outlet. “Any problems?” I ask after he finishes with the last one.

“Nothing yet. I’ll just go help my partner.”

“I’ll stay right here until you’re done.”

“Great.”

He leaves and I go back to listening. They’re working independently, covering the house quicker. By the time they come back to the kitchen, it’s only been about twenty five minutes since they first stopped me in the driveway. They’re either very good or very sloppy. I keep my seat at the table.

“All done?”

“I think so, Miss” said Baldy. “We didn’t find anything wrong with the wiring in the house so the problem must be in the meter. I’ll change the modem card before we leave, that should solve the problem.”

“Will we get a messed up electric bill this month?”

“No, it should look completely normal. We caught the problem early.” Blondie hands him the digital pad, he makes a couple of entries and hands it to me. “If you could just sign on that line there, saying we were here.”

“I don’t know if I can, I’m only sixteen. My birthday’s a few weeks away.”

“That’s okay Miss, it’s not a contract or anything, anyone in the household over fifteen can sign.”

“Well, I can do that.” I take the pad and stylus from him, sign and hand it back with a big smile. “Thanks for coming and checking it out; I feel sooo much safer now.”

Baldy returns the smile. “You’re welcome, little lady, just doing our jobs. We’ll be checking out some other houses in the area over the next few weeks, so flag us down if you have any problems.” They head for the door, but I stay seated and wave at them as they leave. I wait ten seconds then hurry to the window and carefully peak out.

They are both walking down the driveway toward their FPL van, so no one did anything to the meter. I also notice a couple of extra antennas on the roof of the van. That was a nice touch, adding that bit about checking out other houses in the neighborhood. That way, we aren’t supposed to be suspicious if we see the van again near the house. It’ll be interesting to see what kind of range the bugs have; Hobbes probably can afford the best equipment.

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

“How’d it go Mitch?”

“Easy Peazy Louie. Put your damn candy wrappers in the trash, will ya? We’re gonna spend a lot of time in this van the next few days and I’d rather it not be a pig sty.”

“Don’t worry about it Mitch. You’ll lose what little hair ya got left.”

“Funny man. You wait a couple of years, see how much hair you have.” Louie’s always been a slob but he’s also one of the best techs in the business. Though, after a few days cooped up with him in the back of a van, the balance starts to tip towards dumping his ass in the street and hosing the van clean.

Johnny climbed into the driver’s seat, closed the door and started the engine as I closed my door. “Take us around the corner Johnny, give Louie the chance to calibrate the bugs.”

“Sure thing. You think this’ll only take a couple of days?”

“Do you see her?”

“Yeah. I’d like to have her dance on my dick, watch those titties bounce.”

“I meant that she’s just a kid. I don’t know what Cardoza suspects but there’s nothing there. You saw the house, her room … just a normal kid … with great knockers.”

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

When I got home, Patricia was just sitting at the kitchen table. She hadn’t started supper yet.

“What’s up? Why haven’t you started supper?”

She handed me a piece of paper and put her finger too her lips.

“Some guys were here from Florida Power and Light. They said there might be something wrong with the electricity.”
She pointed to the paper. I read it.

[The house has been bugged. We need to talk. Suggest we go out and eat.]

I’m stunned for a moment. I don’t know what to do but Patricia reaches out and taps the paper with her finger then points at me. I know I have to say something.

“Uhhh … maybe it’s not safe to use the stove. Let’s go out for supper.”

“No, I’m sure it’s safe. They said everything was fine.” She rolled her hand, encouraging me to keep going.

“I’d rather be safe, honey. We can go to Burger King. You love Whoppers.”

“You sure Mom? I’d be happy to fix something.”

“No, no, let’s go out.”

She winks at me. “If you say so.”

How is she so calm about this?! Someone came in and bugged our house! I think she reads my face because she comes over to me and leans over to whisper into my ear.

“This is a good thing. Just be cool and I’ll explain. Talk about normal things until we get to Burger King, your car may be bugged too.”

What?! My car?! Who are these people? Patricia seems to be handling this well, certainly better than I am. She takes my arm and leads me to the car.

“Do you want to drive?” I ask.

“Why?”

“You could use the practice.” And I don’t trust myself to concentrate right now.

“Fine. Give me your keys.”

I toss my keys to her, which she easily catches with her left hand. We get into the car, she starts the engine, backs out of the driveway and drives off, circling the block. She slows as she passes a FLP van, nodding her head at it as we drive by.

“Is that …”

“Those are the friendly guys who checked out our home.”

“I see … so, how was school today?”

“Fine. I had a nice talk with Caitlin McBride and her friends just before I came home.”

“Really. Haven’t you been wanting to talk with her?”

“Yes, it went very well too.”

“You’ve had a productive day.”

“Yep.”

She reached over and turned on the radio, tuning it to a popular music station. It was a little loud for my taste but I assumed it was to cover any conversation we might have. She didn’t say anything else all the way to the restaurant, but she did keep checking the mirrors and made a couple of very sharp turns.

Once we got to Burger King, we placed our orders, got our food and sat down. I didn’t say anything for a minute or two, waiting for Patricia to go first, but she said nothing. I couldn’t wait any longer.

“So, this is a good thing how?”

“It means I’ve got his interest, he’s checking me out. Even as paranoid as he is, Hobbes wouldn’t waste his time having somebody investigated unless there was something he had in mind. It’s probably just the fact that I’m his daughter’s friend, but once he thinks he knows me, he’s less likely to be wary of me and more likely not to object to me being at his house. He’s never going to let a total stranger in, so this is a way for me to not be a stranger.”

“How long do we have to let this man invade our privacy?”

“Hard to say for certain, it depends on how quickly I can find a way in. There are no bugs in the kitchen and I should be able to find the one in your bedroom.”

“They bugged my bedroom?!”

“Probably, I certainly would have if I was them. I’ll leave any that I find in my bedroom. Unfortunately, this means were on stage 24/7 now, no breaks. The Balancer will have to stay at operational settings for now.”

“Matthews won’t like that. He strongly suggested that you spend more time at Blue Fifty, not less.”

“Can’t be helped. This is a break we cannot afford to miss. I checked as we drove over here. We weren’t followed. Your car is probably clean but I’ll check it out to make sure.”

“That was a nice trick, turning the radio on to that youth station and cranking up the sound.”

“I was watching out to make sure we weren’t being followed but I turned on the radio because I like the music, it’s really cool. Don’t know why I didn’t listen to it before.”

Why indeed.

CHAPTER TWENTY

No one talks to me like that! No one! If that little bitch thinks she can just disrespect me like that and get away with it, she doesn’t know Caitlin McBride!

She’s not stupid though, she knew about the cameras, knew I couldn’t do anything to her right then. We don’t normally have to get physical. Usually, the silent treatment gets to them almost immediately. They’re so desperate for someone to be their friend that they’ll do anything I want. It’s probably because she’s got Gretchen Hobbes to talk to that prevents the shunning from working. God! That’s another smart move. If she’d just picked anybody but Gretchen Hobbes! I may control St. Ann’s but there’s no way I’m gonna do anything that brings Hobbes’ dad into the picture. People who fuck with him end up dead!

I need to get Kendall and Olivia to come over here to my house tonight so we can come up with some kind of plan. I’ll just text them now.

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

I did not get into this business to do paperwork. Every day there are more reports, more decisions, the constant need to stay alert, stay ahead of my enemies. Those crazy bastards in Mexico … who can predict what they will do next. They are insane sometimes, probably using too much of their own product. Just this morning, I received a report about a newly discovered mass grave near Morelia. Eighty three people, twelve of which were women and two were children. Children! Whoever did this was mad! I reach out and push my intercom button.

“Hector.”

“Yes, Mr. Hobbes?”

“Contact Enrique. If he is on the grounds, I want to speak with him immediately. If he isn’t, I want him back here as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Mr. Hobbes.”

I turn back to today’s emails and their attachments. Shipping schedules from Columbia. Sales figures from the East Coast and California. Banking reports. Last month’s statement of expenses. The money rolls in but it rolls right back out. Personnel, equipment, bribery, vehicles, ammunition, it all adds up over time. And now, thanks to those idiots in Mexico, it will be even more expensive to do business. Thankfully, the world’s appetite for drugs is never ending and people will pay practically any price, particularly Americans, but there is just too much uncertainty today. There is a knock at my door.

“Yes?”

“It is Enrique.”

“Come in.”

My door opens just enough for him to step through, then he closes it immediately. I have always appreciated Enrique’s … economy of movement.

“Enrique, do you ever find yourself longing for the days of Miguel Gallardo?”

“What do you mean, X-ray?”

“Back when there was just one man in charge, Gallardo. He had the world’s drug market in his hand. He was the undisputed king.”

“Things were not so good for us back then.”

“No, they weren’t, but at least we had order. None of these crazy idiots shooting each other over territories. You were assigned an exclusive territory, you ran it well, made lots of money, and didn’t have to worry about some moron high on his own merchandise shooting a bunch of children while trying to expand his territory. There were RULES for God’s sake!”

“Which you broke a number of times, if I recall correctly.”

“But I was never caught … and I only broke the letter, not the spirit. Besides, I knew what I was doing. These undisciplined children today create chaos simply for the joy of creating chaos. They will be the death of our business. Look at these expenses.”

He sits at my desk and I hand him the summary sheets and he begins to read them.

“Unfortunate, but it is the cost of doing business these days.”

“But it shouldn’t be. Besides paying for a small army to protect my assets in Columbia and Venezuela, it costs me four times as much to bribe a policeman today. Every little gang who thinks they are a cartel is offering bags of money to every cop on the street. I have to pay more just to stay competitive. It costs me as much today to buy a precinct sergeant as it did to buy a captain three years ago. I don’t want to even think what the captain wants today, greedy bastards. And it’s all because every hoodlum who wants to be top dog is offering more than they are worth. And what is worse are the one’s who are either too stupid or cheap to bribe the police are trying to kill them. Nothing pisses off a cop like trying to kill him. Then they take it out on the rest of us, the sane, reasonable, people who are just trying to make a living in this difficult economy. Increased transportation costs, storage, bank fees, they all add up. Enrique … it was so much easier in the old days.”

“I think you have an unreasonable fondness for the past.”

“Perhaps you are right, but I remember it as being … less complicated.”

“And less profitable.”

“Perhaps. What progress have you made on infiltrating my unruly competitors?”

“A surprising amount. Loyalties are constantly changing. Alliances between the assorted cartels seem to change almost daily. This uncertainty seems to have trickled down to the people on the ground. We have been able to recruit a number of people from each group. We haven’t asked them to do much yet, just keep us informed of their group’s activities.”

“Another expense.”

He shrugs. “You get what you pay for, you know that.”

“Sometimes, you don’t even get that. Will these people stay bought?”

“I believe so.”

“More importantly, are any of my people working for someone else?”

“They know how you deal with traitors.”

“Let’s hope they don’t forget. What have you found out about my daughter’s friend?”

“Not much yet. I have not received any reports from the investigators, though they are supposed to get me some preliminary information in the next two days.”

“Make sure they stay on it. I need to know who Gretchen is spending time with.”

“It will be taken care of, X-ray.”

“See that it is, Enrique.”

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

There’s a knock at my bedroom door.

“Caitlin?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Olivia and Kendall are here to see you.”

“Have them come up to my room, we have work to do.”

“I’ll send them right up, Dear.”

They both dropped whatever they had planned and hustled over here when I told them we needed to meet tonight. I can hear them walk up the stairs and stop just outside my door.

“Come in.” I tell them. They troop in, Olivia sitting in the butterfly chair and Kendall flopping on my bed. “Okay, what do we know about Conner?”

“She’s smart” answered Kendall. “She can answer any question in class.”

“Who says?”

“Anybody who’s in class with her.”

“We know she’s a scholarship girl” said Olivia, “so she’s poor.”

“How does that help us?”

“It means she should know her place.”

“Somehow, I don’t think she does. Has anybody checked her Facebook page? That might tell us something.”

“I haven’t.”

“Me neither.”

Christ! I have to do everything! I open the browser, hit bookmarks and click on Facebook. It opens almost instantly, we’ve got a very fast internet connection at home. I search for “Patricia Conner” and find about thirty five separate pages, but none of them are hers.

“She doesn’t have a page!”

“WHAT?!”

“NO!”

“I know!” They don’t believe it. I double check to make sure. Nothing.

“What person doesn’t have a Facebook page?” asks Olivia.

“Someone who’s completely off the planet” said Kendall.

This is really too good, a gift worth its weight in gold. “We should help the poor girl out.”

“Are you MENTAL Caitlin? Why should we help her?” asks Kendall.

Olivia looks confused for a second or two but then she smiles. “Yeeeeaaah. You’re right! It’s the friendly thing to do.”

“What’s wrong with you two?!” Kendall’s always been slow on the uptake.

“Kendall, how many girls at school have done what we just did?”

“I dun know. Thirty or forty probably.”

“Or more, particularly after she started wearing those uniforms to school. They got the same result we did, nothing. What if they got a really interesting Facebook page? One that we created ourselves? Full of embarrassing pictures and stuff. We don’t even have to get someone to hack her page, we just make up our own and pass it off as hers.”

“But we don’t have any embarrassing photos of her. We’ve made sure that none of the other girls are friends with her so nobody else is likely got any either” said Kendall.

“We don’t need any” replied Olivia. “We can make our own! Jerri Stevens is an absolute genius with Photoshop. We could download pictures from the web and she could add Conner’s face.”

“What kinda pictures?”

“What ever we want Kendall, drunk girls, fat girls, porn, what ever.”

“How long would this take?” I asked.

“I don’t know … a week maybe.”

“Call Stevens, get her started. I’ve got another idea we can do quicker than that.”

“What’s that?”

“First, we need someone who has gym the same time as Conner.”

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

I had a good day today at phys ed. Sister Rita’s teaching volleyball and I dug out anything that came my way. The quickness of this body is flat insane. I just think it and I’m there. Sometimes, I’m there even before I think it. Gretchen and I were on the same team and I was able to set her up for some easy points. She started out very tentative but by the end of the period, she was spiking the ball pretty hard.

She might not be half bad with some practice; it’s all a matter of confidence. She’s got decent coordination, reasonable body control, can jump a little … no Dr. J, but not too bad for a girl.

When I first started school, phys ed was certainly eye opening. In the same locker room with forty naked teen age girls, using the same mass shower stall, all those breasts, all those vaginas, I had to fight like mad not to stare. We should have planned for that while getting ready for this job. Gradually, it got easier to act naturally. Eventually, it wasn’t an act.

Despite what you might think, a girls locker room isn’t a very erotic environment. It smells bad, there’s mold, the fluorescent lights make everybody’s skin look like heck, some of the girls are very good looking but others aren’t. All in all, it falls way short of the fantasies. Besides, any time I need to look at boobs, I just drop my bra in front of a mirror.

Sister Rita stopped me after class and asked me if I had an interest in maybe playing for the school’s volleyball team. I told her I’d think about it. I couldn’t say that I was hoping to be out of school in a few weeks. By the time I got to the locker room, practically everybody else was done showering and was dressing. I’m going to have to hurry to get done in time to make it to class.

My shower only took a couple of minutes. I quickly dry off and scamper to my locker.

It’s empty. Someone’s taken everything. All my clothes, gym clothes, the skirt, the blouse, underwear, shoes, socks … everything.

I’m surprised it took this long for it to happen. This move would have been third or forth on my list of annoying things to do to a person, right after spray paint in their locker through the vent holes and just before the chocolate Exlaz cookies. Luckily, I’ve got a plan.

The locker room is connected to the coach’s offices. The locks to those offices are ridiculously easy to pick and there’s an endless supply of hairpins scattered around on the floor. I’ve got Sister Rita’s door open in a few seconds. The office has a phone that is both part of the internal school system and gets an outside line. I can get a direct connection to Sister Carmela’s office. I hope she’s in. I enter her intercom code and wait. It buzzes three times before she picks up.

“Yes, Sister Rita?”

“Sorry to bother you Sister Carmela, this is Patricia Conner.”

“Miss Conner? What are you doing in Sister Rita’s office?”

“Right now, I’m naked, wrapped in a towel that’s not big enough to do the job and starting to shiver a little bit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Someone stole all my clothes from my gym locker and I’m the only one left in here.”

“Goodness! Who would do such a thing?”

“We both know the answer to that Sister Carmela.”

“Did you see who actually did it?”

“Of course not, I was in the shower. Don’t bother to question any of the girls, I’m sure they saw nothing, most of them likely made a special effort to see nothing.”

“I see. You’re probably right. Stay there and I’ll have someone bring you one of our emergency outfits.”

“No, Sister. That’s just what they want. I’ve got it under control. Page Gretchen Hobbes and buzz me here when she gets there.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, please hurry.” I hang up the phone and leave the office, the door open. There’s something I want to check before Sister Carmela calls back. I scurry to the exit door, keeping a death grip on my towel, and slowly open it just a crack, so that I can see if anyone is waiting outside.

There’s a group of at least five girls, cell phones ready, doing a lousy job of acting nonchalant. Someone really needs to teach a class. I hurry to the back exit and find four girls waiting, same routine. Caitlin McBride is not among them. I’d be surprised if she was. Always leave the dirty work to the underlings.

The phone’s already buzzed twice by the time I get back to the office.

“Hello, Sister Carmela.”

“I have Ms. Hobbes here, as you requested.” I hear her hand off the phone.

“He … he … hello?”

“Gretchen, it’s Patricia. I need you to go to my school locker, open it and bring me the large clear plastic bag in the bottom. I’m in the gym locker room.”

“I don’t know your combination.”

“It’s twenty five, sixteen and nine, got it?”

“Twenty five, sixteen and nine. What’s going on?”

“Bring me the bag and I’ll explain later. Don’t use the doors. Come round to the windows opposite the soccer field and throw it in. I’ll be waiting. Put Sister Carmela back on, will ya?” I hear the hand off again.

“Yes, Ms. Conner?”

“There’s four or five girls at both exits to the locker room, hanging around with cell phones, waiting to get pictures of me out of uniform. You’ve got rules about cell phones during school hours I believe.”

“Yes we do. I’ll send someone immediately.”

“If you could, wait until I leave.”

“Isn’t that what they want?”

“I plan on giving them something to see, just not what they expect.”

“Very well, I’ll wait.”

“Thanks.” I hang up and hurry to the open windows in the back. I really am getting cold. Hopping from one foot to the other, rubbing my arms, I look around, checking out the room. Gray green paint on concrete block walls, worn wooden benches, mismatched metal lockers, the whole place looks second rate, at best. It’s clear where they put their emphasis, but the athletic facilities really are an embarrassment. Right now, I could use a heater.

“Patricia!”

It’s Gretchen! That’s my girl!

“Here Gretch!”

She reaches up, waving her hand in the open window.

“Can you see me?”

“Yeah, I can. Did you find the bag?”

“Right here. What is it?”

“You ever see those ads on late night TV about storing your clothes in a vacuum bag to save closet space?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what it is. Hurry and toss it through the window before I freeze to death.”

“Okay, here it comes!”

They vinyl bag flies through the half open window and I grab it with both hands, losing my towel in the process.

“Thanks.”

“You need anything else?”

“No, I’m fine. Just go back to class and act normal. I’ll tell you all about it at lunch.”

“See you then.”

I hurry back to my gym locker, sit down and open the seal on the bag. Air rushes in. What seconds ago looked like squashed road kill is now a complete uniform, as altered by me, including socks and shoes. It’s one of my better jobs, if I do say so myself. I figured that someday, some one would take a shot at my uniforms. “Accidentally” spill paint on them, tear them, or steal them, something. I wanted to have a spare set within reach, ready to go. Going at the gym locker was a nice touch, shows a little planning. If I came out of the locker room dressed only in a towel, they’d have some embarrassing pictures for the internet that would be devastating to the normal teen age girl.

Lucky for me, I’m not the normal teen age girl.

It only takes about a minute and a half to get dressed but I spend an extra few seconds in front of the mirror to get my hair just right.

Don’t want to disappoint my fans.

When I get to the door, I push it open just a few inches and pause, letting the girls waiting on the other side get ready, then I throw it open and pose, hand on hip, smiling.

They’re all snapping like crazy, fast as they can, not even looking. The frenzy trails off after a couple of seconds when they realize I’m not a semi-naked, wet headed, cowering girl. I walk slowly past them, still smiling. I’m half way down the hall by the time two teachers start to confiscate the cell phones.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

“SHE WAS WEARING WHAT?!”

“A regular uniform … well not a regular uniform, it was one of her tailored uniforms. Here, see for yourself.”

Olivia handed me her cell phone. She was right. Conner was just standing there, smiling, as if she was waiting to have her picture taken.

“So what went wrong?”

“Nothing went wrong! Allie and Becky cleaned out her locker, they gave it all to me. I checked, it was all there!”

“So where’d she get this?” I hold the phone so Olivia can see the picture. Kendall leans in to also get a look.

“I don’t know, Caitlin! I had all her stuff and she didn’t borrow it from somebody else because it’s not a standard uniform.”

“I like what she’s done with her blouse” said Kendall.

“What?”

“Her blouse, I like what she did with the collar.” She takes the phone from my hand and points at the picture. “See what she did with the collar. The top is more open but it lays flat. I wish I could get mine to do that.”

“Kendall?”

“Yes, Caitlin?”

I take the phone back and toss it to Olivia. “Shut up!”

Just then, Conner and Hobbes walk into the cafeteria, like they own the place. Some of the girls are smiling at them. There are a few who actually waved at them! What the hell happened to my shunning order?!

“Where the fuck did she get that uniform?!”

“I said I don’t know, Caitlin! Get off my back, will ya. Everybody did exactly what they where supposed to do.”

“Then somebody warned her, told her the plan.”

“WHO would do that? WHY would they do it?”

“I don’t know, but that’s the only explanation.”

“Only five girls knew what was supposed to happen.”

“What about the ones taking pictures?”

“They were just told to wait until she came out of the locker room. Everybody except Allie had their cell phones confiscated and she only kept hers because she passed it off to Tammy as she walked by. That’s how I got the one picture.”

“So … who warned Connor, Olivia?”

“No one warned her. These girls are our friends, they wouldn’t do that.”

Hobbes and Connor are sitting by themselves, as usual, but other girls are walking by, smiling and saying stuff. Connor’s really enjoying it, I can tell.

“Fine, nobody said anything, Connor’s some kinda magician who can make clothes appear out of thin air. When is that Facebook page gonna be done, Kendall?”

“Jerri said it might be a week or two.”

“Tell her it needs to be done by the end of this week. I want it up and running Monday. I want to wipe that smile off her face … permanently!

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

Mom’s not handling it very well. It’s not easy for me but I’ve been through it before, Mom’s never been under constant surveillance before. The first few days she tried to put up a brave front, using all the rooms in the house but since I debugged her bedroom, she spends practically all her non-working time there or the kitchen. It’s only natural to hide out where you feel safe but it looks odd to someone on the outside, which we can’t afford. About the only time I can get her out of her bedroom in the evening is to watch TV or play a DVD. Either way, she doesn’t have much to say.

She didn’t eat a lot tonight, claimed to have an upset stomach. She probably did, nerves will do that to you. Once the dishes were done, she went straight to her room. We can’t go on like this much longer.

I knock on her bedroom door.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Do you feel up for a movie this evening?”

“I don’t know Honey … I’m really not feeling well.”

“I rented ‘The King’s Speech’. You know how much you like Colin Firth.”

“I appreciate all your effort but …”

“I can put real butter on the popcorn.”

“It sounds tempting Patricia but …”

“It’s important, Mom.”

“I know.”

She doesn’t say anything more, but I hear the door knob turn and the door opens with a long squeak. Standing in the doorway, I can see her sunken eyes and pale look. I don’t think she’s been getting a lot of sleep. I hold out my hand and she takes it and I slowly lead her out of her bedroom into the hallway, towards the living room. She resists just a little bit but I keep moving and she reluctantly follows me to the couch. She sits and I start the movie, the volume just a little louder than normal.

I hurry to the kitchen and finish the popcorn. I don’t want to leave her alone for long. When I get back, she gives me a thin smile and pats the couch next to her. I sit down, tucking my legs under me and leaning against her. She puts her arm around my shoulder.

“I’m sorry” she whispers.

“You’re doing fine” I whisper back.

She takes a bite of popcorn. “No, I’m not. I shouldn’t let it get to me … but it does. I can’t get a decent night’s sleep even though I know my bedroom’s clean. How do you do it?”

“Practice. It gets to me too sometimes.”

“Huh, I haven’t seen it.”

“You should check our ice cream supply; it’s down at least a gallon.”

That gets a chuckle out of her.

“You want something to drink, Mom?” I say loudly.

She winces, then sighs deeply. “No thank you, Patricia.”

“Not even a beer?”

“No, nothing.”

“Okay.”

She lays her head against my shoulder and is soon asleep, quietly breathing. I reach over and move the hair out of her eyes. She needs this to end as soon as possible. I may have to push the schedule ahead.

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

There’s four knocks on the van door before it opens. That’s our code so nobody freaks.

“Hey Mitch.”

“‘Sup Johnny?”

“I got your sandwich and coffee. They were out of regular chips so I bought the rippled ones.” He hands me the carryout bag, then sits in the second seat. “What’s happening?”

“They’re watching ‘The King’s Speech’.”

“Damn! A chick flick! That’s the fifth one this week!”

“I know, I’ve had to listen to each one. I don’t know how the kid gets the grades she does, I’ve never heard her do homework.”

Johnny takes his sandwich from the bag, unwraps it and takes a big bite. He chews a few seconds, then swallows. He’s gonna choke one of these days and I’m not gonna do shit about it when he does, I’ve warned him about gulping his food enough already.

“She does her homework in the kitchen while she fixes supper. Don’t you remember the day we placed the bugs?”

“Yeah, I remember, that’s why we couldn’t get that room. Did Louie ever figure out why we lost the mom’s bedroom?”

“Nah, there’s only the two of them so were not missing anything. Did you hear the kid last night? I just about pissed myself when she screamed. What could scare a girl that badly?”

“Hell, she has bad dreams most nights. Not our problem. Have you been able to find out anything we don’t already know?”

“Not really, she just seems to be a typical teen age girl for the most part. A very good student but doesn’t seem to have any friends.”

“No friends doesn’t sound typical.”

“The real smart ones usually don’t have many friends, they’re too busy with school stuff.”

“How do you know that, Johnny?”

“My sister, she was top in her class.”

I’ve met her; Johnny’s sister ain’t exactly a looker. Our girl is a hot babe yet we haven’t seen any boyfriends … or girlfriends. Mom doesn’t seem to be doing anything to keep her daughter from dating boys but isn’t encouraging it either. Maybe it’s related to her nightmares. Either way, I don’t think that’s what Ray Hobbes is worried about.

“Johnny, you think this kid is anything out of the ordinary?”

“Other than being smart as hell? No.”

“How about her mother?”

“She seems to be your average single mother, more or less. Been sick lately but the stomach flu’s been going around.”

“So, nothing suspicious about either of them?”

“Nothing I’ve seen or heard.”

“I agree … let’s go home. Wanda’s been bitching about these late hours.”

“Late hours pays the bills, Mitch.”

“When you get married Johnny, you’ll find out what real life’s like.”

- * * *** * * * *** * * *

Science has yet to describe how fast news spreads through an all girls school … and rumors spread twice as fast as news because truth is never as juicy as rumors. This time though, truth won out. It was less than thirty six hours after Caitlin McBride pulled that stunt on Patty in the locker room and the entire school knew the story. Not the whole story, only me and Patty know how she got the replacement uniform. Not even Sister Carmela knows the whole complete story.

Now, when we walk down the halls, some of the other girls actually smile at us. A few give us the “thumbs up” sign, though they don’t make a big deal of it. McBride still runs St. Ann’s and she’s got spies everywhere. If anybody is caught actually being nice to us, they’ll have to deal with her, or her goon squad. Patty doesn’t seem to care, but she’s keeping track of who does and says what, I can tell.

We’re sitting by ourselves at lunch, as usual. At least thirty different girls have casually walked by and whispered encouraging words. Short, simple stuff like “way to go”, or “keep it up”, or “kick her ass”. There’s also been a lot of girls glancing our way and then talking among themselves, usually huddled around cell phones or laptop computers. The groups then break out in giggles or laughter. I’m beginning to get an uncomfortable feeling about the whole situation but Patty just keeps eating her brown bag lunch. I’ve offered to buy her lunch or share mine but she says the only way to know exactly what you’re eating is to fix it yourself, which seems a little paranoid.

She’s just finishing her tuna fish sandwich when I see MClairuff headed our way, McBride in front carrying a laptop, a big grin on her face. This really can’t be good.

She walks right up to our table and sits down, doesn’t ask if she can or anything. Sinclair and Woodruff stand behind her, one on her left, the other on the right.

“Connor” she says. “I’ve been enjoying your Facebook page.”

Patty carefully picks up her trash and puts it in her empty lunch bag, rolling it down from the top and crushing it into a ball, which she drops on my lunch tray. “I don’t have a Facebook page. It’s mostly used by people who want to project an idealized version of themselves and their lives. Either that or businesses trying to sell you something. I don’t care about either one.”

McBride’s still smiling. “Are you sure? It’s a reaaallly interesting page.”

“There have to be a lot of Patricia Connor’s out there, maybe it’s someone else.”

“There’s thirty five Patricia Connor’s but I’m sure this is you … have a look.” McBride flips up the screen and turns it toward us.

It’s a picture of a girl who looks a lot like Patty but she’s not wearing a blouse, just a bra and shorts and holding a beer bottle in her right hand. She looks drunk.

“You know that’s not me” said Patty.

“I don’t know anything” said McBride. “She sure looks like you and there are lots more, even better ones.” She pushes a key on the keyboard and other pictures start to display … terrible, horrible pictures.

In some, the girl is practically naked, others she’s kissing boys. Some of the pictures show her kissing girls. I want to get a better look at those pictures but they’re gone too fast, replaced by others. In one, she’s down on her hands and knees and a big dog is behind her, paws on her back. All the pictures are of a girl who kinda looks like Patty but they’re gone too fast to get a good look. I’d say that, while they all sorta look like her, they don’t all look alike.

Patty is staring at the screen, a mixture of shock and anger on her face. McBride reaches down and clicks on the Wall button on the Facebook page. It loads in seconds.

It’s full of hurtful, terrible, nasty, vicious comments. Some are actually obscene. Girls can be really horrible to one another, particularly when they can do it anonymously. Some of the stuff actually makes me sick to my stomach.

Patty just sits there, reading it all, while McBride points to particularly obnoxious ones, gloating all the time. Patty finally says something.

“No one who knows me will believe this is mine.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no, but who here at school knows you? I’ve made sure you don’t have any friends. People believe what I tell them to believe. Once this spreads, you’ll never stop it!”

Suddenly, Patty smiles. “That’s a very good point Caitlin” she said, then she quickly climbed up onto the top of the lunch table, stood up as tall as she could, put two fingers into her mouth and whistled. It was so loud, I had to put my hands over my ears. McBride and the other two ducked their heads, scrunching up their faces. Patty whistled for like thirty seconds, the sound, filling the lunch room, bouncing of the walls and windows. When she finally stopped, every face in the room was turned towards hers and it was dead silent.

She smiled brightly at everyone. “Hi!” she shouted. “I’m Patricia Conner. I’m sorry I don’t know many of you, but we all know why that’s happened. My good friend Caitlin McBride just showed me a Facebook page that she thought was mine. How many of you have seen that page?” She raised her hand high above her head. “A show of hands. How many have seen the page?”

Nothing happens right away. There are several teachers in the room but they aren’t doing anything to stop Patty, they just look confused. A few hands start to slowly creep up.

“Oh come on! I’ve seen the phones and laptops! Who’s seen the Facebook page?”

I raise my hand and wave it slightly. More hands start to go up, the numbers increasing quickly. In seconds, all hands are high in the air.

“Alright! Good, great! Glad to see it! I haven’t had much time to check it out but there are a lot of interesting pictures there. Apparently, I’m a big dog lover.” Laughter and giggles flow through the room. She shrugged her shoulders. ”Who knew?” More girls laughed. “I sure hope Sister Carmela doesn’t see it.” Even more laughter. “Let’s keep this just between ourselves, okay?” Bigger laughs as Patty starts to walk around on the table. I glance at McBride, she looks completely confused. Patty waves her hands to quiet the girls. “I bet that something like this might get a girl expelled or even worse … like grounded.” Gales of laughter. I don’t know whether it’s the jokes or the totally weird appearance of this short girl standing on a plastic table talking to the entire school in the middle of lunch, but Patricia has the crowd hanging on every word.

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

My intercom buzzed as I was preparing to leave my office to walk down to the cafeteria for lunch. I prefer to get there ahead of the students so that they are all aware of my presence; it tends to keep the disruptive behavior to a minimum.

“Yes?”

“Sister Carmela! I need to see you immediately!”

“What is the problem, Sister Rita?”

“It’s about Patricia Connor!”

It may have been a mistake to admit that girl. “What about her?”

“I must show you, it’s terrible, just terrible!”

“Well, hurry up, I’ll meet you in my office.”

I have barely sat back down in my seat before Rita bursts through my door, and, without another word, picks up my wireless keyboard, launches the Mozilla Firefox browser and opens a Facebook page.

“Look at this!” she exclaims.

We routinely monitor Facebook and other social media to try to keep ahead of the ever changing world of teenagers, but I have never seen such a vile personal page before.

“How did you find this?”

“Mary Wiltz told me about it. McBride had her troops out, spreading the word starting this morning. Naturally, something like this has spread like wildfire.”

“Surely Patricia didn’t …”

“Of course not! It’s a complete fraud! I’ve been looking at a number of pictures. Some of the girls have a passing resemblance to Connor, others are Photoshoped, the quality of work varies from quite good to average. McBride or some of her followers have spent a lot of time on this.”

I continue to review the site. “How is it that we can see this? Shouldn’t we need to be ‘friended’ first?”

“I used Wiltz’s sign in, with her permission of course. Someone is monitoring the site and accepting any friend request that comes in. They want maximum distribution.” Rita leans down and looks over my shoulder. “That poor, poor girl! I can’t imagine what it would be like to be so publicly humiliated. And we can’t do a thing about it.”

I reach out, pick up my phone and buzz Jensen.

“Ms. Jensen, I need to speak with Senator Douglass’s office immediately.” I place my hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s time to call in a favor or two.”

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

“And what about that one of me with that really old dude? Clearly, someone’s got Daddy issues.”

She’s been at it for over five minutes. Some of the girls can barely sit up straight from laughing so hard. All the time, she’s been making fun of herself, as if it was actually her Facebook page, though she’s never actually said it is. I don’t know what she’s up to. She waves the crowd quiet again, though some of them keep laughing.

“Though, when you take a closer look at that particular photo, the girl doesn’t have a tramp stamp … but I do.”

She turns around and pulls down her skirt and lifts her blouse just enough to show her tattoo. Half of the girls laugh and the other half gasp in disbelief. She came within inches of mooning the entire school! Patty quickly pulls her skirt back up, tucks in her blouse and then turns around towards the girls, smiling sheepishly.

“So, I guess that one isn’t a picture of me. And the animal lover, she’s got a tattoo on the back of her hand … and I don’t.” She holds up both hands so that everyone can see them. Several girls start to look at their phones or laptops. “Also, there’s a whole group of pictures where the girl does have a tramp stamp but it’s different from mine, so those are out. But, really, how stupid do you have to be to put pictures like those on the public area of your page. You’re either the dumbest person on the face of the earth or you’ve got a death wish, am I right?” A lot of girls smile and nod while others applaud. “So, I guess the question is … am I the dumbest person on the face of the earth? How about a show of hands. Who here thinks I’m stupid enough to post a whole bunch of faked photos to a Facebook page in my name and subject myself to the ridicule of the entire school?”

The laughter’s stopped. Patty isn’t smiling anymore. Girls are looking back and forth at each other, whispering. The girls who share classes with us seem to be arguing with the girls around them. I occasionally hear the word ‘genius’ above the buzz. A few of McBride’s hardcore supporters raise their hands. I look over at Sinclair and Woodruff, both of their hands are raised, McBride’s isn’t. Patty turns and slowly squats down so that she’s nose to nose with Woodruff. “Do you REALLY think I’m that stupid … Kendall?” she quietly hisses.

I can feel the anger radiating off Patricia, the look in her eyes is frightening. I’d always heard people say if looks could kill. Now I know what they meant. Woodruff tries to match the intensity but Patty stares her down, Woodruff’s hand slowly dropping to her side. Patty swivels her head to the left, fixing her eyes on Sinclair, who immediately drops her hand. Patty stands up again, turning to face the crowd. No hands are raised.

“Well, I’m glad we got that settled. I’d like to thank my good friend Caitlin McBride for bringing this … situation to my attention. Anyone who wants to see those pictures better look at them soon, because they’ll be gone very quickly.”

“I have already taken care of that, Ms. Conner.”

All eyes turn towards the cafeteria door. It’s Sister Carmela, Sister Rita right behind her. They both step into the lunch room.

“I have spoken with the management of Facebook and they are removing the page even as we speak.”

Many girls turn to their computers or phones. From the looks on their faces, it would seem that Sister Carmela is right. Patty jumps down to the floor, hands at her side to keep her skirt from flying up.

“Thank you, Sister Carmela. Your office?”

“If you don’t mind, Ms. Conner.”

“Not at all, Sister.”

Patty starts for the door. I stand up to follow her but she stops and looks back at me.

“I’ll be fine. You go on to class. I’ll be there soon … I hope.”

She marches to the door, nods her head towards the nuns as she passes them and walks out, the Sister’s falling in step behind her.

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

Sister Carmela asked me to wait outside for just a few minutes, she wanted to talk with Sister Rita first. The lunch break is over and the hallway outside the office is full of girls heading to class. A lot of them are looking in the windows as they walk by. I try to keep a smile on my face but it’s hard. I’m still angry about what McBride tried to do to me. It’s really just a matter of luck that I was able to stop her so quickly. If she hadn’t said something to me at lunch, it would have been too late. She wanted to embarrass me in front of the entire school, which thankfully gave me an audience to make my case to. I don’t know how Sister Carmela was able to spike the web page so fast but that helped a lot. Unfortunately, nothing ever completely disappears on the web, but you’d have to work pretty hard to find those pictures again. I don’t look forward to doing it.

The outer office has several stacks of phonebooks against one wall, there must be fifty there.

“Why all the phonebooks, Ms. Jensen?”

“They always deliver three times as many as we need. Sister Carmela has me keep the extras until she gets tired of seeing them and then I throw them out. Do you want one?”

Sister Rita opens the door and signals for me to come in. “I’ll let you know, Ms. Jensen” I reply.

When I get into the office, Sister Rita has me sit down, then she walks around the desk and stands behind Sister Carmela. We all stare at each other for a few seconds.

“I don’t know where to start, Ms. Connor” said Sister Carmela.

“Me neither, Sister. How did you get the plug pulled on that web page so fast?”

“Your benefactor, Senator Douglas, is a member of the Senate committee that has oversight on the FCC which includes …”

I nod my head, “telecommunications, which means the web, which means Facebook.”

“Exactly. I contacted his office, which put me in touch with Facebook’s management, who were very happy to grant my request after they reviewed the content and Senator Douglas’s staff suggested to them that it would be the responsible thing to do.”

“Thanks, you certainly saved my bacon.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Connor. Can you explain why you thought it necessary to turn St. Ann’s lunch hour into a public meeting?”

“I didn’t have any choice. Once the genie is out of the bottle, it’s practically impossible to stuff her back in.”

“Why didn’t you just contact me, we could have dealt with it.”

“There wasn’t any time. Almost everybody had already seen it. Once the girls left the building, I was dead. I had to take advantage of the lunch hour and strike fast. I understand you may have to give me some demerits or detention, but it was the only way.”

“I didn’t see your entire performance, but I understand that you did an admirable job of persuading the other students that it was a fake web page. As for demerits, Sister Rita and I will need to discuss it. My question is … what happens next?”

“Frankly Sister, I’m tired of messing with Caitlin. If she threatens me with some kind of physical attack, I’m going to force her hand, bring it to a head.”

“There is no way I can sanction some kind of brawl Ms. Conner, you know that.”

“With any luck, nothing will actually happen, but I need you and the staff to not be around when the confrontation occurs. The other girls have to choose sides and I can’t have your people influencing that choice. I want McBride out of business for good.”

“As do I, but there can be no fighting. If girls get hurt, there will be no end of the complaints by the parents and they will be well within their rights to do so. My primary responsibility is the safety of my girls.”

“What if I guarantee that no one will be hurt? I know what I’m doing. It shouldn’t be too hard to disable any fighters without hurting them.”

Much.

“That is unacceptable. St. Ann’s will never tolerate its students fighting. I can agree to give you some space, at least initially, but Sister Rita will be keeping a close watch on the situation and she will be authorized to take appropriate action against anybody involved in fighting, no exceptions.”

“You can’t really expect me to get rid of McBride without at least the legitimate threat of kicking her behind, do you?”

“You know my terms, Ms. Connor.”

“Yes, Sister Carmela. Could you do me a favor?”

“Which would be?”

“I’d like to have copies of the fake pictures from that Facebook page. Can you ask your contact to make copies before deleting them?”

“I can ask but it may be too late. Why would you want copies? I saw most of them and, if it was me, I’d want them to disappear forever.”

“I’d like to try and find out where they all came from.”

“Why does it matter?”

“It may not, but I’d like to know.”

“I’ll do what I can, Ms. Connor.”

I stand up. “Thanks. I’ll let you know how things go with McBride.”

“Remember … no fighting.”

Walking through the door, I look back. “I remember” I say, then close the door.

Ms. Jensen is working at her desk. There are still at least ten girls loitering outside the office widow. Everybody loves to rubberneck at a car wreck. Guess they were hoping for another show.

A show … a show. No … a demonstration.

That’s exactly what I need right now.

“Ms. Jensen, could I have one of those phonebooks?”

“Certainly, take as many as you want. The fewer I have to get rid of later.”

I take one book from the top of the pile. It’s a standard business yellow pages, or what used to be called yellow pages. Now it’s the Yellow Book or some such thing. I squeeze and flex it. Soft paperback binding, about two and a half inches thick. I used to do this in bars all the time as a bet for drinks. It should still be possible even though my hands are smaller.

With the spine of the book on my left, I firmly grip the book with my right hand, then grip it with my left and bend the book in half. I reposition my right and left hands so that the cover is taut, the next few pages are also taut but the rest of the pages are pinched between my hands in a bulge. I take a couple of short breaths and try to tear the cover by flexing it and tearing in opposite directions with my hands, pushing down and away with the right while pulling up and towards me with the left. If I can tear the cover and the next couple of pages, I’ll be able to tear the entire book in half, a few pages at a time.

You don’t have to be a muscleman to tear a phonebook in half, you just need to be of at least average strength and know the right technique. Most people don’t know that. I re-grip the book and try again. Several of the girls are blatantly staring at me through the window.

Good.

This was easier when I was a man. Just as I’m about to change my grip again, the cover rips with a pop, the next group of pages right behind it. Shifting my grip, the next set of pages grow taut and split.

“What are you doing?!”

“Recycling, Ms. Jensen.”

In less than a minute, the entire book is in two pieces, well, actually one big piece and eight hundred little pieces. I walk out of the office and drop the remains of the phonebook in a trash can by the bathroom. I don’t get more than ten feet away before two girls go digging in the can to recover them.

McBride should get the news by the end of this class period.

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

A complete and total waste of time! It took over two weeks to get that page ready and it was deleted in less than four hours! Four God damn hours! “My good friend, Caitlin McBride.” Connor is dead! That Bitch has fucked with me for the last time!

This stupid Spanish class can’t end soon enough. When I get to Study Hall, I’m going to have Kendall get all the girls together and we’ll pay a little visit to Connor. What were she and Olivia thinking? Putting their hands down in front of the entire school. Are they quitting on me? If they haven’t got the guts to do what’s necessary, I may need to find somebody else who does.

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

By the time I got to Study Hall, Caitlin and Kendall were quietly arguing in the back of the room. Naturally, every girl there was trying to listen in. I didn’t really care anymore.

“I’m sorry, but she’s scary!”

“Scary?! She’s a midget!”

“Hey! She wasn’t in your face Caitlin. You can talk after it happens to you. Honest to God, I thought she was going to …”

“Going to what?”

“I don’t know! But it wasn’t going to be fun!”

Sometimes Caitlin gets sooo hyper. Kendall’s not helping. “Calm down you two” I tell them.

“Shut up Olivia. You weren’t much help either.”

“Face it Caitlin, she beat us. She proved the photos were faked. We didn’t bother looking for mismatched tattoos. Once she showed everyone they weren’t photos of her, we’d lost. I told you that we should wait, give it a day or two for the dirt to spread but no, you had to get up in her face today, had to have your little confrontation. Well, she took that confrontation and made you eat it … in front of the whole school.”

“I didn’t eat anything! It was a stupid idea from the start.”

“You didn’t think so last week. Last week it was brilliant.”

“Well … Stevens screwed it up, she should have taken care of the tattoos.”

“She didn’t have time, you told her to get it done for today. Besides, it’s one thing to find embarrassing pictures of girls who look like Connor or adding her head to a picture. Finding all that and matching or removing tattoos is impossible. The only way it was going to work was if nobody looked too closely at each and every picture. What gets me was that Connor saw the pictures for the first time at lunch and she caught the problems almost instantly.”

“Obviously, she knew they were fake” said Kendall.

“Yeah, but she knew exactly how to prove they were fake. Not only that, but she was all funny and friendly at first, getting everybody on her side before bringing up the fact that they weren’t actually pictures of her.”

“And then she got scary.”

“Give it a rest, Kendall” said Caitlin.

“Well, everyone knows she won today” I say. “And they know she won when we stole her clothes.”

“There’s no proof that we did either …”

“They KNOW Caitlin! All that matters is what people think. We relied on that when we tried the Facebook page and now it’s going to bite us in the ass. You want to try to go to each girl in St. Ann’s and explain why we’re innocent?”

“They’ll believe what I tell them to believe.”

“Maybe earlier, but not anymore. We’ve got two strikes on us already. We can’t afford a third strike.”

“Then we stop messing around and get serious. Kendall, you put the word out. I want every girl who thinks she’s part of my group to be ready to put Connor in her place.”

“Exactly what do you mean?” asks Kendall.

“We’re going to show Connor that there are bad consequences if she doesn’t fall in line. If that means she gets beaten up … so what? I’ve put up with more shit from her than I’ve put up with anybody else.”

“That’s because nobody else ever put up a fight” I said.

“So now everybody else learns what happens when you do that” answered Caitlin.

Just then, Miranda Wright came into the room, looked around saw Kendall and waved her hand towards her, signaling for Kendall to come over.

“I’ll be right back” she says.

We both watch as Kendall goes over and talks to Miranda, who reaches into her book bag and pulls out a bunch of yellow paper, stuffing them in Kendall’s hands. They continue talking for a few seconds then Miranda turns and leaves. Kendall walks back to the table, drops the papers on the top and sits down, looking shaken.

“What’s that all about?” asks Caitlin.

“That’s what Connor did to a Miami phonebook” answered Kendall.

“With what?”

“Her bare hands.”

“Who saw her do it?”

“Miranda and a few others. Tore the whole damn thing right in half. I don’t know how many girls are willing to show up to confront her.”

“Just because of some trick with a phone book? You tell anybody who doesn’t want to help that they can forget about coming back when this is done. I’ll remember who pussied out when there was trouble. They all know what it’s like to be on my bad side.”

I don’t want to say it … but I wonder how many other tricks Conner has in her pocket.

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

“Patricia! I’m home!”

It’s harder and harder to say that with any cheerfulness each evening. It seems the best part of each day is when I leave in the morning and the worst is when I walk back through the front door after work.

“I’m in the kitchen, Mom.”

At least that room is safe. When I walk into the kitchen, Patricia’s sitting at the kitchen table, a small pile of electronic devices in front of her.

“Are those …”

“Yep. All of ‘em.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why now?”

She shrugged. “I got tired of playing their game. They had enough for their report and they’ll give me a reason to go see Mr. Hobbes. Besides, I knew how they were affecting you. I just couldn’t take seeing you suffer anymore.”

“Honey, I could have kept going. It wasn’t so bad.”

“Yes, it was and no, you couldn’t. McBride made her move at school today and I shot her down. That situation should be coming to a head soon and then we can move onto the real job.”

“I know. Sister Carmela called me at work.”

“Why’d she do that? I got it taken care of … Okay, with her help, but it’s over.”

“Sister Carmela was concerned that you might be more affected by everything than you let on.”

“What? No … no … I’m fine. There’s nothing to be worried about. I’m fine.” Patricia stands up and sweeps the bugs off the table into a box. “Let me set the table. Supper’s in the oven. We can eat and have a restful evening, for once.”

“I can help.”

“Thanks … it’s been a long day.”

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

She was right. I had almost reached the end of my rope. However, tonight was a brand new day. We didn’t do anything that different from the prior evenings but that weight of observation was gone … and that made all the difference. It was so enjoyable that I didn’t want to go to bed. Eventually, we did, but it was almost 11:00 p.m.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, changed into my sleepers and climbed into bed. I was almost asleep when there was a quiet knocking at my bedroom door.

“What is it?”

“Are you asleep?”

“No … I’m not. Come on in.”

The door slowly swings open and I turn on the lamp next to my bed. Patricia is standing in my doorway, arms crossed tightly across her chest, dressed in a purple satin babydoll style nightie. She’s been wearing things like that for the last six weeks, claiming they are more comfortable than the T-shirts she had been wearing. I really don’t know what to think about that. The setting on the Balancer hasn’t been on Blue Fifty since our home was bugged, but it was tonight, yet Patricia is wearing the nightie.

“Is there something wrong, honey?”

“No … no … there … aahhh, can we … talk?”

“Sure,” I pat the bed next to me. “Have a seat.”

She slowly walks in a sits down, smoothing the nightie underneath her as she does. I reach out and gently touch her hair.

“You look nice. I see your still wearing the purple one.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“No reason. What do you want to talk about?”

She doesn’t say anything right away, just looks down. I’m not going to push her, just lightly stroke her hair.

“Uhhh … those pictures, the ones on the Facebook page … did you see them?”

“No, I didn’t. Sister Carmela described some of them to me but I didn’t look at them. I didn’t think it was necessary. They weren’t actually pictures of you anyway.”

“Yeah, I know … and they weren’t that bad. I mean, I’ve seen worse, much worse. I’ve paid good money for worse. They were more like some of those ‘girls gone wild’ pictures without the nudity … but when I saw them … I …”

“You what?” I quietly asked.

“I wanted to run home … as fast as I could. I wanted to get out of that school and never come back.”

“Well it’s only natural …”

“No. It’s not. There was no reason at all for me to feel that way. The whole thing was a fake! I knew it! It was just an attempt to embarrass me. There was no logical reason for me to feel anything other than happiness at forcing McBride to do something like this. It gave me a chance to turn the whole thing around and stick it up her … you know. But my first, gut reaction was exactly what she wanted. It almost worked. It took all the control I had to do what I did.”

“But you did it Patricia, you came through in the clutch. The Balancer was set on Blue ten. It’s only natural that some of those feelings you describe would be there but you kept control and did what you needed to do.”

“I guess, but what about now? When I think back to that moment when McBride started flipping through those pictures, those feelings are still there. I’m just as upset now as I was then.”

“We know that you retain knowledge after the Balancer changes settings, maybe it’s the same with emotions, feelings.”

“So what happens when I go back to my old body, am I going to still have the emotions of a teen age girl?”

“We don’t know for sure … maybe you will, at least for awhile. The longer you’re back as Peter Harris full time, the more you’ll feel like the old you. You always knew that there would be a transition period.”

“And how long is this transition period?”

“Honestly, we don’t know. Daniel didn’t have one, but he was gone only a very few days. Don’t worry … Peter … it will all work out in the end.” I pull her towards me and she rests her head on my shoulder as I hug her.

“Thanks … Mom.”

We stay like this for a few moments, me holding her, gently rocking on my bed. Deep in my heart, I feel like Patricia is my daughter. It’s not logical, I know the facts, but I can’t deny the feelings I have for this young girl, no matter how she came to exist. And I’ll miss her horribly when she’s gone.

“Mom?”

“What is it, sweetie?”

“You know those pictures?”

“Yes?”

“I think two of them weren’t fake.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think two of them were actual pictures of me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

X-Ray had finished the weekly review of inventory and shipment schedules. Despite the uproar in Mexico, our supply lines had remained mostly unaffected. There were the occasional delays due to increased inspections at the harbors and rail stations, but we either waited them out or added someone new to the bribery list and the problems were solved. Our inventories in America were already large enough that we could stand no shipments for at least a month before supplies would become a problem.

“Enrique, what is the situation in Los Angeles?” he asks. I was hoping the question would not come up.

“Not good. It is a turf war.”

“But we supply both sides with merchandise, do we not?”

“Yes, so it really doesn’t matter who wins as far as we are concerned.”

“But such disputes are disruptive, they poison our markets. Why can they not see that there is plenty of money to be made by all, that there is no reason to be greedy? I want you to send someone to speak with the gangs and impress upon them that I am not happy and strongly suggest that they solve their problems quickly and, more importantly, quietly. If they don’t, I might find new distributors for my products.”

“That may not be wise X-Ray. They may look for other suppliers on their own. The other cartels would like nothing more than increasing their sales in Los Angeles. It is the key to Southern California and could bring competition to the entire market.”

“And continued fighting only brings bad publicity and unwanted attention to my business connections with the gangs. Things only happen when the people demand action. They don’t care if it is the right action, they just want action. The easy thing for the local police to do is round everybody up and crack a few heads. I want it to stop immediately.

“We could just wait for a victor. The stronger gang takes over the weaker’s territory and we end up with a firmer grip on the market.”

“And what happens in the mean time? Buyers avoid areas where there is a threat of violence. They get their drugs from someone who works for Tijuana or Potosi. No, a little competition is good for business now and then … it keeps you on your toes, but it must stop now. We cannot afford the same stupidity that is happening in Mexico to spread to this country. Go yourself, if necessary.”

“As you wish, X-Ray.” I start to stand up to leave.

“One last thing, Enrique.”

“Yes?”

“I read the report about that girl my daughter spoke of. It seems that she is an average, normal girl.”

“Apparently very smart, but otherwise normal.”

“So there is no harm in Gretchen seeing her.”

“That remains to be seen X-Ray. I prefer my women to be … less intelligent, easier to control. I know that you like strong, spirited women but they can cause problems.”

“She is a child, Enrique! You worry too much!”

“That may be, but it is my job to keep you, and Gretchen, safe. It is my recommendation that Gretchen not be allowed to see her.”

“I will consider it.”

“You know where my loyalties lie, X-ray. Have I failed you yet?”

“No … you haven’t, old friend.”

“Then listen to me now.”

“I will consider it.”

“That is all I can ask.”

He will eventually agree with me, he always does. There is likely no harm in letting the girl have a friend or two, but why take the risk. The more control I have, the safer it is for me and my future.

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

There are thirteen of us ready to talk to Conner before school this morning. I told both Kendall and Olivia not to take any excuses but we still came up short. It takes a problem to find out who you can count on. I have everyone gather around me before we start.

“I won’t forget who showed up today … and who didn’t. This is going to be quick and to the point. When we get to Conner’s locker, crowd in around her. I don’t want anyone else to see or hear anything. If she doesn’t behave, Kendall will take care of her. I won’t object if a couple of others want to give her a shot or two but we can’t draw too much attention. Everybody ready?”

They all nod yes, though Kendall appears nervous. She’s been acting funny about this almost from the start. It’s too late now to worry about it.

I head down the hallway, the others following close behind. The other girls sense us coming and move out of our way. This is perfect. Everyone will know what happened but Carmela won’t be able to prove anything.

Conner’s standing in front of her open locker, looking in. She’s all alone, Hobbes isn’t in sight. The few girls near her split. I step up behind her as the other girls crowd around, blocking anybody else’s view. Conner just keeps rummaging around in her locker, like we aren’t even there.

“Conner. We want to talk with you” I say.

“We or you, Caitlin?”

“Fine. I want to talk with you.”

“What a coincidence. I want to talk with you too.”

She turns around to face me … holding an aluminum baseball bat in her hands. All the other girls stop breathing for a few seconds. I don’t give a damn, we still outnumber her.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“This bat? I was thinking about trying out for the softball team. How about you?”

“St Ann’s sucks at sports, it’s a waste of time.”

“That attitude seems to lack the proper school spirit, McBride, but we can save that conversation for another day. Am I right in assuming that this is ultimatum time?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Seems a shame to do it here and now, there’s no audience.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

“Then I’ll get to the point. You want to take me on, fine by me. We can do it now and most of you will lose a bunch of teeth or we can do it at lunch today out at the softball field and I won’t be carrying this bat.”

“Why there?”

“I like an audience. There are bleachers so everyone who cares gets a good view.”

“And all the teachers will be there too, along with your pal Carmela.”

“I guarantee there won’t be a single teacher out there.”

“How can you do that?”

“As you said, my pal, Sister Carmela. If you spot one teacher, you can pick another time and place. What do you say? I’m willing to miss a lunch to get this settled once and for all. Or you can have your goon squad try to rough me up now, in which case, I hope you all have dental insurance.”

I glance around. The girls aren’t packed as tightly as before and one or two may have snuck away. Several have their hands discretely raised to protect their mouths. The group is already falling apart. I don’t have a choice.

“We’ll see you at lunch, bitch!”

Conner shakes her head. “Such language. Lunch it is. Looking forward to it. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I need to return this to Sister Rita.”

Nobody moves right away, not sure what she’s actually going to do. Eventually, we all back away, Conner closes her locker and walks down the hall, twirling the bat in her hand.

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

Word spread at supersonic speed. At the end of second period, all eyes were focused on me as I walked to my locker. Gretchen was waiting for me.

“Are you CRAZY?! I heard that there were at least twenty girls coming after you.”

“Not more than ten, by the end, and probably fewer by lunch. Even if it is twenty, I’ll be fine.”

“How can you be fine?! There’s just the two of us!”

“No, there’s just the one of us. You don’t do anything, I’m not taking any chances that you might get hurt if things don’t go as planned.”

“What are you talking about? I’m so much bigger than you, it’s not funny. I should be the one out there.”

“Gretch, size has nothing to do with it, numbers either. I picked the time and place. It’s all cool. Frankly, I’d prefer you not be there at all but I can’t stop you.”

“Damn right you can’t stop me! You can’t beat all those girls at the same time. If I don’t help you …”

“No difference, Gretch. If I can’t win on my own when it’s twenty to one, is it that much easier at twenty against two? Can you beat ten girls at one time?”

“Of course not! And neither can you.”

“You might be surprised at what I can do, but that’s for another day. I don’t plan on fighting anybody.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Great! The more talk, the better. Anybody planning on being out at the softball field?”

“Who isn’t? By now, every teacher in school knows what’s happening. They’ll give you so many demerits; you’ll still be in detention when your kid graduates from St. Ann’s.”

“I told you, don’t worry about it. The fix is in, at least as far as the teachers are concerned. Sister Carmela and I have a deal, but that’s just between you and me … I mean that, you can’t tell anybody else.”

“I won’t. What deal?”

“She’s letting me handle this by myself.”

“What kinda deal is that? The teachers were your best chance not to get killed.”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

“So, you’ve done this before have you?”

“Not exactly … though there was this one time …”

“Shut up! Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“I am, but I’ve been planning this for days. Trust me … I’ve got it covered. Just do me a favor. Spread the word.”

“Who talks to me? Doesn’t matter, everyone knows already.”

“Then tell them to come out and watch. You can come too, if you promise to behave.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“That’s the only way to be.”

She turns on her heel and stomps off. It really would be better if she didn’t show up. No one would intentionally hit her but accidents do happen. I’d prefer not to give her father another reason to dislike me.

Sister Rita was standing outside of my third period class room when Social Studies ended. Our eyes met and she motioned with her head for me to follow her. I quickly caught up and we walked together down the hall.

“Sister Carmela asked me to speak with you. Do you know what you are doing?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I am. Is she worried about me?”

“She worries about all her students … though more about some than others. What do you mean ‘pretty sure’?”

“I can’t guarantee anything, though the odds are it will all work out fine.”

“And if the odds are wrong?”

“Then you’re my ace in the hole, Sister. Just don’t jump the gun if things start to look ugly. I promise, no one will get hurt.”

“You’re asking her to trust you quite a bit.”

“She’s asking me to give her back her school. Did she think that was going to happen without taking some chances?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Well, I can. There are always risks in whatever you do. This is riskier than most things that happen in a day but it’s not that bad. I’ve taken bigger chances and it’s worked out.”

“Have you taken less risks and it failed?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s pray for the best, Ms. Conner.”

“Amen, Sister Rita.”

She gives me a stern look, not sure if I’m kidding or not. I’m not sure myself. Guess I’ll take what help I can get.

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

“This is all wrong Caitlin. We don’t do things this way. We’re quiet, subtle, behind the scenes. We don’t do gang fights.”

“This isn’t a gang fight, Olivia. There’s only one of her. We’ve tried everything else and nothing’s worked.”

“What hasn’t worked? How has she hurt us? It’s not like she’s got a bunch of girls following her. It’s just her and Hobbes. What do you want from her?”

“I want her to stop … disrespecting me!”

“Why risk everything to punish one girl? What if she doesn’t roll over? How far are you willing to go? You said it yourself, we’re in charge only because the rest of them can’t get organized enough to stop us. Why give them someone to rally behind? Just let it go.”

“NO! If we let one slide then it’s a sign of weakness. Someone stands up, I knock them down. That’s the way it’s got to be.”

“Does it have to be in front of the whole school? Conner’s worked this to where she wants it. There’s got to be a reason for that, she’s not stupid.”

“And I am?”

“I didn’t say that! You’re not stupid. It’s just that what you’re planning … it’s just …”

“Stupid?”

“Yeah, it kinda is.”

“So, what would you do?”

“Ignore her. The more you concentrate on her, the more attention she gets, the more potential power she has. I mean, that thing with the motorcycle on the first day, there’s already a bunch of girls who admire her. We’ve kept her tamped down but if we screw up today … we could lose it all.”

“Then we better not screw it up, right? Come on. Get everybody together and let’s go. Remember, Conner is mine.”

She can have her.

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

There’s already about fifty girls hanging around the field when I get there. It’s more than I thought would be here this soon after school broke for lunch, though I’m happy to see them. I got here pretty quickly so most of the girls had to practically run to beat me. I want to pick my spot before McBride arrives with however many she can round up. My little demonstration with the phonebook seems to have had an effect on some of her less committed supplicants.

Girls continue to appear over the next ten minutes, usually in groups of four to six. They all seem to be confused when they get here. Most gravitate to the bleachers but some hang around the field and the dugouts. No one says anything to me but there’s a lot of talking among themselves. I see Terri Hughes at the fence next to the bleachers, waiving to get my attention. I walk over to her.

“Patricia, are you crazy?”

“You keep asking me that, Terri. What do I have to do to convince you I’m not?”

“Stop doing crazy shit. What is this supposed to be?”

“I’m going to end Caitlin McBride’s reign of terror.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“Stay and watch.”

“How can I help?”

Her offer surprises me. I can understand why Gretchen wants to help but Terri and I aren’t particularly close. We do talk occasionally and she’s a nice person, but I’ve never considered her a close friend. I don’t know what she considers me.

“Uhhhh, no … it’s not necessary. I’ve got it covered.”

“You sure? You’re like doing this for the school; we should at least help you, right?”

“How many others think like that?”

“Lots … way lots.”

“No, I don’t want anyone to get hurt or in trouble. Just stay and watch, that should be enough.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Thanks.” I see Gretchen standing by third base. “You could do one thing for me, Terri.”

“What’s that?”

“Make sure Gretchen doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Compared to what? Taking on a bunch of girls by yourself? I know that you can probably kick their asses’ one at a time or in a group, but you apparently don’t plan to do that, not if you don’t want anyone to get hurt. It’s your show but I’ll watch Gretchen for you.”

“Thanks again, Terri.”

“No prob.” She walks over towards Gretchen and stands about ten feet away from her.

Looking around, I’d say that almost two thirds of the school is here … and not a single teacher. I don’t know what Sister Carmela told them, but she’s taking a big risk by letting me do this. If I screw up, she could lose her job, or worse.

Despite the girls talking, there’s a lot of tension in the air. I don’t see any other girls still walking this way from the school and there’s no sign of McBride. She may think that being fashionably late will make me nervous and worried.

She didn’t have to bother. I’m always nervous before springing a trap, I just don’t show it. That was my reputation on the force, always cool under fire.

Suddenly, some of the girls on the upper seats in the bleachers start pointing at the school. Everyone looks that way and it gets quieter. I strain to see. God! I wish I was taller. Eventually, I see the small group headed this way. As they get closer, I can make out McBride in the lead, closely followed by Woodruff, Sinclair and eight other hardcore supporters. Looks like I picked off a few more after the locker confrontation. A good start. I take my position on the pitcher’s mound, it gives me a little more height.

McBride and her group enter the field from the gate next to the visitor’s dugout along the first base line. When she gets halfway to the mound, she stops and the other girls in the group spread out behind her. Once she has them arranged as she wants, she moves a couple of steps closer to me.

“I don’t see any teachers here” she says.

“Told you there wouldn’t be” I answer.

She gets a big smile on her face.

“I know all about your trick with the phone book. Anybody can do that. I found at least six YouTube videos showing how to do it. It’s just a trick!”

“You’re absolutely right McBride, it IS a trick. Not everyone can do it though, you have to have fairly strong hands to manipulate the book, but it’s a trick. Just like walking barefoot on hot coals is a trick, sleeping on a bed of nails is a trick, breaking someone’s knee with a single kick is a trick, crushing someone’s larynx with a simple hand chop is a trick and breaking a person’s nose with one punch, driving the broken bones into their brain, killing them is a trick. What’s interesting is I know all those tricks … and many more.”

I let that settle in for a couple of seconds before continuing.

“Exactly what do you want from me, McBride?”

I think she’s taken aback by the straight forward question. She thinks about it for a moment or two before answering.

“I want you to behave like everybody else. You’re nothing special. You think you’re some hot shit kid from the West Coast. You think you’re better than everybody else here at St. Ann’s. You’re not. You’re no better than we are!”

I’ve got to give her credit; it’s not a bad approach. Trying to make herself and all the other girls the injured parties. I didn’t really expect her to play to the crowd. She’s a bright girl. Let’s see how bright.

“You say I’ve been acting better than anybody else. What have I done?”

“Those damn uniforms you wear, if you want to call them uniforms.”

I lift my skirt a bit with both hands. “What, this little old thing?”

“Yeah, that little old thing. It and every other damn thing you wear. You lord it over all of us like you’re some kind of princess. Well, we’re tired of it and aren’t going to take it anymore!”

Still very good.

“I negotiated with Sister Carmela to give everyone at St. Ann’s the chance to do exactly what I did. I even got the equipment and a room for the girls to work in.”

“Like any of us can do that. We’re so busy with school work, no one’s got the time to do it anyway. And you refuse to help us.”

“Sister Carmela said I could only help one girl, so I did. Sorry it wasn’t you, McBride.”

“Look who you did help, Gretchen Hobbes, the drug dealer’s daughter.”

“Why not, she’s my friend.”

“You don’t have any friends! Not at St. Ann’s!”

“And whose fault is that?”

“No one’s. Everybody hates you!”

“Really? Everybody? Maybe I don’t have any friends because you told every girl in school to ignore me.”

“I never did that.”

A mistake! Sinclair’s trying to get McBride’s attention but she waves her off. Sinclair knows. Time to drive the stake into her heart.

“You’re lying McBride. You tried to freeze me out, tried to get each and every girl in school to act like I was invisible.”

“Prove it!”

Thank you! “I don’t have to prove anything.” I sweep the crowd with my extended right hand. “Every girl here today knows exactly what you did. They know what they were told to do … and not do, like talk to me.”

“I never told anybody anything about you, Conner.” She waves Sinclair away again.

“Another lie! You’ve been after me from day one because I won’t kow tow to you. Who put YOU in charge? I don’t remember an election. Did I miss it? Maybe they held it at the end of last year. Tell me. What was your campaign slogan? Equality for all … but some are more equal than others?”

“Stuff that shit BITCH! Who are you to talk? Coming to my school! Screwing up everything I’ve worked for, everything my entire family’s worked for over the last nine years!”

“So, it’s a hereditary monarchy. How did your family get this mantle of authority?”

“Someone has to be in charge. At St. Ann’s, it’s me.”

“Was you, but not any more.”

She smirks at that. “You think you can replace me, just little old you? I’ve got lots of people who like things just the way they are.”

“Lots? I count ten.”

“And I count one.”

“You’re wrong, it’s closer to one hundred sixty.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?! All these girls don’t support you.”

“And they don’t support you either McBride. You’re such an idiot! You lost as soon as you walked onto this field. I don’t want to replace you, what an awful thought. Every school has a girl who thinks she’s the top dog; you’re just an extreme case. The only way you get away with it is because each individual girl feels powerless to stop you … but they aren’t individual girls now. Everyone you see here today are the new holders of power. Ever see the movie “A Bug’s Life”, McBride?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You’re a grasshopper, so are your friends. Everyone else here are ants … and there are a lot more ants than grasshoppers. They outnumber you about twenty to one, even worse when you count the girls not here. You didn’t order them to show up, in fact, you’d have preferred that they stay away. They all came here of their own free will and now they’ve come to realize that you’re just a little tin pot dictator from a line of little tin pot dictators who’ve pulled the wool over their eyes all these years. You and your tiny little group have acted like the queens of the hill, but you’re not. They don’t have to do what you say anymore … they’re free!”

“That doesn’t mean they do what you say either. We can still mess you up and they won’t do anything to stop it.”

Now it gets tricky. She’s lost and may be desperate. Desperate people are unpredictable. “You’re right. I don’t want them to follow me. I could eventually become as bad as you. It doesn’t matter what you try to do to me, you’re done, finished, kaput. I think your little group is smart enough not to make things worse for themselves, but, if not … come and get me. I told you I’m not afraid of any of you, as individuals or a group. The first person who touches me, I will put my hands around your throat and squeeze until you’re unconscious. There’s nothing any of you can do to stop me. Beat me, pry at my hands, nothing. And when the first person goes down, I’ll go after the second person who touched me, then the third and so on, until you’re all out. So … who’s first?”

No one says anything, no one moves. The girls opposite me share nervous glances. I don’t think most of them were planning on an honest to God fight. Just some threatening posturing, maybe a shove or two, but not this.

Suddenly, I hear movement behind me. I don’t want to look away from the crowd in front, they might rush me and I’d be forced to hurt them but I can’t afford to be ambushed from behind. I take a quick glance to the rear.

“It’s alright Patty, it’s us,” Gretchen whispers.

“Who’s us?” I whisper back, my eyes returning forward.

“Terri and I.”

“I thought Terri was supposed to keep this from happening. Go back to the sidelines you two.”

“No,” Terri said. “We’re your friends and you don’t have to do this alone.” I risked looking all the way behind me. Gretchen was standing just to my right and Terri was on my left. She was waving her hands at the crowd of girls, who were streaming out of the bleachers and dugouts to gather behind me. In less than two minutes, the field behind me was packed with over one hundred sixty girls.

I know they aren’t my friends, that a day ago they were laughing at that darn Facebook page, that they’re caught up in the emotion of the moment and peer pressure, but still, I find it hard to not cry. I turn back towards McBride.

“Apparently we were both wrong. They seem to have chosen sides. You’re finished at St. Ann’s, McBride. I suggest you leave now before something really bad happens … to you.”

McBride stood her ground. The other girls behind her were straining to leave, but, too their credit, there was enough loyalty there to keep them from just running away but they sure as heck wanted to. The slightest sign from McBride and they were gone. There was no sign.

“This isn’t over Connor” she hissed.

“Yeah … I think it is McBride. These girls are united.” For now. “You mess with one, you mess with them all. No more cutting a few from the herd. No more playing one off another. All your tricks won’t work any more. You can go play your little games amongst yourselves, but the rest of us don’t care. In fact, you’ll be lucky if you all aren’t completely ignored. A couple of months of the silent treatment might be interesting. It’d serve you right.”

She stayed right there. I don’t know if it was shock, anger or surprise. Sinclair slowly moved up next to her and pulled at her arm. She shrugged her off. Sinclair grabbed her arm again, this time more firmly. McBride angrily turned on her and was about to say something when one of the girls behind me shouted “Stop screwing around and kill the bitch, Da’Pee!”

Sinclair’s eyes grew wide and her face went white. “What’d she call you?” she asked.

“Da’Pee. It’s a nickname I picked up at the YWCA,” I answered.

McBride sneered. “Why? No bladder contro …” Sinclair jerked her hard, dragging her back away from us a couple of feet before McBride could regain her balance and fight back.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING OLIVIA?! IF YOU EVER …”

Sinclair was up in her face, whispering something we couldn’t hear. She was there for only about twenty seconds, but when Sinclair moved away, there was fear in McBride’s eyes.

“What’s it gonna be McBride?” I ask, taking two steps towards her.

She quickly backs away. “We’re … we’re … ahhh … not done here … Conner.”

“I think the girls beg to differ. Go on back to St. Ann’s. You can’t afford another demerit for being late for class.” I take another quick step towards her and she’s gone, not exactly running, but walking very quickly back towards school. The other ten girls don’t bother to hide it, they’re running.

I watch them go until they reach the school door, then a high pitched cheer breaks out around me as I’m grabbed, lifted into the air, and surf the crowd, being passed from person to person on outstretched hands.

“Whoa! Watch it! Careful! Watch the hands there! I’m not a beach ball, ya’ know!”

After a couple of minutes of cheering, clapping, laughing and a little crying, I’m carefully dropped back to the ground. Terri and Gretchen are right there almost instantly.

“You did it!” Gretchen shouts above the din. “You really did it!” She bends down and hugs me, my arms trapped at my sides, practically squeezing the air out of me.

“Okay,” I gasp. “Enough Gretch. Okay.”

She lets go and backs off a foot, smiling shyly. I think I’m smiling too between wheezes as I try to re-inflate my lungs. That girl’s got a grip.

Terri grabs my shoulder and pulls me closer.

“Now what?”

“Now … we go back to school.”

“You know what I mean, who’s in charge?”

“No one, not even Sister Carmela.”

“You’re not?”

“No way! You couldn’t pay me enough.”

“I don’t think they pay anybody.”

“Figure of speech, Terri.”

I turn to face the largest portion of the group of girls around me and raise my hands, trying to quiet them down. It takes a few moments but they eventually stop shouting enough for me to be heard.

“Thanks! Thanks everybody! I’d like to stay out here all day but the next period starts in ten minutes. We all better get inside. Remember, today, you’ve taken back your freedom … it’s up to each and every one of you to keep it!”

There’s another round of cheers and shouting but groups of girls start to head back to the building. I reach out and grab Gretchen’s arm by the wrist, gently pulling her down towards me.

“I want to talk with you after school, before you go home. Okay?”

“Sure Patty, whatever you want.”

She’s standing taller and smiling more broadly than I think I’ve ever seen her before. She really is beautiful.

“Good. Off with you then. Your father will be mad at me if you get demerits for being late.”

She salutes. “Yes, Ma’am.” Turns on her heel and strides away, mixing with the steady stream of laughing and giggling girls returning to St. Ann’s. A number of them are actually talking with her. I wait until the last of the girls have left the softball field before I follow them at a slow trot.

The easy job is done. Now to the hard one.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Sister Carmela doesn’t even wait to the end of the period, she has Ms. Jensen come down and pull me out of class, some excuse about a phone call. She doesn’t say anything to me the entire time we’re walking to the office. She may be thinking about the phone book.

When we get there, Sister Carmela’s door is already open. Ms. Jensen leads me in and shuts the door behind me, leaving Sister Carmela and I alone.

“Have a seat, Ms. Conner.”

I take the chair opposite of her.

“Sister Rita reports that your … event … was a success.”

“Where was Sister Rita?”

“In the press box. The curtains were drawn and the door locked.”

I nod my head. “I thought I saw the curtains move a couple of times. Thought it was the girls shaking the stands.”

“You had quite a crowd there. I wish we could get half that many to show up for an actual game. Sister Rita said that there were several close calls.”

“Not that many, one or two certainly, but no more than that. Thank Sister Rita for me for not intervening. It would have spoiled everything.”

“What exactly, by your reckoning, have you accomplished today?”

“Whatever control Caitlin McBride had over the other students at St. Ann’s has be broken.”

“Completely?’

“Vanquished … for now.”

“What does ‘for now’ mean?”

“I expect that, after a short time of licking her wounds, she will attempt to reestablish her power base.”

“What do you plan to do to stop her?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nope. This is a one off Sister. I didn’t sign on to be your cop among the students.”

“I assumed that after McBride had been toppled from power that …”

“That I would step up and replace her? Not interested, Sister. Being top dog is way too much work and, frankly, though this isn’t intended as an insult, I’ve got bigger fish to fry, Sister.”

“What fish is that?”

“My business, Sister. It shouldn’t affect the school, if that’s a concern.”

“So, what happens next?”

“After a brief truce … anarchy. It’s just like Yugoslavia and Tito. His dictatorship kept the natural enemies from fighting each other. Once he was deposed, the pressure was released and all the suppressed disputes bloomed like the flowers in May. Instead of one power mad boss, you’ll have several power seeking bosslings, each trying to become the next McBride.”

“So … a normal all girl’s school.”

“Exactly. Sorry I won’t be able to help you with it.”

“I was hoping you would be willing to be a figurehead leader and prevent the petty disputes from developing.”

“Not interested. I just want to keep getting good grades and graduate. Besides, I’d be more likely to fight your attempts to control the students than help you. It’s my basic nature.”

“Well, forewarned is forearmed.”

“One would certainly hope so, Sister.” I stand and offer her my hand. She takes it and we shake. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Sister Carmela.”

“Likewise, Ms. Conner.”

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

It’s like a different universe.

We can’t walk anywhere without a bunch of girls trying to talk with us, follow us, ask questions, offer advice, all sorts of stuff. You go from anonymous to famous in less than an hour. Patty takes it all in stride, accepting congratulations, thanking everyone for their help, trying to keep them all pumped up, but also saying not to take any kind of vengeance against McBride and her group. She says it’s not the St. Ann’s way, which is a lot of shit. It’s always been the St. Ann’s way, at least as long as I’ve been here. “Kick ‘em while they’re down!” That’s our motto. It’s probably what the Latin on the school crest means.

When we stop at her locker after last period, there must be thirty girls waiting there, all wanting to talk with her. She immediately goes into her act, saying all the stuff she said before but added that she had to get home to fix supper before her mom got there. Most of the girls were surprised … so was I. A lot of the girls who go to St. Ann’s have hired help, we certainly do. The idea that one of us has to fix dinner every day is so weird. It never occurred to me that Patty’s life was much different than mine.

She reached back with her right hand, getting a firm grip on mine as she closed her locker with her left.

“Sorry guys, we gotta leave now, but we can talk tomorrow, okay?” she said.

Everyone was all smiles and nodding heads. She hurried away, pulling me with her.

“Where are we going, Patty?”

“Some place quiet, Gretch.”

We end up in the gym, after dodging another couple of groups of girls. It’s just us. My heart is racing just a little. It’s probably from running away just now. She lets go of my hand.

“I thought I told you to not get involved back there at the field.”

Great. She’s gonna bitch about that now? “I wasn’t going to leave you out there by yourself, Patricia. What if there was a fight? You’d need all the help you could get.”

“There wasn’t going to be a fight. Most of those girls didn’t really want to be there. If something bad happened, they’d have run for the hills. McBride had a lot of fair weather friends” she took my hand again, “unlike me.”

“What are you saying?”

“You stuck by me when things looked bad. They weren’t bad, I had everything under control, but to the outside person, they may have looked bad … which they weren’t. Anyway, you thought things were bad, so you stepped up to help me. That’s real friendship, Gretchen.”

I blush. “Terri helped too.”

“I know. I’ll thank her later. I want to thank you right now … though you should have done what I said.”

“Right. Who died and made you Queen?”

“No one. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

“What about you getting hurt? I’m bigger than you are any way. You should have been the one to sit down. I was bigger than anybody out there.”

“You were taller than any one out there. Some of McBride’s girl’s were heavier.”

“What am I, skin and bones?”

“No, you’re beautiful, just about perfect, Gretchen. That’s why I didn’t want you hurt. Besides, I can take care of myself. Did you hear that ‘Da’ Pee’ thing at the end?”

“Yeah, what was that about?”

“It was Terri. She knew that was my nickname at the YWCA. I’d done a little fighting there a few months ago and had some success. Picked up a bit of a reputation.”

“What kind of fighting? Boxing?”

“Mixed martial arts.”

“You mean that punching, kicking stuff?”

“That’s part of it.”

“How many girls did you beat?”

“None.”

“I thought you said you had some success?”

“I did. I fought the boys.”

“NO! How many did you beat?”

She smiled. “All of them.”

Oh. My. God. No wonder McBride backed off. She had no idea who she was facing, at least not until the end. Hell, apparently almost none of us did.

“So you really didn’t need my help, did you?”

“No, but when you and all the other girls came out of the bleachers to support me … I almost cried.”

“So, I’m just one of the girls?”

“No, stupid. You’re my best friend, and I’m your best friend. And I’m tired of seeing you just here at school. I want you to come to my house this weekend. We can hang out, watch movies, eat junk food to fatten you up a little, just in case there is a fight down the road. What do you say?”

What do I say? I say YES! But Father won’t let me.

“Look, Patty. I’d love to … I’d love it more than anything. Nobody has ever asked me over ever before. But, my Father … he won’t let me out of the house, not without body guards.”

“Tell him I’ll protect you! I’m better than a bunch of body guards any way. It’s just for one night for Pete’s sake!”

A sleep over! I’ve never had a sleep over! But … Father …

“It’s a waste of time, Patty. He’s never gonna let me do anything I want!”

“Just ask him. If he still says no, then I’ll talk to him. I can be veeerrryy persuasive.”

“What, with threats and stuff?”

“NO! Logical arguments. I’m pretty smart, remember?”

“What if he refuses to talk to you? He does that to me all the time!”

“Oh, he’ll talk to me. One way or another, he’ll talk to me.”

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

When I returned to the Convent that evening, there were only two places set for dinner. Rita was just coming into the dinning room.

“Where are Sister Elizabeth and Sister Charity tonight?” I asked.

“Sister Charity has a Book Club meeting and Sister Elizabeth is running St. Mary’s bingo. Do you need something from either of them, Sister Carmela?”

“No, it’s just that we never seem to have a meal all together any more. Always rush, rush, rush.”

“Well, there are only four of us, Sister. Scheduling was much easier before Mary and Beatrice retired. Any word on possible replacements?”

“None yet. It may be awhile.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“While it’s just the two of us, I’d like to discuss what happened with McBride and Conner today.”

“I’d be happy to. I think that you would have been proud to see all the girls, well the large majority of the girls, support Conner. She had everyone of McBride’s group ready to quit, except for McBride. It looked like there might be some kind of fight developing when Hobbes and Terri Hughes joined Conner on the field. As soon as they did that, other girls started to do the same. It was a trickle at first but it soon became a flood of girls, all streaming to the field behind Conner. McBride’s group wanted to leave right then but McBride still remained, standing her ground. I was afraid that should a fight start, the girls might unleash years of pent-up anger and frustration and the situation would get quickly out of hand. Just at that crucial moment, one of the girls behind Conner called out a name that I was not familiar with and urged this girl to ‘kick McBride’s ass’. For some reason, the mention of this name caused McBride to back down. She and her group ran or speed walked back to school. Conner and her group had a brief celebration before returning to school.”

“Celebration?”

“Mostly cheering and chanting, which was a good thing, it let McBride clear the field before Conner’s people came back.”

“They aren’t Conner’s people. She told me that she had no interest in replacing McBride, that she had, I quote ‘bigger fish to fry’ unquote.”

“What would that be, I wonder?”

“I asked but got no answers, beyond that I shouldn’t be worried.”

“Which, in itself, makes you worry.”

“Exactly! She compared our situation to the fall of Tito in Yugoslavia.”

“Who?”

“I had to look it up myself. But from my reading of the story, her description and the comparison seems to be apt.”

“Do you really believe that Conner has no interest in taking advantage of her current … popularity?”

“I don’t know. Why go through all this trouble and not get any obvious benefit?”

“Good question. I have found it very difficult to predict what Ms. Conner might do.”

“Preaching to the choir Sister. What was the name shouted out at the meeting?”

“I’m not quite sure. The door to the press box was shut but I did have a window cracked. It was very short. I’m not even certain it was a normal name. Perhaps Daphne, but condensed.”

“Daphne? Daphne … Do we have a Daphne?”

“I don’t believe so. Could be a middle name … or a nickname.”

“Odd nickname. Daphne.”

Something familiar about it though. I think I heard someone talking about a small girl with a street name similar to Daphne … not Daphne though. It was …

“Da’Pee?”

“Excuse me?”

“Was the name Da’Pee?”

“That sounds more like it. What does it mean?”

“Nothing in particular that I’m aware of, however, if Patricia Conner is Da’Pee, Caitlin McBride was extremely lucky to get back to the school building with all her extremities intact.”

“Who is this Da’Pee, Sister?”

“If the rumors are to be believed, an extraordinarily formidable young woman.”

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

It sounded so easy when Patricia and I talked about it, but now, looking down the table at him, I couldn’t get the words out.

Which is ridiculous. He’s my father, for God’s sake! I should be able to talk with him. He’s just sitting there, reading his paperwork after supper. I’m not asking for the moon. It’s something normal kids get to do all the time. It’s not even a boy! She’s just my best … my only friend. Aren’t I entitled to at least one friend?

“Father?”

He doesn’t look up. “Yes, Gretchen?”

“There’s this girl … she’s a friend of mine, see, and she wants me to … come over to her house, this weekend. Girls don’t ask me over very often, and, like, I’d like to go.”

He puts down his file folder. “Is this the Conner girl? Patricia?”

I can tell from the way he’s saying it, the answer is “No”. Before I even get a chance to say anything, the answer is already “NO”!

“Yes, Patricia Conner. She’s a really good student, really smart … and brave too. She’s pretty and all the teachers like her.”

“Isn’t she the one who sewed the uniforms?”

“Yes, she did. She knows all about that kinda stuff, and a whole lot more. We both want to see each other away from school. It’s no big deal, just an overnight at her house. You can call her Mother.”

“And why is she asking you?”

“Because she’s my friend. Friends hang out with each other. It’s what girls do, Father.”

“I have discussed this with Enrique and we feel that it isn’t safe for you to do anything like this right now. Maybe, in the future, something might be possible, but not right now.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When will it be safe? A week, a month, a year? I’m seventeen and it’s never been safe. I’ve been locked up in this house or some other house ever since I’ve been born! I don’t know why you let me out to go to school. If life is so dangerous, why don’t I have tutors?”

“Because I promised your mother that I would send you to a Catholic school. She insisted that I promise. I keep my promises.”

I’d always wondered why I was at St. Ann’s. I’m an okay student but nothing great. Now I know.

“Fine. So when will it be safe for me to visit a friend or have a friends visit me? I’m not staying here forever Father. When I get old enough, I’m moving out on my own.”

“And who will pay for this place?”

“I will. I’ll get a job and some roommates. At least then I’ll be able to have friends over.”

“And if I say no?”

“You can’t control me forever Father … and neither can Enrique.”

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

It’s a waste of time but I’ll ask any way.

“What did your Dad say, Gretch?”

She plops down in the seat next to me. “No. It’s not safe. Of course, if he wasn’t a drug dealer, we wouldn’t have to worry about things like being killed or kidnapped.”

“That’s not technically true. A lot of rich people worry about the same stuff, doesn’t matter how they made their money.”

“Are you defending him?”

“Understanding isn’t agreement. He’s wrong but I can see why he thinks he’s right.”

“Doesn’t matter why he thinks he’s right or wrong. Once he’s made a decision, that’s it, game over.”

“Don’t be so sure Gretch. I’ll talk with him.”

“Talk with him? You won’t even get to see him let alone talk with him. The house is like a fortress. Guards, walls, fences, cameras and lots of guns.”

“There’s always a way in, you just hafta know what buttons to push. I’m a heck of a button pusher.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Lou was supposed to relieve me ten minutes ago. He brought the kid home from school today and he promised he’d replace me at the monitor station as soon as he got back. I saw him drive in at least fifteen minutes ago. Give him a couple of minutes to park the car, a couple more to take a leak; he should be here by now.

I got a hot date tonight and he’s taking over until Jackson comes on at eight. I pick up my phone off the desk in front of me and enter his extension. It buzzes several times before he clicks in.

“I know, I know. I’ll be there in a minute. Raul’s just fixing me a snack.”

“More like a three course meal.” I can see what’s going on in the kitchen. Lou must be standing in the doorway out of camera range but I can see Raul packing a grocery sack with stuff. I’m lucky to get a ham sandwich out of the guy. Lou’s got to be paying him off or something. “Hurry up. I gotta be out of here by five.”

“What’s the damn hurry, your dates not till, what, eight?”

“Yeah, but I got shit to get done before then.”

“It’ll take you a hell of a lot more than three hours to try to look good.”

“Fuck you Lou. Just get here.”

The front gate buzzer went off and I snapped my head up to look at the monitor. I was so busy with that son of a bitch that I hadn’t seen anybody drive up. There’s no car in the driveway and I don’t see it right away but I notice what looks like part of a motorcycle on the left. I toggle the camera over a few degrees. There’s a girl dressed in a St. Ann’s uniform straddling a motocross type motorcycle, helmet dangling from her left hand. A rectangular bag and a long bag are strapped to the seat. She pushes the buzzer again. I pick up the microphone and click the talk switch.

“Sorry, no solicitors.”

She leans into the outside microphone.

“I’m not selling anything; I’m here to see Mr. Raymond Hobbes.”

Just like that. Just drive up to the gate and expect to see the boss. I’ll humor her.

“And whom shall I say is calling on Mr. Hobbes?”

“Patricia Conner.”

“Do you have an appointment with Mr. Hobbes, Ms. Conner?”

“No, but he knows me.”

“I’m sorry Ms. Conner. Mr. Hobbes can’t see anyone without an appointment.”

“And how do I get an appointment?”

“Call and schedule one.”

“And what is the phone number?”

“I’m sorry, that’s private.”

“I see. So you’re saying that there’s no way he’ll talk to me.”

“Hey, you’re pretty bright for a little kid. Now get the hell out of here.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What you mean by that? I said scram.”

“I heard you, I mean that I’m not going anywhere. This is a public sidewalk, on a public street and I have every legal right to stay here. Let Mr. Hobbes know that I’m going to sit right here until he agrees to see me.”

God, why do I always get the crazies? I stand up, slip my radio into my pocket and head out for the front gate. This is all I need on a Friday evening, just when I’m getting ready to go off duty. By the time I get to the gate, the girl’s already set up camp. She’s got one of those folding cloth recliners with an overhang for sun protection. Her bike is parked in the street and she’s got her open book bag next to the recliner. She’s all stretched out, reading something.

“Kid, what the hell is this all about?”

She doesn’t look up. “I’m Gretchen Hobbes’ friend. We want to see each other over the weekend but her father won’t allow it. I want to talk to him about this. It’s as simple as that.”

Seems simple. Now that she mentions Gretchen, I remember seeing them together, a lot lately, when it’s my turn to pick her up at the end of the school day. They probably hang out at school. Seems like a cute kid there … not so much when she’s causing me trouble.

“Fine, you got a beef with Hobbes. Get in line. Sitting out here’s not gonna change anything.”

“We’ll see.”

“Look, why don’t you just go home to your Mommy and Daddy, make life easy on everybody.”

Particularly me. She looks up from her book. “My Dad died several years ago, so it’s just me and my Mom now.”

Well, I walked into that one. “Yeah, sorry about your old man, kid. This isn’t gonna work. Mr. Hobbes doesn’t react well to this kinda thing.”

“I don’t react well to being ignored.”

Great. A hard head. “Look kid, I don’t know how you react when you’re upset but I do know how Mr. Hobbes reacts. I’d rather be on this side of the fence. I’ve seen you around at St. Ann’s, seem like an okay kid. Believe me, you don’t want to screw with Mr. Hobbes.”

She goes back to reading her book. “I know all about Mr. Hobbes and he thinks he knows all about me. Tell him he can learn a whole lot more if he talks with me and it won’t cost nearly as much as he paid those private investigators to spy on me and my mom.”

“I don’t get paid to relay messages kid, I get paid to keep people like you from bothering Mr. Hobbes.”

“Guess you may not get paid this week.”

Funny, really funny. I start to unlock the gate. “Kid, I don’t want to get physical about this, but I will.”

“I don’t want to get physical either so I’ll just let you know upfront that I’ve set up a webcam with 4G broadband connection. Right now we’re live on the web. You and me mixing it up out here would make a good show. I’m sure Mr. Hobbes would love the publicity.”

I freeze in my tracks and look around. Hobbes would kill me … and I mean kill me, if I did something that brought the press down on him. Smart ass kid bought herself some protection.

“So … where’s this camera at?”

“Hidden, naturally. It’s self-contained so it could be anywhere. In the trees, the bushes across the street, the light pole, darn near any place.”

“What would keep me from going on line, finding the video feed and using it to locate the camera?”

“Nothing … except that would just be one camera. How many more do you think there are?”

“I don’t think you’ve got even one camera out there. You’re bluffing.”

“Fine. Take your shot.”

She’s just sitting there, totally unconcerned. If she’s bluffing, she shouldn’t be wasting her time here, she should be playing poker at one of the Indian casinos. Looking around again, I don’t see anything unusual, but if there is something out there, it’s my ass.

It ain’t worth the chance. Stepping back behind the gate, I lock it and head back to the security office.

When I get there, Lou’s waiting for me.

“Henry, what’s the story about the kid?”

“The kid? The story is that she’s going to be a problem, though it’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because she was my problem and now she’s your problem. I’m outta here.”

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

I go through two more guards before 10:30. The second wasn’t here for very long before the third one showed up and replaced him. The third guys name is Jackson, I think. Younger and in better shape than the first two. I’d seen them before, taking turns picking up and dropping Gretchen off at St. Ann’s. They may be her primary bodyguards. They seem a little smarter than Jackson. He keeps coming out and threatening me, that he’s going to kick my ass, toss me out into the street, mess me up bad, the usual macho stuff. At least he’s smart enough not to actually try something. I really don’t want to hurt any of Hobbes’ guys, but I’m not going to sit and take it either. Hopefully, the camera keeps them at bay.

It was pretty easy to build. A dedicated webcam, a router designed to handle a 4G card, and the 4G card which was bought at Walgreens for less than Forty bucks, on sale. The whole thing runs on some cell phone batteries and a solar charger. Add a simple browser on a flash drive and it all works like a charm. Right now it’s in the tree down the street.

I’d finished my reading for Chemistry when the two cops showed up, right on time. I check my watch as the first one gets out of the patrol car. It’s 12:05 am. The second one stays in the car.

“What’s going on here, Miss?”

“I’m waiting here to see Mr. Hobbes, Officer.”

“What’s your name?”

“Patricia Conner. What’s yours, Officer?”

“Officer Rowinski. Apparently Mr. Hobbes doesn’t want to see you.”

“I’ve been told that several times. I’m staying here until he changes his mind.”

“How old are you, Miss Conner?”

“Sixteen, but I’ll be seventeen in a few weeks.”

“I’m afraid that you’re violating Miami’s curfew ordinance. Anyone seventeen or younger must be off the streets by midnight on Fridays and Saturdays.”

“Is that the same ordinance that says it doesn’t apply to someone accompanied by a parent?”

“Yes, but I don’t see a parent with you out here.”

“You see that car parked over there?”

“Yeah.”

I reach into the drink holder in my chair, pull out a little two way radio and press the “talk” switch.

“Flash your lights, Mother.”

The headlights flash several times.

“That’s my mother, she’s with me tonight, so the curfew doesn’t apply. What else ya’ got?”

Officer Rowinski gives me a dirty look and walks back to the patrol car, stopping next to the passenger side so he can talk with his partner. After a few seconds of quiet conversation, Officer Rowinski returns, a cocky smile on his face.

“What else I have is loitering. If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll arrest both you and your mother for loitering.”

“Florida Statute Chapter 856.021 states it is unlawful for any person to loiter or prowl in a place, at a time or in a manner not usual for law-abiding individuals, under circumstances that warrant a justifiable and reasonable alarm or immediate concern for the future safety of persons or property in the vicinity. I’m certainly not prowling, we’ve already established that I’m not violating curfew so that takes care of the time question, and the manner, sitting here in a chair under a street lamp, does not warrant any kind of justifiable and reasonable alarm or concern for safety of persons or property in the vicinity. I’d say that I’m not loitering.”

“Well, I say you are. So it’s my word and my partner’s word against you and your Mom’s.”

“That and the video camera in the car and the recording of our conversation picked up by my radio, the one you saw me use a few minutes ago and can’t say you weren’t aware of. You try anything unlawful and we’ll sue your behind off, along with the department … and Mr. Hobbes. Plus the video goes viral in less than twelve hours. The Mayor and Chief of police will just love you. I suggest that you go back on patrol and let Mr. Hobbes fight his own fights.”

He takes a step towards me but his radio beeps. He stops, looks back at his partner in the patrol car, looks back at me, sneers and walks back to the car, where he has another relatively quiet conversation with his partner. I occasionally hear the words “bitch” and “cunt” repeated. The partner hands him a phone through the side window.

He’s got no reason to talk to anyone on a phone. The car radio connects him to the station so he’s talking to somebody else, probably one of the Hobbes security guys. Again, he’s too quiet for me to hear over the idling engine of the patrol car. Whatever he says, it doesn’t take long. He hands the phone back to his partner, walks back around to the driver’s side, gives me another sneer, opens the door, climbs in, closes the door with a resounding slam and drives off towards Mom’s car.

I need to stay right here. Mom’s got to deal with them on her own. She has to play the role of concerned but supportive mother. The patrol car stops next to hers, drivers’ windows facing each other. I can see them talking, but they’re much too far away for me to hear anything. She didn’t press talk on her radio, so I can’t listen in. The conversation only lasts about a minute, then the patrol car drives off, leaving us alone.

I don’t want to contact her right away, it’s best to show a little confidence. After a few minutes, my radio beeps.

“Yes?”

“My pulse just now dropped back to normal.”

“They left, so you did fine.”

“How do you do this for a living?”

“You get used to it.”

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but it’s our best choice.”

“Hope you’re right.”

Me too.

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

I’m having a hard time keeping a grip on the Sunday paper, my coffee, and the bag of donuts while opening the door to the surveillance room. Eventually, I have to put the bag into my mouth to free up my right hand. When I get the door open, Jackson just sits there, watching me struggle.

“Thanks for the help.”

“You’re welcome, Lou.”

Jackass.

“The girl still there?”

“Yep.”

“Anybody tell Hobbes yet?”

“Nope.”

“Where the hell is Enrique?”

“LA. Some kinda gang dispute fucking with the distribution network.”

“So, we’re all sitting on our hands until he gets back to deal with this?”

“That’s about it.”

“Anybody think to call him and let him know what’s going on?”

“He’s probably got bigger problems to deal with than one little girl on some kinda sit in.”

I sip my coffee. “Probably right. He’ll be pissed though when he finds out how long she’s been here. It’s what, forty hours?”

“And counting.”

“Where’s the mother?”

“She’s left. Just stays here long enough to keep the cops from picking her up for a curfew violation.”

I sip my coffee again. “Gotta give the kids props, she’s thought this out. We find the camera yet?”

“Yeah, I had the tech guy, Tippett, find the web page. Gordon and Manuel tracked it down.”

“So, it’s gone, right?”

“Nope, it’s on old lady Whittman’s property.”

“OH FUCK! She hates Hobbes!”

“No shit. Don’t forget about those dogs.”

“Damn! No way does anybody get by those dogs. How the fuck did the kid get by those dogs?”

“Who knows? Either way, none of us are going to be able to touch that fucking camera. It’s got a built-in solar panel, did you know that?”

“How could I know that?”

“Tippett did some quick calculations. He figures it might be able to stay on for weeks.”

“Great. You know, the longer this goes on, the worse it is.”

“I know.”

“Somebody could tip the press or some idiot blogger could find out, bring all kinds of attention.”

“I know.”

“A cute little girl in a school uniform sitting outside a rich drug lord’s mansion, trying to see her friend. People would eat that shit with a spoon.”

“I know.”

“We should just tell Hobbes and let him deal with it.”

“I know. Go ahead.”

“Why me?”

“It ain’t gonna be me.”

“You’re a chicken shit, Jackson.”

“Then you do it, Lou. You’re the big man.”

Fuck it. Maybe Henry will do it.

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

“YOU FUCKING IDIOTS! SHE’S STILL HERE?!”

“Screw you Henry! We tried everything we could! We can’t touch her, not without getting caught on camera. The cops wouldn’t touch her either. She’s just one little girl, she’ll give up eventually.”

“And Hobbes will find out … eventually. Hell, he’ll find out today.”

“How?”

“He’s going to Caracas today. The chopper is due to pick him up in an hour. What does he do every time the chopper picks him up?”

“He makes a low pass around the perimeter looking for security holes.”

“And what will he see when he gets to the front gate?”

“Ooooo shit!”

“Yeah … shit.”

“What are we going to do?” asks Jackson.

“How many guys on duty right now?”

“Including us? Eight.”

“All right. You two stay here. I’ll take four other guys to the gate and see if we can intimidate her.”

“Twenty bucks says she doesn’t go, Henry” said Lou.

“I’m not taking that bet.”

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

It got pretty darn cold last night. It always surprising what happens to the temperature after sunset. People think Miami is always warm. The average temp is warm, but the daily temp swings all over the place. Without a cloud cover, it can get cold once the sun goes down. Not Wisconsin cold, but chilly. Luckily, I brought a packable down blanket.

We take turns at night. I sleep for a couple of hours and Mom watches over me from the car, then she sleeps a couple of hours and I watch over her. That way, nobody can sneak up and mess with us. She goes home at dawn to catch up on her sleep and I stay here.

I know she feels guilty about it but I can’t have her here all the time. This needs to be my move. It’s good that Hobbes knows my Mom supports me, but it’s got to be me versus him. She brought me some cookies from home to ease her guilt. It’s a fair trade as far as I’m concerned.

I’d just opened the Tupperware bowl of cookies when five of Hobbes guys show up at the gate.

“Morning, kid.”

It’s the first guard from Friday.

“My name’s Patricia.”

“Fine. What you got there Patricia?”

“Some cookies. You want one?”

“Sure, I’ll come and get it.”

“No problem. Catch.”

I whip it his way, aiming for his head. The cookie shoots past the thick iron bars of the front gate and through the metal grate of the second gate. He manages to get a hand up in time to catch it.

“Whoa! How’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get that cookie past the gate.”

“It’s no big deal. The grate has three inch openings and the cookies are about two and a half inches around. That’s a half inch margin of error, give or take.”

“No big deal huh? Do it again.”

“Sure, who else wants a cookie?”

“Throw it to me.”

“You’ve already had one; you need to share with your friends. Who else?”

This big black guy raises his hand. I fire it at him with a flick of my wrist. He catches it clean.

“See, easy” I say.

A tall blonde guy steps forward. “I’ll have one, Miss.”

The first guy looks over at him, a scowl on his face. “Who asked you, Riley?”

“What? I missed breakfast. You’ve already got yours, Henry.”

Henry and Riley. Look and remember.

“Here’s yours, Riley.”

They all end up with cookies and I get three more names, Stark, Gomez and Sidney, the black guy.

“Look, ki … Patricia, this really has gone on long enough. Mr. Hobbes will be leaving in just a few minutes by helicopter; he won’t even drive out the gate and see ya’. Nobody’s even told him you’re out here. It’s been a total waste of time. Why don’t ya’ go home and get some sleep before school tomorrow?” said Henry.

Could it be true? Might they have not told him yet? It’s possible. Unfortunately, that just means I’ll be out here longer than I originally planned. Sooner or later, he’ll find out, even if I have to have Gretchen tell him.

“No thanks. I’ll leave Monday morning for class, but I’ll be back every evening and I’m staying here until Mr. Hobbes sees me.”

“We all appreciate your spunk, but we can’t wait forever. It’s just a matter …”

I hear a helicopter start up; it’s a sound you don’t forget if you’ve ever heard it. A high pitched whine that drops to a low vibrating tone which increases in frequency as the blades speed up. If you’re nearby, you can actually feel the sweeping blades. We may be only a few hundred feet away from the helo pad. For some reason, Henry has a concerned look on his face.

“It’s just a matter of time before we have to do something unpleasant to you or your mother. You may have a camera here, but you ain’t got one at home or where your mother works, or when she’s on the way to work. Accident’s happen, if ya’ catch my drift. Why don’t ya’ just beat it right now, save us all some grief?”

This is the first time anyone’s made that kind of threat, going after Mom. If our intel is right, no one but Hobbes would authorize something like that in his own backyard. Henry’s getting desperate.

“I’m guessing that for you to do something like that, you’d have to get Mr. Hobbes’ permission, which means you would have to explain why … which you don’t want to do, for some reason. I’m not folding, I’ll play the cards I got … THANK YOU VERY MUCH!”

The copter gets really loud, I have to shout to be heard. The leaves of the nearby trees begin to flail around and a brisk dusty wind blows small debris all about us. A couple of the guards duck their heads and shield their eyes, protecting them from the flying trash. The helicopter pops up above the tree line, only about a hundred feet in the air, and starts circling the compound, coming right towards us.

Henry shakes his head and says something really profane. I can’t hear it but I can read lips. His mother would not be proud of him. Or maybe she would, hard to say for certain. By now, the copter passes directly overhead, less than two hundred feet in the air. The backwash from the rotors is tremendous. The guards fall back away from the fence, turning and twisting to protect their faces and eyes. I hold my position, not moving a muscle, staring straight at the chopper, not wanting to even blink. It pauses as it hovers right over my head for a few seconds, then continues to circle the perimeter of the house and yard. When it reaches its’ starting point, the wind begins to kick up again around the front gate. As the copter passes overhead a second time, it pauses again briefly, then rapidly gains altitude and heads for the airport. Henry is dusting himself off with his hands, a scowl on his face.

I think Hobbes saw me.

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

“What was all that fuss at the front gate, Jacob?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Hobbes. Nobody told me anything about it.”

“Was that one of the girl’s from St. Ann’s with some of my guards?”

“That’s what it looked like, Sir. Do you want me to call back to the house to see what’s happening?”

“No, I’d rather have you concentrate on the flying. I will ask when I return tomorrow evening for the party.”

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

“Now what, Henry?”

How the hell did this become my problem?

“How the fuck do I know? Anybody heard from Enrique?”

“Nope, he’s still in LA.”

“Fucking great.”

“Just call him.”

“Gomez, he said not to bother him unless it was an emergency.”

“So?”

“So, you want to call him and say, ‘Excuse me Enrique, we know you’re awfully busy trying to stop a gang war and all, but we’ve got this problem. A little school girl has setup camp out front by the main gate and she won’t go home, no matter what we say or do. Eight big, strong gunmen against one little girl. What should we do Enrique?’ You want to make that call, Gomez?” He looks down at his shoes. “Anybody want to make that call?” They all just stand there, looking at me. Idiots.

Suddenly, Lou smiles.

“Hey! She said she was going to leave in the morning for school on Monday.”

“She also said she was coming back. Hobbes has that private party thing set for Monday night. We’ve got to get rid of her before then.”

“What if, when she comes back, we all surround her before she gets off her bike? If she can’t get off the bike, she can’t set up camp. We don’t have to push her around, we just all stand right on top of her, don’t give her any room to move. As soon as she shows up … BANG! Were on her like ugly on an ape.”

“Won’t that look kinda weird?” asked Sidney.

“Sure,” answered Lou, “but not nearly as bad as manhandling her after she’s all comfy in her chair. It’s like passive resistance, we just crowd around her until she gives up and leaves.”

“Not bad, Lou,” I said, “not bad at all. We get the jump on her. We’re the aggressive ones, but we don’t have to hit or push anybody. If maybe she catches an elbow to the eye or mouth, that’s just her bad luck.”

I turn to face the guys. “Here’s the plan, nobody does anything tonight. We’re all just sweetness and light. Assuming she leaves in the morning, we get ready to jump her when she comes back after school.”

“What if she don’t go to school, what if she stays right here?” asks Stark.

“Then we report her to St. Ann’s. I hear their Sister Carmela could give Enrique a run for his money.”

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

We’re gonna be cutting this close. Hobbes is due back around 5:00. The dinner party starts at 8:00. St. Ann’s gets out at 4:15. The kid should be here between 4:35 and 5:00. If we’re lucky, we catch her in the street in front of the house before she can do anything stupid … or one of our guys gets frustrated and does something stupid. Tippett keeps checking the web cam, it’s still on and broadcasting the front gate 24/7. He said there’s nothing he can do to shut it down. Mr. Genius hacker, big fucking help.

One advantage we’ve got is you can hear her coming a mile away. That bike of hers is a loud bastard. One disadvantage is there’s a lot of cars parked along the street today, we won’t get a good look at her … though she won’t get a good look at us either, so I guess that’s a wash.

The guys are just standing around, waiting. Stark and Sidney are leaning against the gate; the other three guys are near the sidewalk. Stark pops off the gate and cocks his head.

“I think I hear her” he says. He’s got young ears. Everybody goes on alert. In a few seconds, we all hear it. The pitch is lower, she’s moving slower than before. I adjust my ear piece and key my radio.

“See anything Lou?” He’s in the surveillance room, watching the cameras.

“Nothing, too many cars … wait … yeah, I got her. On your left. She’s moving slow, hugging the cars. Looks like she’s trying to sneak in. Stupid kid.”

I point left and everybody snaps to attention. I stretch up as high as I can.

There she is. You just catch an occasional glimpse of her helmet between cars, she must be hunched over the handle bars. Lou’s right, the engine is just practically idling, she’s just creeping along. It doesn’t make much sense, it’s still noisy, just not as bad as coming in at full throttle.

“Alright, everybody get ready. We want to keep her in the street and on the bike.” There’s a cargo van parked near the driveway. “Crouch down near the van. When she gets past it, we rush her and slide with her as she comes by. Keep moving. If she doesn’t stop, we don’t stop her, just ride her down the street until she’s past the entrance.”

They all nod their heads, acknowledging they heard me. We take our positions around the front of the van, keeping low. I can’t see anything.

“Talk to me, Lou.”

“Get ready, she’s coming … fifty feet … forty feet … thirty … twenty … even slower … ten … get ready …”

I see the front wheel of the bike roll past the bumper of the van.

“GO!”

We all swarm her as she guns the bike a little, jumping a couple of feet forward. Jackson stumbles a bit but the rest of us are all over her, moving right along, across the front of the driveway.

Except, it’s not her. Same bike, same helmet but the rider’s much bigger, maybe even a guy. Whoever it is, they don’t react, they just keep driving. The guys keep moving with the bike, though a couple of them look confused.

“I don’t think it’s her, Henry.”

No shit, Lou. By now, we all know it. I stop, as does Sidney and Gomez but the rest of the guys keep going.

“Henry! She’s behind you!”

I turn to look but the van pulls away from the curb, heading right at us; we jump out of the way as it accelerates down the street. Whoever’s on the bike hits the gas, pulling away from Jackson and Stark, who also have to dodge the van. When I look back at the gate, the girl is sitting in her original spot, same chair, same book bag, wearing shades and a smile.

“I’ve got brownies today. Anyone hungry?”

I look around. There’s six of us, scattered down the street, all at least thirty feet away from the entrance, some more like sixty feet.

Very nicely done … very impressive.

I walk back towards her.

“Careful, Henry. Remember the camera.”

I key the radio. “I remember. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I did! I was busy watching the motorcycle when all of a sudden, the van door opened and she jumped out! You guys were all running the other way. She was out of that van like a shot!”

By now, I’m standing right next to the chair, towering over her. “Neat trick, Patricia. Got any more up your sleeve?”

She looks up at me. “Lots. I didn’t think you were going to just let me stroll right up here and set up. You had a good idea though.”

“But yours’ was better, right?”

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a big brownie wrapped in clear plastic. “Here, have one as a peace offering. I made them this morning. Just remember not to inhale when biting; you’ll choke on the powdered sugar.”

I ignore the brownie. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t ‘ya?”

“Sometimes … sometimes not so much.”

“And what about this time?”

“Guess we’ll just have to see. Sure you don’t want the brownie? It’s fifty fifty dark chocolate and milk chocolate. Most people don’t care for full dark chocolate, too bitter. I’ve found that if you mix the two, you still get the bite of dark and the sweetness of milk.”

“No thanks. We’re not done yet, you and I. You got that?”

“I do.”

I turn back towards the other guys. “Let’s go.”

We all file back onto the property through the gates and back to the surveillance room. Lou’s waiting for us.

“Where’s mine?”

“Where’s your what?”

“My brownie.”

“What the hell you talking about, Lou?”

“They all got one.”

I look back at the guys. They’ve all got one of the kid’s brownies in their hands, some are half eaten. I can’t believe it.

“Are you idiots out of your minds? You’re just encouraging her!”

“She was just handing them out” said Stark.

“Have you tried one of these?” said Sidney. “This is the best damn brownie I’ve ever eaten. Hell, it’s the best damn sweet I’ve ever eaten.”

“Would you morons put those away, we’ve got to come up with some way to get rid of this kid.”

They all reluctantly put the brownies down. Riley slips one to Lou, who grins and winks at him.

“Well?”

“Well, what Henry?”

“Who’s got an idea on how to get rid of this kid?”

They all look at each other, not an idea between the bunch of ‘em.

“Henry,” said Lou, “this was our best bet. As long as that camera’s watching us, we can’t do shit without raising a stink. If that happens, Hobbes is all over us. We’re screwed.”

“I know.” I pick up one of the brownies, unwrap it and take a bite.

Damn! That is good.

Severance Pay (Chapters 25 through 30 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Peter/Patricia final gets her face to face meeting with Raymond Hobbes. Themes and Elements apply to entire story, Rating applies to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for editing assistance.

SEVERANCE PAY

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

She said I didn’t need to come back once I returned the van to the rental company but I had to see how she was doing. I had my doubts about the whole thing but Patricia was right about everything … so far. Cruz did exactly as she told him, stay low and tight to the parked cars, ease in at about ten miles per hour, then just keep ahead of the men at the gate as they chase him. He was the first diversion and I was the second. I had rented the van and picked her up immediately after the second to last period at school. We made up a doctor’s appointment to get Patricia out early so that we could set up near the gate before they expected.

How did she know it was all going to work so well? I keep forgetting how much experience she has at this kind of thing. All I see when I look at her is a beautiful young girl … and I’m so afraid when she’s taking on Hobbes’ thugs all by herself.

I manage to find an open spot on the street less than a hundred feet from the entrance. Sitting low in my seat, I can see Patricia in her folding chair, calmly reading a book. A couple of the guards are pacing around behind the gate. They look anxious. One of them stops walking and claps his left hand to his ear, like he’s listening to something. He says something to the other guard and they both start scanning the sky.

I don’t hear or see anything at first, but then I recognize the faint sounds of an engine, which quickly grow louder. Soon, I can also hear the regular thwump of a helicopter’s rotor approaching the house. None of the guards are doing anything extra, so they must be expecting it. Maybe Hobbes is on board.

I’d give everything I have and ever will have for a Stinger missile right now. I’d blow Hobbes from the sky and we’d be done with all this. Patricia and I could go home. When the helicopter appears, flying in low from the sea, in my mind, I carefully aim the launching tube at the approaching machine, envisioning Hobbes in the pilot’s seat, blissfully unaware that death is only seconds away.

As the helicopter draws closer, it slows and drops down, until it is just a few hundred feet above the tree tops, barely moving in the sky. God! How hard would it actually be to buy a Stinger? Or maybe the Russian equivalent? He’s just sitting there, fat, dumb and happy. The helicopter moves forward, above the fence, following the border of the property, until it reaches the gate. It pauses there and actually drops down closer. Patricia doesn’t get up, but she puts down her book and stare’s right up at the machine, never blinking despite the dusty air swirling around her. It’s just there for a few moments before it moves on, continuing to circle the mansion, following along the fence like he’s searching for something. After about a minute, the helicopter pivots in a half circle, moves over the compound, drops below some trees and eventually falls silent.

The neighbors must love all that noise.

Patricia goes back to her book. The guards just stand there, looking at each other, quietly talking and shaking their heads. Suddenly, they both go stiff, one of them looking at the radio attached to the other one’s belt. Neither one moves for several seconds before the one with the radio slowly places his left hand to his left ear as before. He appears to say something, then moves off away from the gate, the other guard patting him on the shoulder as he walks away.

Patricia just sits there, still reading. I hope she knows what she’s doing.

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

It took Henry several minutes to reach my office after I had him called. He has always been a loyal, if unimaginative, employee. Too much intelligence in a guard can be a negative. You want them smart enough to do their job, to recognize trouble before it happens, but not so smart that they start getting ideas about advancement. Enrique is the exception; he has demonstrated his loyalty several times over. If he had been here, this problem with the girl would have been resolved days ago, I am sure of this. There’s a knock at my door.

“Yes?”

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Hobbes?”

“I did. Come in.”

He carefully opens the door, head and eyes angled down, then shuffles into the room, closing the door behind him, stopping a few feet in front of my desk. So far, he is showing the proper respect. He says nothing, waiting for me to speak.

“Why didn’t anybody tell me there was a young girl camped out in front of my home for the last four days?”

“We didn’t want to bother you, Sir. We assumed that we could get her to leave … but she wouldn’t go.”

“Did any of you think to call Enrique?”

“We thought about it but didn’t want to bother him, seeing as he was in LA trying to solve that gang dispute.”

“What do you know about the problem in Los Angeles?”

“NOTHING! He just told us he was going to be out of town for a few days and to only contact him if there was an emergency of some kind. We didn’t think one little girl was an emergency.”

Under normal circumstances, he would be right.

“And yet, she is still sitting outside of my gate. The same gate my guests will be using in less than two hours. How do I explain her presence?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“What exactly does she want?”

“She says she’s a friend of Gretchen’s, she wants to talk with you about her. We told her that you don’t see someone just because they want to talk with you. I gave her the old appointment routine but she didn’t take the hint. Somehow, she got a wireless webcam in the trees inside of old lady Whittman’s compound … you know, the lady who raised all that hell when you put in your helipad?”

“I remember.”

“Well, she’s got several guard dogs … really mean bastards, so there was no way to get to the camera. Tippett tried to shut it down but no luck. The webcam was watching her twenty four hours a day. We couldn’t do anything to her without possibly causing you a public relations problem.”

There was a good example of intelligence. Most guards would have just forced her off the sidewalk, throwing her into the street. Henry considered the possible consequences of such an action, and rightly rejected that option. Enrique would have done the same but he would have found a solution.

I look at my watch. Only an hour and half before my guests begin to arrive. There isn’t any other option available.

“Find Gretchen and bring her here.”

“Yes, Sir. Right away.”

Henry hurries from my office. Happy to get away without being fired, no doubt. This girl seems to have put some planning into her actions. I had watched a reply of the video from earlier. She had my men chasing their tails while she swooped in. Very impressive. Not the impulsive type. Another knock at my door.

“Yes?”

Gretchen pushes it open and tentatively walks in. I rotate the monitor on my desk so that she can see the display from the live camera at the gate.

“Do you know this girl?”

She leans in towards the screen to get a better look, then her eyes grow large.

“Ye … yes, I do.”

“Who is she?”

“My friend, Patricia Conner. How long has she been out there?”

“Apparently, the last four days.”

“WHAT!?”

“You knew nothing about this?”

“No! She said she would get you to talk with her … but she didn’t say how.”

“And why exactly would she need to talk with me?”

Gretchen says nothing, looking away. She doesn’t like confrontations. It’s something she will have to get past if she is ever going to take over the family business some day.

“Gretchen, I want an answer.”

She turns her head to look at me. “We want to see each other outside of school. We want to do stuff, to hang out. She asked me to come over to her house last weekend and you said no.”

“I said not at this time.”

“Which means no. She wants to talk to you about it. She says she can talk you into letting me see her.”

“And how does she propose to do that?”

“I don't know … she's …”

“She's what?”

Gretchen glares at me. “She's different. She's not like the other girls. She's kind and brave and smart and good. We're best friends. Please don't ruin this like you have everything else in my life, Father.”

What is she talking about? How have I ruined her life? I have given her everything! Before I can respond, she runs from the office. I know from experience, when she runs away, there is no use talking to her for at least an hour.

There isn't any choice now.

“Henry!” He's at my door immediately. “Bring the girl to me.”

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

It's not just a big lawn past the gate. There's a lot of trees and bushes along with flower beds. He's got to have several full time grounds guys. There's also surveillance cameras everywhere. A few are obvious but more are hidden. I'm going to have to get inside the security center somehow. Henry's leading me up the driveway to the main front door. I can hear a lot of activity inside as we walk up the steps.

He opens the doors and we step through, into a brilliant white three story atrium with golden staircases on both sides, an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and an elevator in the back.

Typical nouveau rich opulence.

“Nice place.”

“Keep it up kid and you'll get your head handed to you. If I'm lucky, I'll get to be the one who hands it.”

“What? You don't think it's a nice place? You should see my house.”

“Stuff it. Give me that bag.”

“Why?”

“Because everything gets run through the metal and explosive detectors and everybody gets scanned. You don't have anything to hide, do you?”

“No, I'm just not a fan of radiation. How long you been operating those machines?”

“Years.”

“Had a check-up lately?”

“Very funny.”

He drops the side of what I thought was a big book cabinet, exposing a rubber conveyor belt. Next, he slides a door aside, revealing a monitor. He drops my bag onto the belt, pulls a hand scanning wand from the drawer below the monitor and passes it over my body as my bag works its way through the machine. I'm clean, except for my watch. I half expected the metal in my head to trigger the wand. It may have been my imagination, but I swear I heard a slight warble when he scanned the top of my head, though it may have been the barrette I'm wearing.

The bag emerges from the scanner and Henry turns to the monitor. Apparently, he saw something, because he opened the bag and pulled out a box.

“What’s in here?”

“They’re for Mr. Hobbes.”

He opened the box. “What are they?”

“Electronic bugs I found in my house, the ones he had planted there. I disabled all of them.”

He smiled. “You’re going to go in there and accuse Raymond Hobbes of having your house bugged?”

“There’s no accusation. He had it done, it’s a fact.”

He closes the box and puts it back in my bag. “Good luck with that one, kid. Come on.”

Henry walked across the atrium, past what appeared to be a formal dining room which was full of activity, people setting tables, flowers being arranged.

“What’s going on in there?”

“None of your business. Keep walking.”

I follow him through the house until we reach a large ornate door.

“Well kid, this is what you asked for. Hope you enjoy it.”

I don’t think he means it. He knocks on the door.

“Come in, Patricia” a voice calls out from the other side of the door.

Here we go.

I open the door and step through, closing it behind me. Hobbes is sitting at his large, highly polished, wooden desk, leaning back in his swivel chair, hands on the desk, fingers interlaced. Everything is neat and clean, no stacks of papers for me to rifle through. There’s a computer monitor to his left, along with a keyboard and a mouse. I don’t see any CPU, it may be stashed under the desktop. There is a large picture of his dead wife on the wall behind him and several wooden filing cabinets against the wall to his right, but the cabinets look larger than usual, more space between the drawers, more space around the drawers. They’re probably fireproof and waterproof, with extra security features built in. I think I see a fingerprint touch pad by each individual drawer.

Impressive.

I slowly look around the room. Nice, comfortable furniture. No plants. Artwork on the walls, likely originals. There are a number of photos, probably family. There are several of a young couple and then the same couple with a child. Hobbes and his parents, I’d wager. Then there are several of a young boy with a group of tough looking men, all dressed as gauchos and holding the reins of their horses. The background looks like a ranch of some kind. There’s what looks like a bola sitting on his desk, the leather straps wound tightly together, the three fist-size rocks locked together in a triangle. It’s more personal than the rest of the house, like a decorator did the places people would see but he did the places where he was going to live. Seeing his bedroom would be interesting.

“You have caused quite a lot of trouble for such a small girl.”

So that’s how he’s going to play it. Fine.

“All I wanted was a few minutes of your time to talk with you about Gretchen. That hardly seems like an imposition. Most caring fathers would want to know if their daughter was having difficulties. Apparently, the trouble was your people didn’t want to tell you I was outside asking to see you. Their incompetence isn’t my problem … it’s yours.”

He bristles at that. “They were following my orders.”

“Then I’m sorry. It wasn’t their incompetence; it was your … lack of foresight.”

He smiles tightly. “Were you going to say something other than ‘lack of foresight’?”

“Yes, but my mother taught me to be polite, whenever possible.”

“To bad she didn’t teach you to show the proper respect.”

“She taught me that respect is earned. Also, that respect is a two way street, you don’t get it if you don’t give it. On that point …” I reach into my bag, take out the box of electronic bugs, and toss it onto his desk. It slides to a stop next to his right hand “… I believe these are yours. I’m sure you paid for them, one way or another.”

He opens the box and dumps the contents onto his desk. “What are these?”

“Electronic bugs, listening devices. I found them in my home. They were put there by the people you hired to spy on me and my mother.”

“I know nothing about that.”

“Lying to someone is a sign of disrespect, Mr. Hobbes.”

That he didn’t like. He leans forward in his chair, hands planted on the desk top, fingers spread, elbows locked. “You do not speak to me in such a manner! Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, Mr. Raymond Hobbes, drug kingpin. The head of the largest criminal organization in the Southeastern United States, possibly the entire country, the details are a little fuzzy. Your primary source of income is drug sales but you dabble in other areas, prostitution, gambling, and so on. It’s good to have a diverse income stream.”

He REALLY didn’t like THAT. He’s up, out of his chair, leaning over the desk, as close to me as he can get without jumping over the desk. “NO ONE SAYS SUCH THINGS TO ME! HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF THESE CRIMINAL ACTS! I AM A LEGITIMATE BUSINESSMAN!”

“Then you should talk to Google, because when I searched your name, all kinds of interesting things showed up.”

“Google!?”

“You know, Google, the Search Engine. Haven’t you ever Googled yourself? Oh, you really should try it. Wikipedia has several articles where you are prominently mentioned too. All in all, they paint a very interesting portrait. But I don’t really care about all that; I’m just here because of Gretchen.”

“There are certainly unfounded rumors about me, created by competitors to sully my good name, but I have never been convicted of a single criminal act!”

“Look Mr. Hobbes, I truly don’t care about how you make your money. This isn’t a courtroom and neither of us is on trial. We both know who you are and how you make a living and that’s all cool and everything. I don’t know any details about your enterprises and I don’t want to know, it’s none of my business and I want to keep it that way. As far as I’m concerned, you sell widgets. But don’t think I’m stupid either. You asked me if I knew who you are and I told you the truth, we both know that. I told you about someone bugging my home and you lied about it … and we both know that too.”

He settles back into his chair. “There is no evidence tying me to anyone who MAY have checked into your background.”

“There you go with the evidence thing again. I don’t see a judge or jury or a bunch of lawyers here. I understand, you’re worried about who might be friends with Gretchen, any father would. But other parents call each other, talk, feel each other out. They don’t have people sneak in and plant bugs to spy on you in the privacy of your own home! My mother practically freaked out when I found those darn things. How would you like it if someone did something like that to you?”

He actually looks a little embarrassed. “Many have tried.”

“Well, that kinda goes along with the territory, don’t cha’ think? But, hey, I’m not asking for an apology, I don’t expect an apology. That’s probably why you thought it was okay and all. But Mom and I, we’re just regular people. I sorta expected something like this when I decided to be friends with your daughter, but Mom is pretty darn upset about the whole thing. I had to convince her that Gretchen was worth all the trouble, that it’s not her fault that she has you for a dad.”

He starts to rev up again. “And exactly where have I failed my daughter!?”

“How many other girls have you had to check out because they were friends with Gretchen?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s thinking about lying to me again when the phone rings. He picks it up.

“Yes … what time is it? … well, keep them entertained for a few minutes … I should not be much longer … five minutes at the most.” He hangs up and returns his attention to me.

“You were the first.”

HA! Breakthrough!

“That’s because I’m her first and only friend at St. Ann’s.”

“How can that be? She’s a wonderful girl!”

“I know that. She stood up with me when things were tough at school, when it would have been a lot easier to do nothing. I know she’s great. Others do to, but it’s not the other girls, it’s their parents. They also know who you are and they don’t want their daughters associating with a girl who has a father … well, a father in your line of work.”

“I have never been convicted of …”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, no convictions. But that’s not the standard parents use. If Gretchen were friends with a girl whose father was a suspected child molester, would you say ‘well, the man was never convicted of molesting those ten other girls, so he must be a fine fellow’? Of course not! You’d tell her to keep far away from that girl and her family. Well, I’m afraid that you’re that child molester … not an actual child molester, obviously, but you get my point, right?”

“So … you are saying that my daughter has no friends because of me.”

“That and you keep her cooped up in this place. When was the last time she got to go anywhere without bodyguards?”

“It’s a dangerous world.”

“Particularly for ‘legitimate businessmen’?”

“Rich businessmen and their families … legitimate or otherwise. It is prudent to take precautions.”

“There is protection and over-protection. No one has ever attacked Gretchen in any way.”

“How do you know that?”

“That’s what she says.”

“Maybe she’s never been attacked because no one has ever gotten a chance due to my security.”

“Maybe it’s because no one cares.”

“I am not prepared to take that chance.”

“I can see why you’d think that way, given what happened to your parents. It’s only natural that …”

“What do you know about my parents?!”

“Google … remember?”

“Ah yes, Google. Perhaps I should have saved my money and just typed ‘Patricia Conner’ and pushed enter.”

“You’re famous, I’m not. You won’t find much about me on Google, just a couple of Science Fair Awards.” Thank you Witness Protection. “Besides, your people were looking for more personal details about us than found in the open information sources.”

His phone rang again. He picked it up.

“YES! … how long? … I will be there when I am done with this interview … however long it takes.” He hangs up.

“Am I keeping you from your dinner party? I can come back later.”

He waives his hand dismissively. “They will wait for me.”

I bet they will. “Anyway, back to Gretchen. She’s really upset about you not letting her come over to my house. You’ve checked us out, we’re totally normal people. You can even send the body guards; they can stay outside and watch all they want.”

“That is not as safe as this house, not nearly as safe.”

“True, but she won’t stay in this house forever. She’ll soon be eighteen and free to go wherever she wants. If you don’t start giving her the chance to live something resembling a normal life, she’ll be out like a shot. And that would be the wrong thing for her to do.”

“What?”

“She’s not ready to live in the real world. Her entire life has been spent in the lap of luxury. She’s got no idea what it’s like out here. Her total lack of experience with relationships will make her a target for the most unscrupulous people.”

Hobbes looks confused. “I thought you were here to support Gretchen?”

“I am. She needs to start to learn how regular people live their lives. She can do great things but not from inside these walls. Unfortunately, she’s not remotely ready. If you can’t start to loosen your grip, she’ll bolt as soon as she can and meet the real world cold turkey. Usually, the real world wins and it ain’t pretty.”

“Then you should try to persuade her that I am correct.”

“Because you’re not. How you gonna keep her here? Tie her up? Lock her door? Threaten her life? The only thing you’ve got is money. Are you going to bribe her? Tell the truth, can you respect anybody who takes a bribe?”

He doesn’t say anything right away. I know the answer but he’s not ready to deal with it in his own family, not yet.

“Do you want to put your own daughter in that position? The other option is to threaten to cut off your support if she moves out. Then you have to ask, can you respect someone who knuckles under to threats?”

Still no answer, but I’ve got him coming and going.

“The only way this works is if Gretchen wants to stay here, and that’s only going to happen if she gets some freedom to live they way she wants, and that means she sees her only friend outside of school. She’ll be safe, trust me. Send her guards, my mom will accept it, as long as they only watch from outside. She won’t be happy, but she’ll accept it.”

“Why won’t she be happy?”

“Well … I may not care about how you make your money but she’s not nearly as open minded. She refuses to let me stay here, she’s worried about … bad influences.”

“Why should your mother’s concerns about bad influences be more important than my concern’s about my daughter’s safety? Would your mother accept my assurances that you would be well treated?”

“Uuhhh, probably not.”

“Then why should I accept her assurances about Gretchen’s safety at your home? We seem to be at an impasse.”

“I see your point; you both have problems with each other. I gotta tell you, that stuff with the bugs really poisoned the water. My Mom is very upset with you.”

“I understand her distress, but my concerns are equally valid.”

I don’t want to screw this up now. He’s right where I want him. After fifteen seconds of assorted facial expressions demonstrating frustration and thoughtfulness, I go for it.

“The important thing here is Gretchen. If she doesn’t get some help, the stuff is going to hit the fan. If you promise to consider letting her come to my house, I’ll start off visiting at your house, but you’ve got to promise me to let her come to my home as soon as you’re comfortable with it. Do we have a deal?” I offer him my hand. He hesitates.

“Will you be able to persuade your mother to accept this?”

“She’ll be a tough sell, but she trusts my judgment. I can also take care of myself and she knows it. I think she’ll go along with it.”

He grabs my hand and shakes it. “If she does, then we have an agreement. Do you wish to tell Gretchen?”

“It would be better if it came from you, you’ll get more credit in her eyes.”

“Good idea.” He shakes his finger at me. “The report did not do you justice; you are a very smart girl.”

“Wikipedia probably needs to ease off you too.”

“Who writes for this Wikipedia?”

“Anybody can, they just have to submit it to the editors.”

“I may read it myself, there may need to be some corrections.” He stands up and buttons his jacket. “I am afraid that I have been a poor host tonight but it has been worth it. Henry will see you out. I look forward to speaking with you in the future; you are very mature for your age.”

“When you lose a parent when you’re young, you learn a lot about life very quickly. It changes you. I lost my father, Gretchen lost her mother, and you lost both your parents and a wife. No one can experience those kinds of losses and remain a child.”

“Quite true, quite true.” He bowed slightly toward me. “Good night, Patricia.”

“Good night, Mr. Hobbes.”

As he left the room, Henry came in. Hobbes spoke to him.

“Henry, please show Ms. Conner the way out and make sure to treat her well. We shall be seeing more of her in the future … I hope.”

“Uuhhh yes … sir. Absolutely, Mr. Hobbes.”

I fought the urge to smirk at Henry. I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. As we retraced our path through the house back to the front door, I kept my eyes locked straight forward, wearing my best poker face. Henry glanced back at me several times, but he was smart enough not to say anything until he could figure out what had just happened and where I would fit into his future.

My stuff was waiting for me as I walked out the gate. Almost immediately, Mom drove up in our car. I tossed my stuff into the back seat and climbed into the passenger side front.

“Well?” she asked.

“Just drive” I replied, slumping in my seat. She pulled away from the curb, saying nothing. After a few blocks, I reached out with my left hand, placing it on top of her right hand, squeezing it gently.

“We’re in.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

“He wants to see us, both of us.”

Patricia frowns and shakes her head.

“No way, Mom. We’re almost inside and it’s stupid to take that kind of risk. We should keep to the dead drops.”

“Daniel is insistent. We might as well pick the time and the place to prevent him from just showing up.”

“He wouldn’t do that, he’s not that dumb.”

“He considers this to be his operation, that we work for him.”

“Huh. Maybe he should be in here instead of me.”

Patricia has been very reluctant to talk about Daniel for some time. While they weren’t exactly friends at the start, there seemed to be professional respect. Ever since the transfer, she has become increasingly agitated when ever his name is mentioned

“Don’t be that way, Patricia. No one is questioning what you’ve accomplished. Daniel is technically in charge. This is a Department of Justice operation and he’s their representative.”

“Okay, fine. Then you’re my representative, you talk with him.”

“What is going on here, Patricia? Daniel’s not being unreasonable. He has people to answer to. He’s entitled to know what is going on. Yes, he can be kept informed by written notes but the occasional meeting is not out of line. Why are you objecting to this?”

She slumps back in her seat. “I don’t know. Every time I think about him, I just … get upset. I can’t tell you why because I don’t KNOW why.”

“Could you be …”

“Be what?”

“They say that there is a fine line between hate and love.”

“EEEEEEWWWWW GROOOOSSSSS! Don’t even think that Mother! How could you think that!? What have I EVER done to make you THINK that!?”

“Nothing, but I was just …”

“Don’t ever say that again! And if you EVER say something like that to Lipscomb … I’ll … I’ll …”

“Understood, Patricia. So when do you want to meet with Daniel?”

She gives me a sideways glance, head cocked to the side. “You’re pretty darn mean, you know that? You win. We’ll see him …” She reaches into her bag and takes out her PDA. It’s an old Palm Pilot that she got off Craig’s List. She says that it’s old technology but works just fine. “… Wednesday, at Dr. Matthews. I’ve got a check-up scheduled. He can sneak in the back.” She closes the cover on the PDA. “If he can’t make it, then I guess we won’t be meeting.”

“I’ll let him know.”

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

Lipscomb called me, he wanted to schedule an appointment to meet for an “examination” on Wednesday. We used the code in case someone was bugging my phone. I think the security precautions are excessive. Even if someone is watching Patricia and Jessica, why would they watch everyone they have contact with?

Regardless, I schedule him for the half hour before Patricia. I am looking forward to seeing her. These monthly exams are really much too infrequent but Lipscomb felt that anything more often would raise suspicion. Security again! I wish they would leave Patricia and I alone so that I could complete my research as quickly as possible.

Lipscomb arrives right on time, but enters through the back entrance. If someone had heard our phone conversation, would they not have expected him to come through the front door? I will never understand these undercover techniques.

“Hello, Daniel. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

“Thank you Thomas. Black. Have you heard from Peter or Jessica?”

“No, I assume they will be here on time, as scheduled. They have always arrived promptly in the past. Are you concerned about something?”

“I am concerned that this is taking so long. Harris should have been able to accomplish much more by now. I’m beginning to think that he’s having too much fun posing as a young girl.”

“Why would you think that? He seemed quite reluctant to sublimate his personality at the beginning. He has adapted very well to the situation but never expressed any happiness about it. Most men would not desire to spend time as a girl.”

“I think that because I was in that body, I experienced the physical possibilities, the potential. Also, he doesn’t have much to return to.”

“What do you mean?”

“His original body. It’s in very bad shape. Why would you want to return to that when you can have a young, vigorous, sexy body?”

“Of the wrong sex, Daniel.”

“A minor issue, Thomas.”

“A minor issue? I would think that would be the major issue. Besides, I have been able to do some repairs to Peter’s original body.”

“Repairs? What are you talking about?”

“Mostly to his arthritic joints and damaged lungs.”

He looks up at me through furrowed eyebrows.

“I don’t remember Peter authorizing these ‘repairs’. Did I miss something?”

“No, no, you didn’t. It’s just that I’ve had the time and the body is just laying there. You know what they say about idle hands.”

“I know what lawyers say about unauthorized medical treatments. It’s called malpractice plus assault and battery.”

“How could he object to improving the quality of his life once he returns to that body?”

“Thomas, it was cutting corners that brought you to my attention. In this case, Peter is still around to object. Very loudly and very violently. I’d suggest that you stop making any unauthorized repairs, don’t even mention what you’ve already done. Maybe it can all be explained away as part of the process, an unanticipated side effect. Thankfully, the release he signed covers something like that. It doesn’t cover intentional torts. I don’t want to give him any excuse to bring this operation to a premature end. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I understand, but I can’t believe that he would have a problem with what I’ve done.”

“From here on out, Thomas, do nothing without my prior approval. I’m afraid that your judgment can not be trusted.”

MY judgment? He’s the one with the problem, not me! Those filthy subroutines. He talks of anger; perhaps I should share with Peter what’s buried deep within the silicon portion of his brain. I’m sure he would forget about any possible objections to a new and improved body.

Unfortunately, I remain under Lipscomb’s thumb. “Certainly Daniel … what ever you say. I have no desire to upset the apple cart at this late stage of the game.”

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” He glances at his watch. “Where the hell are they?”

“Patience Daniel, they won’t be long.”

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

Patricia is reluctant to even come into Thomas’ lab. She’s been here often and there’s been no real problem before, but today, she is intentionally lagging behind. I try to lighten her mood.

“Come on, slowpoke, let’s go. We finally have good news to deliver. We should be celebrating!”

“We celebrate when we’re done and not before. Every step brings us closer to both success and failure. No one has ever gotten this close to Hobbes before. Technically, I’m not even inside yet. He could always change his mind. Every time we make progress, we gotta be that much more cautious, more careful. A single mistake and we’re goners. That’s why this meeting is so stupid.”

“Stop moping about it. We go in, Thomas gives you the usual check-up, which you will pass with flying colors, Daniel will congratulate you for your brilliance and we go home.”

“Humph” she snorts.

Patricia can be moody, particularly at the lower Blue settings but she’s at Fifty Blue right now, Thomas likes her to spend at least the hour before tests at that level.

When we walk in, Thomas and Daniel are sitting in the waiting room. Daniel stands and smiles.

“Well here you are, finally. How are you beautiful ladies today?”

“Stuff it” Patricia mumbles.

“What was that, Peter?”

“Nothing Lipscomb … nothing at all.”

“I would like to do the tests first, if you don’t mind Daniel” said Thomas. “Patricia needs to be in a relaxed state and your presence sometimes … upsets her.”

“Whatever you say Thomas, you’re the Doctor.” He chortles like it was some kind of joke. I don’t get it; neither does Thomas from the look on his face.

“Yes, I am … come along Patricia. You two can wait out here, please.”

Patricia follows Thomas through the doors into the lab. Just as she’s about to close them, she steps back, turns her head and looks at me.

“You can tell him, if you want.” Then she shuts the door.

Daniel looks at me with interest. “Tell me what?”

I sit down and settle back in the chair. “Patricia is in.”

“Finally! It’s about time!”

“‘Finally’”!? Not ‘thank you’ or ‘good job’ or how about ‘tremendous news’?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Jessica. I’m certainly appreciative of all your efforts. It just seems that you have taken your own sweet time getting to this point. How hard could it have been?”

God, what a buffoon! No wonder Patricia dislikes him. I should kick him in the shins … or perhaps higher. “Daniel, you have no idea what Patricia has gone through to reach this point. What she, what I have had to endure. I truly believe that no one else on the face of the earth could do what she has done. No one.”

“I know Peter is qualified. That’s why I hired him. I’m just saying he could have been faster. Sometimes, I think he enjoys being a girl just a little too much … if you know what I mean.”

“Stuff it, Daniel!”

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

The test results were all fine, no obvious changes from the prior exam, allowing for Patricia’s slightly agitated state. Lipscomb does that to people. I wanted to speak with her privately after the tests were done.

“How are you feeling, overall?”

“Fine. No physical problems.”

“How do you feel mentally? Any breaks in consciousness, black-outs, lost minutes or hours?”

“No. Nothing like that. Should there be?”

“No. It would just be evidence of a separation of the two parts of the brain. Where one side might take over and the other side be unaware.”

“Do you expect that to happen? Should I be worried?”

“Not at all. I am just covering all possibilities.”

“Thank heaven.” She picks up her bag and starts to rummage through it. “You shouldn’t worry me like that, Dr. Matthews.” She removes a small flat plastic case from her purse, flips it open, and brings it close to her face. There appears to be a mirror in the upper half of the case because Patricia is looking closely at it while tilting her head left and right. She reaches back into the purse and removes a metallic tube, about the size of my small finger. She pulls off the top and twists it, exposing a red, colored center, which she carefully applies to her lips while viewing herself in the small mirror. I believe it is lipstick. I glance at the controller on my desk. It is set on Blue Fifty.

“What are you doing, Patricia?”

“Oh … sorry, nervous habit.” She closes the case and caps the tube, dropping them both in her bag. “They don’t let us wear much in the way of makeup at school so I wait until I’m out to fix my face up right. I don’t use a lot, but a little can go a long way, don’t you agree?”

She coquettishly cocks her head slightly to the side and down, smiling impishly, and looking up at me through her long, dark lashes.

“Yes … I see. Ahh, you are a very attractive … girl, Patricia.”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “Thanks. I try.”

“It shows. How are your nightmares? Still there?”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “Oh yes, practically every night. What’s weird is that I’m always Peter, never Patricia. That is if I’m anyone in particular.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, dreams can get really strange sometimes. Stuff can be happening to you and you not know who you are at the time. It’s all abstract and weird.”

“I see. Well, unfortunately, I’m not a psychiatrist so the dream interpretation will have to be done by someone else.”

“Have you thought of a way to stop them?”

“I think it’s impossible, or at least unhealthy, to chemically stop you from dreaming. Dreams fill an important role in the sleep cycle. I can understand that a continuing stream of bad dreams would be upsetting, but they are likely playing a vital role in stress relief, which you have been under for some time.”

“I know. I’ve been reading up on the subject. Actually, I’ve been reading a lot of subjects. It’s amazing! I can read practically anything and, if I understand it, the information is instantly accessible. If I’m not quite sure what it means, the information is, like, filed away but it comes back later when I’ve had time to think about it or get additional information that makes the original understandable. It doesn’t matter what subject, it’s all there. Computers, Philosophy, Politics, Economics, all kinds of stuff. Any way I could keep all this info when I go back to the old body?”

“Probably not, though some of it may be retained.”

“I really wish I had this brain when I was in school.”

“The brain comes with the body.”

“Well, that would certainly have made high school more interesting.”

“In what way?”

She smiles at me. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I was under the impression that you were socially active when you were Peter Harris. I assume that was also true when you were younger. I can tell that you were quite handsome as a youth.”

“Aren’t you nice.”

“It has nothing with being nice, simply stating facts. As Patricia, you would likely have also been socially active. You are physically quite attractive.”

She blushes and looks away. “I’m sure you had a lot to do with that.”

“No, I made no cosmetic alterations.”

“Not even my … breasts?”

“No changes at all. I was not interested in physical appearance, I was only interested in your brain. In all other respects, you are, as they say, all natural.”

“That’s nice to know. Still, the female experience is completely different from the male experience.”

“I look forward to the details when this job is done.”

“I’ve managed to get invited to the Hobbes home, so it may not be too long before the job is done, though I don’t want to get anybody’s hopes up.”

“I understand. Jessica seems to have a great deal of confidence in your abilities so I will trust her judgment.”

“Thank you, Dr. Matthews.”

“Could you send Jessica in here, I’ll just need a few minutes alone with her.”

“Certainly, be happy to.” She stands up, smoothing her dress as she stands, walks to the door, pauses a moment, gives me a little finger wave and leaves. Jessica enters less than a minute later.

“Patricia said you wanted to see me?”

“Have a seat.”

She sits down across the desk from me. “Is there a problem?”

“Have you been increasing the time that Patricia spends at the Blue Fifty setting, as we discussed?”

She frowns. “Not as much as you suggested. She’s been pushing so hard. Our home was bugged for several weeks and we thought the safest thing was to stay in character all the time. I have tried to increase the time recently.”

“It may already be too late.”

She looks concerned. “What do you mean?”

“I just had a conversation with Patricia with the setting on Blue Fifty. I honestly can say that I never heard Peter’s voice once in the conversation.”

“I’m sure she was just keeping in character.”

“Perhaps, but you see her every day and the changes are slow and subtle. I see her much less frequently and the changes are more obvious to me. There is no reason to assume the changes are permanent, but right now, I suspect, that Peter is highly integrated with the Construct. It may take substantial time for him to return to normal once he is removed.”

“But you can remove him, right?”

“Yes. The integration is all in the functioning of the Cerebral Balancer. The basic brain patterns remain separated and can be removed, but that doesn’t mean the two sections remain unchanged. Clearly, Peter has been affected by the time he has spent in the Construct.”

“Didn’t you anticipate that?”

“To a degree. Patricia is a prototype. She was never designed to be … on line, if you will, for this continuous length of time. My original plan was for there to be a series of shorter but gradually lengthening trials, to carefully monitor the entire process to observe any changes. I have not been permitted to observe Patricia as I would prefer, Daniel claims it would interfere with his objectives. I assumed that there would be some changes in both portions of the brain as the Balancer exerted its influence but there could be more than I had anticipated. It is impossible to tell without bringing Patricia in for at least three weeks of extensive testing, which Daniel forbids.”

Jessica looked more concerned than before. “Is Patricia in any danger?”

“You mean in more danger than she currently is?”

“Good point. But, yes, is she in medical danger?”

How do I answer that? Daniel will be very upset if I say anything that would cause Peter to back out now. Anything I tell Jessica will eventually get to Peter, they are too close for her to keep secrets from him without good cause. Perhaps I can give her good cause.

“No, I don’t believe so, but keeping her stress levels down would be good. The less she has to worry about, the better. Also, the more time at Blue Fifty, the better.”

She starts to laugh. I don’t think I said anything funny. She continues to laugh for several seconds.

“I’m sorry, but do you know how impossible that is? I’m stressed like I’ve never been in my entire life and I’ve done practically nothing compared to what Patricia has been through. And the really hard part is just starting.”

“You may be surprised. Peter Harris spent a large portion of his life undercover. It was his natural environment. He has more resources available now than he ever had before. If we just let him do his job, without adding any health concerns, everything should be fine. Besides, you want to get Mr. Hobbes, don’t you?”

She hesitates for a moment. “Of course I do, more than anything. I’ve given up everything in my life to make sure he pays.”

“Then it would seem the only way that is going to happen is for Patricia to continue working, correct?”

She stares at me a moment. “It would seem so … Thomas. Are we done?”

“I think so. I’ll see both of you at the next appointment.”

She nodded at me and left.

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

Would I sacrifice Patricia to get Hobbes? That was the choice Thomas just gave me. There’s no proof of any actual harm to her, he says that she’s probably safe and he’ll be able to remove Peter when the job is done. But there’s also the possibility of problems. Should I tell her about it? If I do, it could make things worse but it might also save her life. There’s no concrete proof of anything, just a whole bunch of maybes. How am I helping Patricia by dumping all of that in her lap?

When I enter the waiting room, she and Daniel are glaring at each other. They both turn to me as I enter.

“This … JERK seems to think I’ve been goofing off, wasting his time and money while living the life of luxury as a teen age girl.”

“What did you say to her, Daniel?”

“It’s not my money, it’s the government’s money. I didn’t say you were ‘goofing off’, I just questioned how aggressively you were pursuing our objectives.”

Patricia turns back towards Daniel. “And how aggressive do you think I need to be? I’m practically standing on his doorstep.”

“Don’t throw a hissy fit, Peter. I’m just pointing out that we do not have an unlimited amount of time.”

Hissy fit? What is wrong with this fucking idiot?

“So far, my superiors have been patient, but that may change. If we can’t produce results, they may pull our funding.”

“Destroying your big plans for a promising political future, right Lipscomb?”

“Yes Peter, but it would also make all your efforts to date a waste. Plus, it would ruin Jessica’s plans for vengeance, right Jessica?”

Why does he need to bring me into this fight? I look back and forth between them, considering my answer.

“Shut up Daniel. Patricia made it clear from the start that we were going to do this on her schedule, not yours. Her job is to get in to Hobbes house and find what she can. Everything we’ve done from the beginning was done to get where we are today … on the verge of success. I couldn’t have done it and neither could you. Your job is to keep your bosses off our backs. If you’re unhappy, maybe you can find someone else in your office who’d like to replace you.”

I walk over to Patricia and hug her shoulder.

“Thanks, Mom” she whispers.

“You’re welcome, honey” I whisper back. Daniel is carefully watching us.

“I am not here to cause problems” he says. Patricia snorts at that. “I just wanted to make sure we are all on the same page of the playbook, given that we are so close to success. I didn’t want the ball to be fumbled at this late date.” Men and their sports metaphors. “I certainly did not mean to criticize … Patricia’s choices or methods. In fact, I’d like to congratulate her on her success to date.” The man is a born politician. “However, speed is also important. The longer you are undercover, the greater the chance of discovery. I am only interested in your health and safety.”

God! Can that man throw the bull? Patricia pulls away from my hold on her shoulders.

“Just because I get inside the house doesn’t mean I’m going to get much information, at least at the beginning. I haven’t seen much of the house yet, but what I have seen says this isn’t going to be easy. Security is everywhere. They got enough cameras to equip a Best Buy or three. The place is lousy with guards, most of who don’t exactly like me. I can’t start snooping around right away, I gotta build up some goodwill first. That way, if I get caught doing something I shouldn’t be, I’ve got some brownie points to protect me. Undercover operations move at their own pace and in their own time. You take advantage of opportunities as they come, sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can create opportunities without raising suspicion, but you’ve got to be either really lucky or really good.” She smiles up at him. “You’re really lucky that I’m really good.”

Daniel sighs. “Alright, I’ll try to be more patient, but I want to be kept appraised. When you get something, no matter how insignificant, I want to be informed. Do you understand?"

Patricia nods her head in agreement. “Whenever I get something that is pertinent, we’ll let you know … in the normal course of business. We can’t have regular face to face meetings, too many chances of discovery. Mom will handle all communication, just as we discussed in the beginning. Do you understand?”

Daniel smiles tightly … actually; it’s more of a sneer. “Yes, I understand. Let’s hope everything goes smoothly and you can quickly return to your old body.”

He stands and walks back through the doors back towards the lab. He’s either heading for the back door or he’s going to see Thomas again. Either way, I think we’re done for today. Patricia grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here before he comes back. What did Dr. Matthews want to see you about?”

“Ahhh, nothing. He just wanted to make sure you were telling him everything that was going on, didn’t accidentally leave anything out.”

“So, no problems?”

I smile at her. “No, nothing at all. You’re right, let’s go home.”

I’m sure she’ll be safe; Thomas can’t prove anything is actually wrong with her. Until there’s more evidence, there’s no reason to tell her about potentially non-existent problems. Who would that help?

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

As I zip down the street on my bike, it’s shifting around underneath me. The bike isn’t balanced because I didn’t tightly tie down my overnight bag. Every time I take a turn, the bag flops around. I’d like to stop and tighten the straps but I don’t want to be late the first weekend at Gretchen’s.

Her father told her of our deal on Monday evening. She practically mugged me the next morning at school, darn near broke my ribs hugging me so hard. She was laughing and talking so fast, I was sure she’d hyperventilate. It took me several minutes to calm her down enough so that she started making sense.

She had hardly slept that night, making plans for all the things we’d do when I came to see her this weekend. She was really keyed up. Every time we had time together that day, she had added more things for us to do. I finally had to tell her to get a grip, we’ll have plenty of time, this is just the first of several weekends to come, no need to try to do everything possible the first weekend. I’ll come over, we’ll hang out, it’ll be cool.

She was all apologetic about being so hyper. I’ve never seen a person so desperate for human contact in my life. For the rest of the week, I tried to keep her from going overboard, without a lot of success.

Eventually, we agreed that I’d get there by 5:00 pm on Friday, in plenty of time for supper at 6:00. She made a point that her father didn’t like people being late.

And now I’m just barely on schedule. Mom just wouldn’t let me go. I tried to tell her that I had to get on the road but she kept thinking of things I needed to take with me. I know she’s worried, so am I, but I’m not going to do anything but try to be a good guest this time, and probably every time for the next few weeks, if I’m given the chance. Luckily, two of the last three lights were green and the third was yellow. As I pull onto Gretchen’s street, I glance at my watch. It’s 4:58. I gun the engine and zoom up to her driveway, skidding to a stop at her front gate. I kill the engine and push the intercom button. The two cameras mounted on the top of the brick pillars that support the gate swivel around to point at me.

I want to smile and wave but that may be pushing it. The intercom crackles to life.

“Yes?”

I push the reply button. “Patricia Conner to see Gretchen Hobbes.”

One of the cameras swings up and scans the area while the other one stays focused on me. I hear a loud clunk as the gate unlocks and a whirring sound as it starts to swing open.

“Come in” hisses the intercom.

“Thank you,” I reply. Starting my engine, I slip into gear and roll past the gate. No need to make a big entrance this time. As I pull up to the parking spots near the front steps, Gretchen comes running out and down the steps, grabbing my arm even before I come to a stop. I reach up and pull off my helmet.

“Hey, Gretch.”

“God Patty! I can’t believe you’re finally here!”

“It has been a bit of a fight.”

“I don’t know how you talked my father into changing his mind. He NEVER changes his mind.”

“I just presented him with facts he may not have been aware of. It takes a big person to reconsider his position.”

“Whatever. Just as long as it worked. Come on in, you can change in my room.”

I was wearing jeans and polo shirt along with my black leather jacket. The jacket is hot as heck, except when I’m moving on the bike. I wear it to protect against a fall, same with the jeans. I guess I could wear leather pants but that’s a bit much.

Gretchen told me that they dress for meals, not formal or anything but nice. Naturally, she wears her school uniform for breakfast during weekdays and sometimes for supper too, but it’s the weekend, so apparently jeans and a polo aren’t good enough.

She lets go of my arm as I dismount and then unstrap my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, but she immediately grabs it again, looping her left around my right as soon as its free, practically pulling me up the steps and through the front doors. Where we come to a halt.

“Gonna have to check that bag … and you.”

It’s Henry. He probably asked for this duty. I slide my bag off my left shoulder, dropping it to the floor beside me.

“No problem.”

“Yes problem!” cried Gretchen. “She’s my guest, my friend! There’s no reason for her to be searched.”

“It’s okay, Gretchen” I say.

“It’s NOT okay!”

I gently pull my arm from hers. “No, I want it this way. If anything happens, if anything goes wrong, I want it clear that it’s not my fault. I also want to be searched when I leave.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Fair or not, it’s smart. I want the protection. Look Gretch, it’s a small price to pay to get to see you. I’m okay with it, really.” I hand the bag to Henry. He runs it through the detector. Several things pop up on the screen but I’d put them all in a smaller bag inside the big bag, making the search easier. Henry unzipped my bag, pulled out the smaller bag and opened it. The big thing in there was my lap top.

“You’re gonna have to get this approved before you use it.”

“I expected that, no problem.”

“See Tippett, he’s the tech guru.”

“I will, after Mr. Hobbes says it’s okay.”

“Yeah … good idea, kid.”

He takes the detection wand and passes it over me again, a little quicker than before, probably because Gretchen is watching him like a hawk. There’s that barely perceptible warble again as he passes the crown of my head. I wonder what an x-ray of my head would look like. He sticks the wand back into the drawer.

“You’re clean, kid. Go on in.”

“Thanks.”

I grab my bag, Gretchen takes my right arm again and we’re off, taking the set of stairs on the left. As we climb, I look around. This is a big place. I studied the building plans that were filed with the county when it was built but you don’t really get a feel for how big it actually is until you see it for yourself.

When we get to the landing, Gretchen pulls me to the right, down a large hallway, past several closed doors before we reach the door at the end of the hall, which she throws open with a grand gesture.

“TA-DA!”

I step in, looking around.

It’s pink, reeeaaalllyy pink. The walls, the ceiling, the furniture, the linen … everything is one shade or another of pink. My eyes actually hurt just looking at it. I’ve got some pink in my bedroom at home, just so it looks right, you understand. But this … this is like fairytale stuff.

“Nice, very nice” I say. “I think I’m catching a theme here, right?”

“I know, it’s awful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Pleeeaaasssee, there’s no kinda about it. Father thinks that this is what a girl’s bedroom should look like so this is what I got.”

“Like when you were five, right?”

“Eight. That’s when he bought the house and had it redecorated. It was somebody famous at the time, I don’t remember who. They asked me what my favorite color was.”

“I’ll take a wild shot in the dark … Pink?”

“Nope, green.”

“And this is what you got?”

“Yep. Anytime something is added or replaced, it’s the same damn color.” She walks into the middle of the large room and slowly spins, her arms outstretched. “This entire room is a monument to how much control I have over my whole life.” She drops her arms. “I am so out of here when I graduate next year.”

“Where you going?”

“Don’t know, don’t care, away is all that matters.”

“How’s your dad gonna feel about that?”

She smiles. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

Man, it’s worse than I thought.

“Well, that’s more than a year from now, who knows, things might get better.”

“After nine years of the same crap, you don’t hold out much hope for the tenth year. My father never changes his mind.”

“And yet, here I am, standing in front of you. He changed his mind about me.”

She strolls over and sits on her enormous pink canopied bed, with the pink pillows and pink coverlet with the pink ruffles. “One miracle just shows how hopeless everything else is. I’m glad he did change his mind though, so glad. I had them put you in my room. There’s lots of others, bedrooms I mean, but I wanted to share with you … if that’s, you know, okay? If not, you can …”

“It’s fine, Gretch. You could put a whole Girl Scout troop in here.”

“Were you a Girl Scout?”

“For awhile. I never could get into the whole thing.”

“I wanted to, but Father said no, toooo risky. Everything is toooo risky, shopping at the Mall, going out to movies, eating at a restaurant, dating … everything.”

He really has her locked up here. Apparently, the guards are around as much to keep her in as to keep people like me out. I drop my bag on the floor and unzip it.

“How formal is dinner? I didn’t bring a whole lot of stuff and if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that you and I aren’t the same size.”

“A nice skirt and top will be okay. Besides, you’ve got more fashion sense than I do. You should see the clothes I’ve got to chose from.”

She hops off the bed and walks over to a large double door, opening it. It’s not a walk in closet, more like a drive in closet. Row upon row of hanging clothes, an entire wall of shelves. Built in shoe rack that looks like it could hold at least a hundred pairs. The whole thing is bigger than my bedroom at home.

“Where’d all this stuff come from?”

“Bought by different nannies over the years. Gifts from Father. I can’t even fit into three quarters of the stuff, it’s that old. The rest is … ugly. Sometimes, I’d rather wear those stupid school uniforms … not the one you fixed, that one’s great … I mean, I like wearing it, it’s not stupid …”

“It’s okay, I understand what you mean. After we eat, you can show me around the place, then we can come back here and we can go through your closet.”

She clasps her hands together, drawing her elbows tight against her body. “Really?! I was so hoping we could do that! You can show me what I’ve got that’ll work, maybe find some stuff that can be fixed to be more fashionable, not that it matters, I’m never going to get to go anywhere anyway.”

“One step at a time Gretch.”

I take a pinstriped blouse and navy skirt out of my bag. I don’t need to change underwear, it’s white cotton and clean this morning. Reaching down to unfasten my jeans, I feel a little self conscious about undressing in front of Gretchen. It’s not like I haven’t done it before. There’s been lots of times at Phys Ed. This time, however, it’s just us, alone together, in a sickenly pink room with a bed the size of trampoline. In all the time since the transfer, I haven’t been undressed in front of just one person, except for Mom and Dr. Matthews. I think Gretchen notices my discomfort.

“Do you want to, like, change in the bathroom, cause it’s right over there and …”

“No, I’m fine, not a prob.” I quickly strip out of my jeans, kicking off my shoes as I do, then pull the polo over my head. Without pausing, I whip the blouse on, step into and pull the skirt up over my hips, button the blouse, tuck it into the waistband of the skirt and button it shut. I glance over at Gretchen as I hold onto one of the bed posts and step back into my shoes. She is watching me with wide open eyes and slowed breathing, mouth slightly open.

“How do I look?”

“Great! Wonderful! Perfect! Good enough to eat … with. You know, my Father. Eat with my Father … us, all of us. Eat together. Right?” She shrugs and grins. “I’m a little nervous. I’ve never had anybody over before and I’m not sure what I should say or do.”

I finish with my shoes. “You’ll be fine; it’s new for all of us. Let’s go downstairs.” I reach out and take her arm this time. She giggles brightly as we walk out the door and back down the hallway.

I count the rooms this time, comparing the number to the ones in the recorded plans. The numbers match up. I want to learn the layout of this place as soon as possible, I want it burned into my memory. I want to know it, the house and the grounds, so well that you could drop me blindfolded anywhere inside the walls and I could find my way out in ten minutes or less. We’ll start that process after dinner.

When we enter the dining room, no one else is there. The large oak table is set for three. I assume the big chair at the head of the table is for Mr. Hobbes. Ours are smaller chairs … still good sized, solid, but smaller. It’s still fifteen minutes to dinner time.

“Let’s go see the kitchen” I say. Opening a door on the back wall to the right of the big chair, “is it this way?”

“Yes, but we probably shouldn’t bother the cook right now, he’s likely very busy.”

“I’ll just stick my head in and introduce myself, real quick.” I scoot through the door and hustle down the short hallway, carefully pushing the next door open.

It’s a very big kitchen, looks like at least three standard ovens, probably electric, one convection oven, a warming oven, and a professional six burner gas stove top. The kitchen island appears to have a large dark marble top, perfect for pastries. There’s also an industrial standing mixer, double size refrigerator and possibly a walk in freezer. I could have a lot of fun with this place.

There’s just one guy working, dressed in the classic whites of a professional cook, and he’s moving fast, jumping from one pot to the next, stirring and blending, first with a wooden spoon, then a wire whisk. I don’t want to startle him, so I close the door a little too loudly, causing him to look up at me, a frown clearly on his face. I walk towards him.

“Sorry to bother you, I can see you’re busy, I just wanted to say hello.” I reach out with my right hand as soon as I’m close enough. “I’m Patricia Conner, a friend of Gretchen’s. I’m gonna be here a couple of days, just visiting, and I was wondering if I could talk with you after the meal? Just for a few minutes.” I leave my hand out there, waiting for him to take it. He doesn’t react at first, maybe he doesn’t speak English. I’m just about to start all over again in Spanish when he slowly wipes his large hand on a towel hanging from his waistband and engulfs mine with his, shaking it gently.

“I am Raul, the chef. Happy to meet you. What you doing back here in kitchen?”

“I just wanted to meet you and see this beautiful kitchen. It’s so well equipped. I’ve only got three working burners at home and the oven is tiny, it barely holds a twenty pound turkey.”

He keeps a grip on my hand. “So, you cook?”

“Yes, quite a lot, though not as much as you do … I think that pan is about to boil over.”

He releases my hand and hurries back to the stove, quickly stirring the boil down. He keeps stirring but looks back at me over his shoulder

“What you want of Raul?”

“I just wanted to talk with you after supper was done, I have a favor to ask. Is it okay if I come back later?”

He smiles at me. “Sure, you come back, we talk.” He returns to his work and I walk back to the dining room. Gretchen is waiting by the door.

“What was that about?”

“Just meeting people. If I’m going to be here, I might as well meet everybody so they know who I am and I know who they are. You never know when you might need to call for help. Raul seems nice.”

“Raul?”

“The chef. You don’t know him?”

“Why should I? He just works here.”

We’ve got a lot of work to do, Gretchen … a lot of work.

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

When I enter the dining room, both girls are waiting for me. Usually I need to have Gretchen called several times before she shows up. Apparently, Conner is already having a good influence on her behavior. I walk around to my chair at the head of the table. I bow my head slightly towards them.

“Good evening, ladies. I’m pleased to see you both here …” I glance at Gretchen “… and on time.” I settle down into my chair. “So, what do you two plan to do your first night?”

“We’re going to go through Gretchen’s closet and get rid of everything that’s too small or out of style,” said Conner.

“That sounds like it may eventually be expensive for me.”

“Not necessarily. Stuff that’s still good can be altered. I may be able fix a lot of her clothes so that they either fit better or are back in style. Either way, she’ll pick up a lot of space in her closets. And Goodwill can take the stuff we get rid of and make some money. Everybody comes out ahead.”

“How long will this take?”

“Depends on how much is salvageable.”

“You make it sound as if Gretchen is the victim of a natural disaster, a flood or hurricane.”

They both look at each other for a moment before Conner speaks. “Whoever was buying her clothes didn’t have a lot of … experience shopping for a teenager. Besides, styles change so fast, it’s hard to keep current.”

“How do you do it, Patricia?”

“I don’t, I can’t afford to. I pretty much ignore little changes and only worry about big changes, short skirts to long skirts, that kind of thing. Other than that, I just wear what I think looks good on me.”

“Why can’t Gretchen do the same?”

“She can, when I’m done with her. Right now, it’s a bit of a mess, fashion wise that is. Everything is clean and neat, that’s not her problem.”

“I should hope so, I pay enough for maids to keep this place clean.”

Just then, Janice entered with our meal. Raul had prepared a standing rib roast, with potatoes, gravy and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. She serves it and we all begin to eat. As usual, Gretchen seems to just be eating out of politeness but her friend is eating with vigor, tastefully but she eats as if she enjoys it.

“How do you like the meal, Patricia?”

“It’s all delicious! I’d gain fifty pounds if I ate like this every day. You seem to be in good shape Mr. Hobbes. Either you eat differently when you don’t have company or you exercise.”

“It is nice of you to notice Patricia. Some of the guards and I play basketball most afternoons after lunch. Perhaps you would like to watch?”

“I might, if we have the time.”

“Gretchen never comes out to watch, I believe that I embarrass her.”

“You don’t embarrass me, Father. I’m just not that into sports … that’s all. You know that.”

“You see, Patricia. Gretchen has never shared my passion for sports. They are a true test of a man’s spirit, his mastery of physical skills.”

“Sports … or competition?” she asks.

“They are one and the same” I answer.

“You can have competition in activities not recognized as physical sports. Take golf for example. It’s played by people you could hardly call physically fit. They ride around in carts and barely walk a half mile over an entire eighteen holes.

“The physical aspect of golf is your control over your own body and your concentration, you against the course.”

“Do you play golf?”

“I have tried an indoor version, using computers and a video screen but never played the real thing.”

“Why not, you sound like you would enjoy it.”

“There are … security concerns.”

“Even a private club?”

“It is out in the open and drone technology being so freely available …”

“But that could happen anywhere, even here.”

“We have taken the necessary precautions here.”

“I see.” She returns to her meal but only for a moment.
“There’s a couple of things I have to ask. I brought my computer and need internet access to work on my homework. I assume you don’t use Wi-Fi because of the … security issues. The guard said I needed to see a Mr. Tippett but I wanted your okay before I did anything.”

I approve of her attitude. “I appreciate your consideration in asking permission. You may have access to the same network Gretchen uses. It is separate from my business network but it does share the same … I believe they are called servers. Tippett will take care of the technical details. What else do you need?”

“Gretchen was going to show me around the house and grounds after supper. I wanted to know what areas are off limits.”

Again, very astute. Clearly a girl with a good head on her shoulders, one who anticipates potential problems. “There are only three areas that are off limits, as you say, they are my office, which is always locked if I am not in there, so that should not be a problem, the computer room in the basement, where Tippett works, and Enrique’s office, which is in the security building, near the heliport.”

“Have I met Mr. Enrique?”

“Not yet. He is out of town, but should be back soon. He is second in command and a valuable business associate.”

Gretchen frowns at this. She has never liked Enrique, not from the first. Neither has he ever expressed any particular fondness for her, though I don’t think Enrique likes children at all. He doesn’t say anything bad about Gretchen and he includes her safety in all security decisions, but I can tell that he would prefer not to deal with her. It will be interesting to see how he deals with Patricia Conner.

“How am I to contact Mr. Tippett if I can’t go to his office?”

A reasonable question. “I was only referring to you being alone and unsupervised in those areas. Obviously, you have already been in my office and can be there again, if I am present. The same for Tippett and the computer room.”

“And Mr. Enrique’s office?”

“Actually, his name is Enrique Cardoza. The security building is manned twenty four hours a day, so you would not be there unsupervised. I doubt Mr. Cardoza would have any reason to see you, anyway.”

“I noticed pictures in your office, Mr. Hobbes. A group of gauchos and a young kid. Was that you?”

“Oh yes! I spent many summers at my uncle’s ranch on the Argentine pampas. He and his men taught me many skills. An idyllic life for a young boy. They all said I was a natural horseman and I was quite skilled with a bola. Not as good as the old hands but I could hold my own. That’s my bola on the desk. I am surprised you recognized them as gauchos.”

“It’s the outfits, a dead giveaway. Do you still ride?”

“No … no I don’t. No time and there are those security concerns. I hadn’t thought about it for some time but, now that you bring it up … I do miss it.”

“It’s a shame. You could teach Gretchen how to ride.”

I could have. She would have looked marvelous on the back of a horse.

“True, Patricia, but some things are best left to the past.”

“I disagree. People ride at any age. If you’re good at it and enjoy it, there’s no reason to stop. You can certainly afford it. If you can’t do a thing you love, there’s got to be something wrong.”

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

Father seemed pleased with Patty. She was being extra nice and polite. I thought that she might get into an argument with him on the sports thing; he’s a real sports nut. Basketball, American football, soccer … don’t get me started on soccer. He had me in the back yard, kicking soccer balls around when I was five, six and seven.

I was hopeless. All gangly and uncoordinated. That’s why I hate sports. I couldn’t do what he wanted. Not that he’d let me play sports now if I wanted to. Toooo dangerous. Apparently, my mother was athletic, a skier, among other things. It was one of the things that attracted him. I’ve seen some pictures of them together in the snow, some kind of mountain retreat, before I was born.

There’s not a lot of snow skiing in Florida, which is good, cause I’d probably break both legs and an arm.

The maid is cleaning after dessert as Father stands up.

“Sorry to leave you ladies alone, but business calls.”

He’s being extra polite too, putting on a show for Patty. I can’t tell what she thinks about him.

“Come on Gretch, we’ve got work to do,” Patty hops out of her seat and heads for the kitchen, following the maid down the hallway behind that door.

“Hey … wait up!” I hurry to catch up but she’s already through the second door by the time I get close. When I open it, I see her wrapping an apron around her waist.

“What are you doing, Patty?”

She turns toward me as she finishes tying the apron. “Helping out, like any good guest would. I can certainly help with the dishes.”

“Don’t be crazy! That’s why we hire these people, it’s their job.”

“I know, but I can still help. I can do the dishes, right Raul?”

I look at the big guy Patty addressed her question to. He appears to be confused. At least I’m not alone.

“You want to help with cleaning?” he asks.

“Sure, why not?” she answers.

“Why not? You guest, that why not. Raul think he get in trouble with Mr. Hobbes if he let you do, that why not.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Raul understand, you nice girl, but Raul not want to take chance. Okay?”

“Okay, but the other reason I wanted to came back to see you was that I want to make something for breakfast, for everyone. Do the guards and workers eat here?”

“Most do, the ones who live here.”

“How many live here?”

“Ten, eleven counting me.”

“That’s easy then. I want to make cinnamon rolls for the whole group. It’s a refrigerator dough, so I can make it tonight, get up in the morning, roll ‘em out, let them rise and bake.”

“Raul has proofing oven, bake like snap.”

“Great! I’ve always wanted to try one of those. Do you have high gluten flour?”

“Oh yes, we have everything.”

“Anybody allergic to gluten?”

“Not that Raul knows.”

“Can I do it then?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, obviously thinking if it will get him in trouble with Father.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay … Raul. My father won’t mind” I say.

He smiles and shakes his head. “Okay, you make. Raul is here at 5:00 in morning.”

“We’ll be here” Patty says.

WE???!!

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

Gretchen’s a little upset. I did the dough for the rolls using the kitchens industrial mixer, which saved a whole lot of time, though I did the final kneading by hand. I had to talk Gretchen into helping but I think she was enjoying it at the end. She wasn’t enjoying the idea of getting up at 5:00 a.m. on a weekend.

“I thought you might like to help, learn something new.”

“I can learn in the afternoon. Saturday is for sleeping in.”

“That’s okay, I can do it myself. It’s only four dozen.”

“Four dozen? Why so many, why do it at all?”

“I’ll have to use three different flavors of icing, so I need enough to cover the demand … actually, I may need five dozen, some of those guys are likely big eaters. As for why, it’s a peace offering. I had to get pretty pushy before I was allowed in to see your father, and I was also a little pushy with him. This is my way of saying I’m sorry without having to actually apologize. If you help, you can get some of the credit.”

“I don’t need any credit.”

“Suit yourself. Let’s start looking at your clothes.”

“Finally! There’s a lot of stuff we can toss right away. It’s more than three years old and I’ve grown at least three inches since then.”

“You’re probably right, though some things might be saved, it’s likely not worth the time, unless you really love something.”

“The only things I like are the ones you did.”

“All right, lead the way.”

We go in to the enormous closet and start on the left and work our way around to the right, pulling clothes off the racks and shelves as we go. We start three piles in her bedroom, yes, no and maybe. Gretchen was right, a lot of this stuff isn’t close to fitting her anymore, though it’s in great shape, practically new.

“What did you wear back then?” I ask. “There’s no sign of wear or tear on any of this stuff. I beat my clothes to death before getting new stuff, unless there’s a good sale, naturally.”

“Mostly uniforms. There’s St. Ann’s now and St. Mary’s before that. Their uniforms were nicer though. Weekends are jeans and stuff. I’ve got swim suits for the pool. We need to use the pool sometime this weekend!”

“Focus, Gretchen. Who bought all this stuff?”

“Mostly nannies. Father would tell them to buy me clothes and they’d do it. I’d average a new nanny about every ten months or so. They’d eventually do something and get fired but I think Enrique set them up.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because Enrique runs this house. Father may make the decisions, but Enrique controls what he has to choose from. Somehow, he always gets his way. It may take awhile, but he always gets his way.”

If he runs the house, he may also run the business, or at least have a lot of pull in deciding what happens day in, day out. Why wasn’t his name mentioned in any of the briefing papers?

“How long has Enrique been around?”

“As long as I have. I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t here. Father may say no to something he wants, but Enrique eventually wheedles and worms his way around and he gets it. I think he wants to take over Father’s business someday.”

“Really?”

“That’s what I think.”

“Don’t you want to take it over?”

“GOD NO! I want nothing to do with it! Never!”

“Have you told him this?”

“No, he’s never asked, though, all the time he’s saying things like, ‘you’ll need to know this someday when I retire’ or ‘if you don’t get your grades up, you won’t ever be able to take over’.”

“You’re right, sounds like he’s got a plan for you.”

“We’ll, I’ve got my own plan.”

“You mentioned it. How do you plan to make a living?”

“I’ll get a job.”

“What kind of job?”

“I don’t know … just a job. How hard can it be? Everybody gets a job.”

“Yeah, eventually, but what kind of job? Fast food, grocery store, waitress, maid.”

“NO! I want a professional job, something in an office, with good money.”

“Good luck with that with only a high school diploma. You couldn’t even get a secretary job without additional training and forget about good money. If there were any factories around here, you might be able to make decent money with only a high school education.”

“It can’t be that bad out there.”

“It’s worse. You don’t know what a sweet deal you’ve got here.”

“It’s not a sweet deal, it’s a prison! You wouldn’t put up with it!”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. I’d change it. But I sure wouldn’t jump out of the plane without a parachute, which is what you’ve got in mind.”

“Well, I can’t change it, I’m stuck!”

“Don’t be so sure, change is slow. We can work on it. We’ve got time.” I hold up a cherry red wrap dress. “What do you think? Maybe?”

“I don’t know, what do you think?”

“I like it. Try it on, we might as well start seeing how stuff actually looks on you.”

She takes the dress from my hands. “Alright. Be right back.” She walks to her bathroom and closes the door.

I look around the room. We’ve made quit a mess. The no pile is a lot larger than the other two. I saw some stuff I’d love to have but there’s no way it would fit and it’d be too much work to make it fit, it’d be easier to start from scratch. At least Goodwill will be happy. They should get a pretty penny for most of it. I wonder if they’ve got some boxes around here. It’ll be a good excuse to check the place out.

“How’s this?”

Gretchen opens the door and walks out of the bathroom. The dress is too small, too short and skin tight. My God! She looks good enough to eat! Her breasts are not too big or too small, just right. Long, full legs, not stick thin but not overly muscled. She turns around, revealing her perfect bottom.

“I think it’s a bit snug. What do you think, Patty?”

“Uhhh … yeah, it looks tight. Let me see if I can do anything about it.”

I walk over and squat down behind her, then turn up the hem, looking for a seam. It takes a second or two for me to stop staring at her legs. The seam doesn’t have any extra fabric. I turn the hem back down.

“Sorry, there’s nothing I can do. It’s a shame to get rid of it though. Maybe you could just wear it around the house.”

When I’m here.

“No, it’s just not comfortable. What’s next?”

We start going through the maybe pile. Gretchen begins with going to the bathroom to change between outfits, but then she starts stripping out in her bedroom to speed things up. I try my best not to watch but it’s really difficult. It’s so different from the locker room at school. I don’t know if it’s the color, the pleasant smell versus mold or the privacy but it’s starting to get to me.

“Could we take a break Gretch?”

“Sure. You want something to eat? I can call the kitchen.”

“No thanks. No reason to bother Raul.”

“It’s no bother, that’s his job.”

“Uhhh, no, I’m fine. I’ll just get a drink of water from the bathroom.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be right back.”

When I walk through the bathroom door, I’m impressed. It’s just as pink as the bedroom but other than that, it’s really nice. Jet tub, separate shower, double sink vanity, lots of shelves stacked with pink towels of assorted sizes, makeup mirror. I run the water until it’s as cold as it’s going to get, then I splash my face several times. Bracing. I dry my face and walk back to the bedroom.

Gretchen’s standing there in her bra and panties. Guess I can’t get another splash of water.

“Let’s get back to work. What’s next?” asks Gretchen.

“There’s some jeans here”. I pick them up and toss them to her. She steps into them and pulls them up, squirming and twisting as they get closer to her waist. She finally manages to get them past her hips and zipped up.

“Okay?”

“Forget it. They make your ass look big.”

I’ve always wanted to tell a woman that and get away with it.

“I’ve got a big ass?”

“God no. You’ve got a perfect ass. I wish my ass was half as nice.”

“I’ve wanted breasts like yours ever since I saw them in the locker room. Boys really like girls with big breasts.”

“Boys like girls with breasts, period. Big, small or in-between. Yours fit your body just right. If you need to hide them, you can, if you want to show ‘em off, you can. I can’t hide these with a paint tarp.”

“Why would you hide them, they’re spectacular! I just want to reach out and grab a handful.”

We just stand there, looking at each other, the silence getting embarrassingly longer with each passing second. Finally, I break the tension.

“I think we’ve been at this long enough. You get dressed and show me around and we can look for boxes for the clothes at the same time.”

“Yeah, sounds good. When we get back, we can get some popcorn and watch a movie … or something.”

“Sounds like fun. I love popcorn.”

“Me too! It’s just the best!”

“I know! Particularly the kind you get at the movie theaters, with the so called butter. It’s sooo good.”

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Oooohh that’s right … sorry. We’ll just have to work on that too.” I reach out and grab her waist, pulling her closer so that our hips bump … well, not exactly, our hips don’t really line up. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here yet, just you wait and see.”

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

My knees almost buckled when Patty hugged my waist. I had started feeling strange when I was changing clothes in front of her, strange but good too, like it was kinda fun and thrilling. I began to look for the sexiest things I could find to try on. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a whole lot of stuff I’d call sexy. It was mostly bought by a long line of interchangeable nannies who where interested in keeping their jobs so they tried to make Father happy, not me, hence the lack of sexy.

I grabbed a shirt and cargo shorts that I KNOW doesn’t make my butt look big and hurry to the bathroom to change. I need a few seconds to … settle down. Running cold water in the sink, I moisten a wash cloth and pat my face and chest as I take deep breaths. It doesn’t take too long before I’m feeling better, calmer. There’s been other times when my heart was pounding while I was around Patricia, but it’s never been as bad as this … or as good.

Our first stop is down in the basement at the computer center. It’s locked, as usual, but there’s an intercom mounted on the wall next to the door. I push the call button.

“Yes?” it squawks.

“It’s Gretchen Hobbes.”

“You got an internet problem again?”

“No. My father sent us down here. We need you to look at a laptop.”

“Just a sec.”

We’re standing there for almost a minute before there’s a buzz and a loud clunk as the bolts in the door shift. I open the door and shiver as the cold air comes spilling out. This is always the coldest room in the house, something about needing to keep the electronics cool. We step in. The room is brightly lit, with a number of girly posters on the walls, the tech guy, I think his name is Tippett, is kind of a letch. I forgot to warn Patricia. She doesn’t seem shocked. His back is to us, working on something on his table. He starts to swivel around in his chair to face us.

“What can I do for … you … ladies?”

He’s staring blatantly at Patty’s boobs. I’ve seen her naked at school and she’s at least as good looking as any of the girls in his posters. He’s over weight, short, hair a mess with candy wrappers on the floor around his chair. She holds her laptop out in front of her.

“Mr. Hobbes wants you to set this up so I can access the same network Gretchen uses.”

He manages to move his eyes up to her face. “And you are?”

“Patricia Conner, a friend of Gretchen’s.”

He gets a big, smarmy grin on his face. “Well, Patricia, you’re the first friend of Gretchen’s I’ve ever met.”

I hope it’s the last.

“Look, we just need you to do your technical voodoo and then we’ll leave” I say.

He reaches out with his right hand. “Gimmee.”

Patty hands it to him. He spins back around, sets it on the plastic table and opens it.

“Nice boat anchor, kid. How long you had this?”

“A couple of years, I got it for free off Craig’s List” she said.

“I can see why. Windows 98?”

“It was ME but the hard drive was fried, so I put in a new drive, added some memory, tweaked the video card and loaded Linux. It took awhile to get all the drivers but it eventually worked.”

He spins back around, showing a bit more respect on his face. “What version?”

“Originally Red Hat 6.2, but I’ve upgraded since. I’ve topped out though, what with the hardware limitations, so some of the recent changes are my own.”

“You program Linux?”

“Just a little, enough to fool around but nothing serious.”

“You should just buy a new iPad and forget about this junk.”

“It does what I need it to do and it’s all I can afford. I’d make the changes myself, but you’d have to give me information that Mr. Hobbes wouldn’t want me to have.”

“Not for Gretchen’s network, nothing special there, other than the filters. It’s completely separate from the business network, runs on a completely separate server.” He points to a rack of equipment to his right. “See?”

I look, but have no idea what I’m seeing … but Patty seems interested. She walks over and looks around.

“Looks like an old Sun Microsystems, though there’s been a lot of changes. I see some IBM and Dell architecture. Pretty impressive, Mr. Tippett.”

Now he’s got a gleam in his piggy little eyes. “It’s a hobby, makes them harder to crack when they’re not NIB.”

“NIB?” I ask.

“New in box” whispered Patty. “Original equipment, unchanged, standard issue.”

“That’s right! Most hackers take the easy route; hit the known vulnerabilities of the commonly used programs and equipment. The more popular, the more it’s attacked. Customized stuff means extra work, so they just move on to an easier target. Even if the changes leave you more vulnerable, which mine DON’T, they won’t spend the time looking for another way in, just on to the next IP address and greener pastures. The REAL changes are in the business server over there.” He points to another rack of equipment. “NO ONE can beat that security system! Total automatic 256 bit encryption. Completely self contained. Auto destruct. Real time monitoring, the works!”

Patty walks over to the other rack and inspects it too.

“Does he really need his own servers?”

“Naw, it’s just a security thing.”

“I mean, documents, spread sheets, emails, they don’t take up much space on a hard drive.”

“Yep, but if you’ve got it all in one location, backed up out the wazzoo and secured twenty ways to Sunday, you’re safer than if it was scattered all over the place.”

“If every thing is here, seems like it would be a more inviting target.”

“By who, the cops? They’d never get one finger on it, trust me. Who’s next, the other drug guys? No ones getting in here without Hobbes permission, not unless they’ve got some plastic explosives. The electronic security is unbeatable.”

Patty walks over to his chair and leans back against the table next to him, her breasts right at his eye level.

“That’s a bold statement. Someone might take that as a challenge, Mr. Tippett.”

“Zeke … actually it’s Ezekiel, but my friends call me Zeke.”

“That seems to lack respect. You are an adult, after all.”

“People who know me wouldn’t agree with that. I’m just a big kid at heart.”

“But an adult everywhere else … Zeke.”

Is she coming on to him?! He’s the biggest slob here! He sits up straighter in his chair, leaning closer to her.

“You know, the best thing I could do for you is to ‘accidentally’ drop this antique so Hobbes would have to buy you a new one.”

“No thanks. I like it just the way it is.”

“I’m gonna have to keep it overnight. It’ll take me longer to do what you want, since you apparently have your own private version of Linux.”

“That’s okay, I wasn’t planning on working tonight anyway. We’ve got other plans, right Gretchen?”

Now he’s staring at me with that look in his eye. “Yeah, sure Patty. Can we hurry up here?”

“What’s the rush? I don’t get many visitors down here” he says.

I wonder why. Patty moves away from the table, his eyes following her the whole way.

“She’s right, we’ve got a lot to get done. Do you have any large empty boxes around?”

“How big?”

“Copy paper or bigger.”

“Sorry, no can do. I may have to back this up before making any changes, just to be safe. You don’t have any pictures or stuff you wouldn’t want me to see, do you? Something you may have sent to your boyfriend?”

He’s practically drooling. Uuuggghhh!

“She’s not that kind of girl! Besides, she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“No boyfriend, what a shame, what a shame.”

That may have been a mistake. Patty steps up next to me, taking my hand.

“When you’ve got a friend like Gretchen, who needs a boyfriend? Thanks for your help.”

Patty pushed the exit button and we walked out the door. Tippett looked like he had swallowed his tongue, his eyes bugged out and gasping for air. The door swung shut behind us and the locks loudly engage. Patty jerked her head to the left and we hurried away, pulling up about fifty feet away. Patty immediately began to uncontrollably giggle and laugh.

“I think I had him going there.”

“You had ME going there. What was all that about? When did you become a computer geek?”

“I’m not a real geek; I’ve just been reading up. It’s interesting.”

“To you, maybe. What was all that about?”

“What?”

“That standing next to him, and talking like that.”

“Talking like how?”

“All … suggestive and stuff.”

“I NEVER! He’s got to be at least ten years older than me!”

“And fat!”

“Well, he’s not that fat. I was just being nice, that’s all.”

“He’s not nice! Did you see those disgusting posters?”

“I thought they were good looking women, a little under dressed, but good looking. Nothing compared to you, of course.”

I think I’m blushing, my face certainly feels warm. “That’s not the point. He’s just … gross, that’s all.”

“Fine, he’s gross, but harmless. Besides, I don’t want him to wreck my computer.”

“Uhhh Patty … you don’t have any, you know … stuff on your computer like he asked about, do you?”

“GRETCHEN! I’m surprised at you! Of course I do.”

“WHAT?!”

She holds up her right hand but grabs my arm with the other. “Kidding … kidding. There’s nothing on there I wouldn’t show my mother. Let’s go over to the security building and see if they have any boxes.”

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

They weren’t very happy to see me at the Security Building, but we did find three boxes that will work. I wasn’t able to get much of a tour of the place, thought I did get a good look at the main tech room, where all the monitors are. There are five on at one time, with switching cameras on each, it looks like at least four cameras per monitor, which is more than one person can manage. There were two guys working that room when Gretchen and I showed up. They appeared to be handling both the cameras and the communication. There was a table of radios, each sitting in its own charger. I managed to get a good look at one. It looked like it was fairly short range but strong enough for the size of the compound. It also appeared to be encrypted, though I’m not sure. When I get home, I’ll check the manufacturer’s website. There was another room off the main one, which appeared to be the armory.

The Security Building also housed the guard’s quarters on the second floor. Some of the guys actually lived at the compound. Each one had a separate efficiency apartment. There was a bunk room for the guys who lived elsewhere but would stay overnight some times. The entire top floor of the three story building belonged to the mysterious Enrique Cardoza, who seems to be out of town, and had been for more than two weeks, which was apparently a lucky break for me.

The way the security guys talked about him, he might be the enforcer in the business, which may mean that Hobbes isn’t the psycho everyone thinks he is, he might be content to simply unleash a psycho when it’s what he needs. Or Enrique could simply be a bigger psycho. Either way, I’m not gonna find out today, everyone’s too suspicious of me. I’m going to work on that, starting tomorrow morning.

We continue on, walking the perimeter wall that encircles the compound, Gretchen pointing out where her old playhouse was, the remains of a tree house she once had, other detritus of her childhood while I look for more surveillance cameras and blind spots.

Detritus … what data base did that come from?

There’s a lot of cameras plus motion detectors and no obvious blind spots. Whoever installed this system wasn’t fooling around; the place is an electronic fortress. No one’s moving around out here without being discovered. We’re likely being watched right now. Better not linger, they may get suspicious.

“Gretch, unless there’s some place out here I’m supposed to avoid, I’m ready to go back inside.”

“No, we’ve seen most of it. We can go in the back way.”

She leads the way back to the house through a large decorative garden that was kinda like a maze of hedges and bushes. The garden is behind the house, which has an expansive second floor veranda. There’s a half court basketball court with a plastic playing surface off to the left. There’s even a small set of bleachers. Hobbes really likes his sports.

We climb the stairs to the veranda. Gretchen goes in but I pause a minute, looking around. It’s an impressive house, bigger than it looks on paper. The view from this level is lovely, the garden inside the wall, the ocean over the wall … a million dollar vista.

All the security features are well integrated. This is a house owned by a man who’s afraid of something, very afraid. It goes beyond security for the business. He’s already infiltrated the police, prosecutor’s office and the judges. No one is hitting this place without him knowing about it well in advance. Whatever he’s afraid of, it’s not the cops. I hurry in and catch up with Gretchen, slipping my left arm around her right.

“What movie we watching?”

“I don’t know … what do you want to see?”

“What you got?”

“Everything.”

She was wrong about that. They had an enormous collection of Blu-ray DVD’s, but nothing rated worse than PG. Nothing R and certainly no X. That still left a lot to choose from, including a lot of classics. Gretchen let me decide, so I picked “Casablanca”, which she had never seen before, she didn’t even know who Humphrey Bogart was!

Raul made a big batch of popcorn for us and we settled into the large comfy leather couch in the home theater located in the basement, the big bowl of popcorn between us, large glasses of Coke within reach. We barely get past the opening credits before she starts asking questions.

“Who’s the guy with the funny eyes?”

“Joel Cairo.”

“Is that his real name?”

“That’s the character’s name, the actor is Peter Lorre.”

“Is he famous?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Which one is Humphrey Bogart?”

“He hasn’t shown up yet, He plays Rick, the nightclub owner. I’ll point him out when he does.”

“Who’s that?”

“The pickpocket? I don’t know.”

“What does he want?”

I look over at her. “Is this how you normally watch a movie?”

“What do you mean?”

“Asking all these questions.”

“I thought you’d seen this before.”

“I have, a lot, but you just need to watch, let the story unfold.”

“But I don’t know what’s going on.”

“You’re not supposed to, not yet. Don’t worry, you’ll get it when the director wants you to.”

We watch in silence for a few more minutes but she can’t help it.”

“Why’d they kill that guy?”

“Gretchen!”

“I don’t see why they had to shoot him and why didn’t Rick help.”

“Because Rick sticks his neck out for no one.”

“Oh … he just said that.”

“That’s right. Any more questions?”

“No. … But why …”

I pick up the remote and hit pause. “Are we going to be doing this all night?”

She pulls her long legs up, wraps her arms around her knees and hugs them. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not used to watching with someone else.”

“You don’t watch movies with your dad?”

“Every now and then, but only ones he wants to see and we don’t talk at all.”

Sounds good to me. “Look, I could probably tell you what happens and why, scene by scene, but it would spoil the movie for you. I don’t mind talking or answering the occasional question, I’m just thinking of you. I don’t want your first viewing of “Casablanca” ruined.”

“That’s okay, I’m just glad I’ve got someone to watch with.”

Great. Now I feel all guilty and stuff. “Sorry, I forget about your situation sometimes.” I hit play and the movie starts again. “Go ahead, ask away.”

“Thanks, I’ll try to keep it under control … wait, is this the movie where someone says ‘play it again, Sam’?”

It’s gonna be a long night.

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

I’m annoying, I know it.

Patty started off being a little pissed at me early in the movie but things got better later on. She really knew a lot about it, even stuff that wasn’t in the movie, history and things about the actors. It turned out to be really good, even though it was in black and white. Patty says that there are others, “The African Queen” and “The Maltese Falcon” that I might like.

The movie was good, but sharing it with Patty was the fun part. No one watches with me. The nannies used to, some times, when I was younger. Father occasionally has something he wants me to see, usually a documentary or some program on PBS that he thinks is interesting. He’s not known for watching fun programs. His relaxation comes from watching sports. We’re lucky there wasn’t something on tonight so we got the big screen. Otherwise, we’d have had to use the set in my room, which is only 48” and has no surround sound.

It’s only a little after 11:00 p.m. when the movie ends. Patty wants to go to bed but I’d like to stay up longer.

“I’m getting up at 5:00 a.m., that’s just six hours from now. I need my beauty sleep” she said.

“But I had so many things planned. We could give each other makeovers!”

“We can save that for tomorrow night. It’s been a long day and I’m beat right into the ground.”

“I still don’t see why you need to make breakfast.”

“I don’t NEED to, I WANT to. It’s the polite thing to do, particularly when a lot of people here don’t like me.”

“Well, I like you and that’s all that matters.”

“I like you too, but that’s not all that matters. I’m not one of those people who think everybody has to like me. I’ve got enemies, I know it, I don’t lose any sleep over it. But here, now, I’ve got a chance to turn things around. If it costs me a little bit of sleep, I’m okay with that.”

“Don’t expect me to get up at that ungodly hour!”

“I don’t. I’ll be back here in less than two hours, two and a half at most, then we can sleep till noon, if you want.”

“We can’t, Father will expect us for breakfast at 9:00.”

“That’s cool. Not a problem.” She walks over to her bag and picks it up. “Were can I change into my night clothes?”

“Okay, we’ll go to bed now, but we stay up tomorrow night, right?”

“Sure thing.”

“You can use the bathroom.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right out.” She takes her bag, walks in and closes the door.

It’s not exactly what I was hoping for but there’s always tomorrow, and to be truthful, I’m a little tired myself. I quickly fold down the spread and sheets of the bed, then pull my nightshirt from under my pillow and go into my closet. I strip out of my clothes and take off my bra but leave my panties on. After giving my breasts a quick rub, I pull the nightshirt over my head and down past my hips. When I come back out to my bedroom, Patty’s standing by the bed.

Oh. My. God.

Wow … I … Wow.

She’s wearing this black, silky, baby doll nightie, barely low enough to reach her bottom. Her breasts are barely contained by the top, the nipples clearly visible. Her blonde hair is loose and fluffy, brushing her shoulders and down her back about five inches. She’s not skinny, like me, but there’s no fat either. She’s just totally fit. But, my GOD! Those breasts! I feel like a flat chested kid.

“You like the left or right side?” she asks.

“I … uuuhhh … don’t know. I’ve never slept with anyone before. I guess I kinda take the middle.”

“Me too. We’ll probably end up all piled on top of each other.”

“Is that … uhhh … so bad?”

“As long as I end up on top, you might crush little old me.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“Will you stop that! You’re perfect just as you are. I think you keep saying that just to hear me say you’re perfect. GAWD! Needy much?”

“I’m sorry, Patty.”

“Joking, kid. I’m joking.”

“Why do you call me kid? I’m older than you are.”

“I don’t know, guess we’re both still kids. You take the left, I’ll take the right, last one to the middle loses.”

“Okay, as long as you don’t wake me up when you go to the kitchen.”

“I’ll try, Gretch.”

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

After three marriages, and a few affairs before, during and after, I’ve seen just about everything a woman wears to bed. My favorite, by far, are feminine versions of men’s clothes.

Like Gretchen is wearing right now.

It’s an extra large, button front, men’s shirt, white with pink stripes, naturally. Big collar, slightly rolled up sleeves, hem just a few inches above her knees but a side slit showing some thigh, the top two buttons open, creating a gap just wide enough to see the tops of her magnificent breasts. She’s just so sexy and innocent … and that’s the problem.

She really is an innocent, inexperienced girl. I’m already taking advantage of her by using her to get into this house, to go after her father. I shouldn’t hurt her any worse than I already have. I also don’t want Hobbes coming after me for having a lesbian relationship with his only child. As luscious as Gretchen is, I can’t do anything about it.

We joke around a bit before getting into bed. I don’t see how I’m getting any sleep tonight, not with her being within arm’s reach. Each of us crawls into the bed on our respective sides and pull up the covers. The room has the AC set a little low, making the room just a touch chilly, exactly how I like it. It’s darn expensive to do that year round in Florida but Hobbes can afford it. The mattress is a little soft for my taste but I’m used to a single mattress on a ¾” sheet of plywood. The sheets are very soft, probably high count cotton. The cover is light but warm, goose down I’d bet, just about perfect for snuggling. I roll over onto my left side, pulling the sheet and blanket with me. There’s Gretchen, on her right side, looking right at me. We’re practically nose to nose.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“Uhhh … sure.”

She reaches up and touches a small panel on the wall above the headboard. The lights go out except a small one in the bathroom, which casts a light blue haze over a third of the room.

“G’night Patty.”

“Night Gretch.”

“Remember … don’t wake me when you get up at five.”

“It’s cool”

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

When I wake, it takes me a few seconds to remember where I am. I’m not used to having someone else’s hand on my right breast. Sometime during the night, Gretchen worked her hand inside the top of my nightie and copped a feel. Of course, my right hand is resting on her crotch. We’re both just a tumble of arms and legs in the middle of the bed. I must have won the race because she’s lying more on me than I’m lying on her. I look around until I find a clock. It’s 4:45. I’m right on time.

I don’t bother with an alarm clock at home, don’t need one. Whatever time system Matthews built into the Balancer acts like my own internal atomic clock. I just mentally set it and it wakes me up. It’s really great but Mom knows about it, so no “over sleeping” excuses.

Gretchen is lightly snoring. I’m as careful as can be as I slowly untangle myself. She snorts a couple of times as I pull my legs free but she curls back up in a fetal position, still sound asleep, when I finally work myself clear. Other than my breasts, I appear to be unmolested.

Creeping to the bathroom, I scoop up my bag, close the door and turn on a light. I quickly strip out of the nightie, slip on some clean panties and matching blue bra, throw a T-shirt on, pull on a pair of cargo pants and penny loafers, which I bought at Goodwill on half-price day … they were practically new!

Flipping off the light, I open the bathroom door and slowly reenter the bedroom, walk back to the bed and drop my nightie next to my pillow. If this works out, I should be back in a couple hours and get a bit more sleep before breakfast. Gretchen is still all curled up, clutching the blanket, snoring. It’s a quiet, girlish, high pitched snore, not like I used to do, according to all my wives and a few other bed partners.

That’s another thing, I don’t snore now, though I’d trade that for an end to these nightmares. Last night wasn’t that bad. In fact, it was the mildest one in some time. I can’t remember all the details but it was about some stakeout that went bad and an informant got wounded. All in all, it could have been worse. Hope I didn’t say anything in my sleep.

I scurry to the bedroom door, slowly open it and stick my head out, looking left and right. Nothing happening. I ease out and quietly close it behind me. Still nothing. I quickly walk to the stairs. I don’t want to do anything that makes me look suspicious. When I reach the stairs, I pause and look down below. It’s mostly dark, though moonlight does come in through the large front windows, providing enough light so that I can see where I’m going and that there doesn’t appear to be anyone else up.

I descend the stairs, staying close to the wall, looking around as I go. Still no activity. When I reach the bottom, I pause again to get my bearings, making sure that I can see the way to the dining room. I don’t get three steps away from the landing when it happens.

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

What … Where … uuughhh … what time is it? Where’s Patty? Ohh yeah, that kitchen thing. I really should go and help … it’s tooooo damn early! She’ll be fine.

I reach out towards her side of the bed and find her black baby doll nightie. It’s still warm. I bring it close to my face and take a breath, filing my head with her aroma. I hope she gets back soon.

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

He’s pushing me ahead of him, down the hall towards the kitchen, keeping a grip on my left shoulder with his right hand. I hadn’t seen this guy before, he must work the night shift. When we get to the kitchen door, he roughly pushes me up against it, turns the handle, then pushes me through the doorway.

“Hey Raul! This little bitch says she was coming to the kitchen to see you. That true?”

Raul’s standing next to a large, wooden top island he had moved near the ovens. My bread dough from yesterday is already out of the pans and in the middle of the island, which is lightly dusted with flour. He turns to look at the guard who’s still gripping my shoulder.

“You watch who you call that bad name. She a friend of Miss Gretchen.”

“I know who she is, they briefed us when the shift started. What I want to know is why the fuck she was sneaking around the main floor at five fucking o’clock in the morning.”

“She no sneaking around, she coming to kitchen to make special treat for breakfast, YOUR breakfast. You see this dough? She make that yesterday. Now she coming to bake it. If I was her, I say you no get any because you got dirty mouth.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell security about this?”

“Because this my kitchen and Raul decide what and who goes on in kitchen, nobody else.”

The guard lets go of my shoulder, pushing me lightly towards Raul. “Next time, just give us a heads up. Jackson just about shit his pants when the sensors picked up movement upstairs. He damn near freaked out when they read that someone was downstairs near Hobbes office. Lucky I didn’t pull a gun and shoot.”

“Yes, very lucky … for you. Miss Gretchen would be very upset. So would Raul. You not like it when Raul get angry.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just keep the bitch on a short leash if she’s gonna do anymore early morning roaming around, got it?” He points at me.

“Yes … sir, I got it. Sorry to cause so much trouble” I say with as little defiance as possible in my voice. I’d love to kick his ass, but that doesn’t help the operation … at least not for right now. We’ll see about later.

He glares back at us, me first, then Raul. “Good. See that you do.” He than backed out of the kitchen and through the door we entered by.

“I’m sorry Mr. Raul. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble or anything.”

He smacks the dough with an open palm. “Raul not in any trouble. Been with Mr. Hobbes more than fifteen years. You not in any trouble either. Escaban is a jerk.”

“Is that his name?”

He nods his head. “Yes, Tony Escaban. He is Cardoza’s man.”

“Is that Enrique Cardoza? I haven’t met him yet.”

“You stay away from Cardoza, he’s a very bad man. Very bad.”

“I’d heard that Mr. Hobbes was a very bad man.”

He waves his hand for me to come closer, which I do. “You know what Mr. Hobbes does for business?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“Yes, I know.”

He looks me up and down for a few seconds, then continues. “Mr. Hobbes does some things that aren’t very good, his business not good either, but he’s not all bad. Done some nice things for some people. Mr. Cardoza … he all bad, all the time.”

“How do you know all this?” I whisper.

“This kitchen, people eat here, people talk here, Raul listens.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you do. You can tell me who to trust and who not to trust.”

He smiles at me. “You good girl. Come show me how you make these cinnamon rolls.”

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

I feel the bed and covers move. Rolling onto my back, I see Patricia getting back into bed.

“Mmmmm you’re quiet”, I say.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“That’s okay, I wasn’t asleep.”

“The snoring says you were.”

“I don’t snore!”

“You do but it’s a cute snore.”

“How is a snore cute?”

“When it’s all high pitched and sssnnnkk aaahhhhh, sssnnnnkk aaahhhhh.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Trust me, I’ve heard much worse.”

“Really … when?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later. It’s only 7:35. I’d like to get some sleep before breakfast.”

“Can you fall asleep that quickly?”

“I can if you don’t before me and start snoring again.”

I punch her in the arm. Patty just giggles.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Gretchen and her friend were seated and waiting for me when I came down for breakfast. That’s two meals in a row. A record for her. The new girl may be a good influence.

“I’m impressed Gretchen. Usually it takes quite a lot to pry you out of bed on Saturday mornings.”

“Very funny Father. I’m not that bad.”

“Yes, you are. Perhaps you are trying to make a good impression on your new friend.”

“She’s not a new friend … she’s just never been here before.”

“Regardless, I approve.”

Just then, the maid enters with breakfast. I had ordered eggs and French toast last night and that is what was served but there was also a large covered plate of something else.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Raul said that it’s a treat, Mr. Hobbes” answered the maid. I think her name is Rebecca.

“A treat?” I reach out and grasp the handle of the lid. “Let’s see what this treat is.” I lift the cover, revealing a stack of large, iced rolls, warm and smelling of cinnamon. The icing is an assortment of chocolate, vanilla and possible caramel. There must be about two dozen of them. I take a chocolate one from the plate and bring it close to my nose, inhaling the aroma.

“It certainly smells wonderful.”

I take a bite. It is sweet and strongly flavored of cinnamon but not excessively so. The chocolate icing is dark and strong, but not at all bitter, creamy, melting in my mouth. The roll itself is light but not too soft, it’s texture providing just the right amount of resistance. The entire experience is quite sublime, a sweet roll for adult tastes, surprisingly sophisticated.

“EXTRAORDINARY! Gretchen, you must try one of these!”

“Are they good?”

“Oh my yes! They aren’t too sweet, so you may not appreciate its subtleties.”

She grimaces at me but still picks up a roll and takes a bit.

“UUUUMMMMMmmmmm, Patty! These are great! You really …”

Patricia took a caramel roll from the plate. “Thanks, I will.” She also took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, nodding her head. “Not bad. The texture’s a little coarse but not bad.”

“NOT BAD?! These are possibly the best that I have ever had! My mother used to make something similar but these are better. Rebecca, please have Raul come in.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She hurried back to the kitchen while I finished the roll in my hand and started second. Raul arrived in a few minutes.

“What can Raul do for Mr. Hobbes?”

“You can tell me why we have never had these amazing rolls in the past.”

“Raul didn’t make those.”

“What? I thought my instructions were that everything I ate was to be made in your kitchen. Have you been buying pre-made products?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No Mr. Hobbes. The rolls made in my kitchen … Raul just didn’t make them.”

“Well, who did?”

“Miss Conner did. She’s a very good cook, showed Raul a trick or two.”

I look over at Patricia, who has a sly smile on her face. “Really? You made these?”

“Yes Mr. Hobbes, I did.”

“Why did you make these for us?”

“She made them for everybody”, said Raul.

“The whole staff? That would have been …”

“A lot. And there aren’t any left,” he said.

“I can see why that would happen. Why did you do all this, Patricia?” I asked.

“I kinda pushed pretty hard to get in here and I know I upset some people. I thought that this could be a way to apologize.”

“Are you saying you were wrong to do what you did?”

“No, I did the right thing.”

“Then why apologize?”

“It’d help smooth over any hard feelings. Plus, you know the old saying.”

“What’s that?”

“The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” She shrugged. “It should also work in this case.”

“Very smart, you’re probably right. I’m already feeling better about the whole episode myself.”

Ms. Conner is an interesting girl.

“So … what do you girls have planned for today?”

“The first thing is to pick up my lap top from your tech guy. Gretchen and I have some French homework that needs to be done and we might as well get to it now.”

“AAAWWW Patty! We don’t have to do that now do we? That’s not going to take more than an hour or two. It can wait until Sunday night.”

“Sure, but why wait? Do it now and it won’t be hanging over our heads.”

“Fine. But let’s do it out by the pool.”

“Doesn’t matter to me where we do it, just as long as it gets done in time so we can watch the lunch time basketball.”

Gretchen rolls her eyes at that. She rarely bothers to come back to the court to watch our games.

“Do you enjoy basketball, Patricia?” I ask.

“Oh yeah, it’s great … though I prefer the college games. The pros seem to take it easy for three quarters then get serious in the end. I can’t stand it when some team gets up by twenty points and then lets the other guys come back. You should never give up a twenty point lead! Am I right?”

“It might depend on how good the teams are.”

“If you’re a professional, you should be good enough to hang on to a big lead. You just have to work hard. There’s just too much goofing off in the pros for my taste.”

An opinionated girl. “Perhaps you are right, Patricia. Do you play yourself?”

“Not now, though I did in grade school … before my dad died. I don’t really have the spare time anymore. There’s always so much to get done. To be honest, this weekend is a bit of a vacation for me. I feel a little guilty about leaving everything for my mom to do until Sunday night.”

“I’m sure she can handle things at home without you, at least for a few days.”

“Oh, she can. She just shouldn’t have to. It’s OUR home, I can do my share of the work.”

A responsible girl too. “I’m certain she appreciates all you do. I have always thought that a young girl’s primary responsibility was to get good grades. I understand that you do quite well at school. Am I correct about that?”

She lowers her head slightly and looks up at me through furrowed eyebrows, apparently considering her answer. “Yeah, I get good grades, but you knew that already.”

Obviously, I’ve raised a sore point. “I prefer to get to know someone directly. Written reports only go so far.”

“What written report?” asked Gretchen.

Patricia and I looked at each other for a moment, then she spoke up.

“Your Dad had me checked out.”

Gretchen was shocked. “FATHER! You didn’t! How could you …”

I raised my hand. “Gretchen, I only did what was necessary to make sure that …”

“I can’t believe that you’d do that to my best friend! How can I ever trust you in the …”

Patricia reached out and touched Gretchen on the arm, who stopped berating me. “It’s okay Gretch, I knew about it. Considering all the circumstances, I didn’t mind it. In fact, I’m glad your Dad did it,” She fixed her bright blue eyes on mine. “It made things easier for me … though we probably don’t want to mention it in the future.” She continued to intently stare at me. I dipped my head slightly. We have an understanding.

“Agreed, a wise suggestion. So what are your favorite subjects?”

“I don’t really have any favorites. They can all be interesting at times and a little boring at other times. I try to do some independent study to help when things get boring.”

“Really! What kind of independent study?”

“Right now … philosophy.”

I’m impressed! An enormously engrossing subject. It was my minor when I was in college. My Father insisted that I major in a more profitable subject, something I could make a living at once I graduated. My life might have been considerably different if he hadn’t done that. Who can say which would have been better.

“Philosophy is an avocation of mine. Who do you find most compelling?”

“Well … I realize that some people might say that he’s not a true philosopher, more of a political theorist but … Machiavelli.”

That is truly surprising. I was expecting someone more idealistic. They seem to be the favorites of young girls or young women, at least they were when I as in school. But Machiavelli! Such hard edged realism! Perhaps she is being influenced by her difficult life after the death of her father.

“I would not have expected Machiavelli. He is not traditionally a favorite of young gir … women.”

“I like to believe that I can think for myself. I don’t ignore what other people have to say, I’m only sixteen after all, but I can make my own decisions and logically defend them.”

“I can certainly see that. Unfortunately, I have several things that must be done today before lunch, no rest for the wicked after all, but I would very much like to discuss this later, Patricia.”

“Looking forward to it, Mr. Hobbes.”

An extremely interesting young woman.

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

Gretchen and I are headed Tippett’s room in the basement to pick up my computer. As I reach up to press the buzzer by the door, she grabs my wrist.

“What was all that stuff about basketball. We aren’t actually going out there and watch, are we?”

“Why not?”

“Cause it’s sooooo boring! It’s two on two, if you score you keep the ball. Father always partners with Riley, who’s the tallest guy out there. They ALWAYS win.”

“Nobody else is any good?”

“Sidney’s decent but he’s a gunner, so none of the other guys want to play with him. Besides, I think they’re all afraid to win.”

“Don’t want to beat the boss?”

“Yeah. They play harder against each other.”

“And your Dad doesn’t notice?”

“Can’t say. It’s not like we talk about it or anything. He thinks he’s the best thing since Michael Jordan.”

I push the buzzer. “Really?”

“No. He’s not that crazy … but he does think he’s pretty good. They win more because of Riley than him.”

“Well, the reason we’re going is to earn some brownie points … for both of us.”

The electronic locks thump open and I pull the door. Nice design. By being a pull instead of a push, it’d be a lot harder for anybody to force the door open; you’d practically have to blow the hinges, assuming the electronically controlled bolts on all four sides weren’t engaged. No one is getting past this door without a heck of a lot of work. It’s like a bank vault. As I step in, Trippet spins around at his table.

“Ladies! What’s shakin’, bacon?”

Oh Gosh! What a creep! Gretchen actually cringes. I paste a smile on my face.

“Nothing much. I’m just here to get my laptop, if it’s ready.”

He spins back to his left and rolls his chair to another table, grunting slightly with the effort. “Got it right here, Babe.” Uuuhhhn. “You made a lot of interesting changes to that last kernel. You ever publish them?”

“No. Didn’t think anybody would have been interested, it’s old technology after all.”

“Speaking of which, didn’t you get a Sony laptop when you enrolled at St. Ann’s? I know Gretchen did because I worked on it.”

“Yeah, I did, but it’s got a filtering program installed and we can’t remove or disable it. I prefer my internet regular, not decaffeinated.”

“Well, Hobbes ordered me to do the same here, though the program’s on the server.”

I glance over at Gretchen. She looks surprised at this, though I don’t know why. I expected it. I hold out my hand. Tippett picks up my computer and hands it to me.

“Thanks. I expected something like that but it’s only while I’m here. Everywhere else, it’s the full meal deal. Unless you put something funny on my machine.”

“No way! It’s only been changed so you can access the home network, and only the home network. Don’t even try to access the business network … totally separate system.”

I sidle over to the business servers. “And it can’t be hacked?”

“Not a chance in hell, Babe.”

I ignore the “Babe” and squat down to look closer at the equipment. “Why are you so sure? You have some kind of advanced computer degree?”

He laughs “Hell no! I never got my undergraduate degree. Kicked out of M.I.T. Nope, my expertise is hard earned and practical. I’m one of the best hackers in the world!”

“So, to protect his chickens, Mr. Hobbes hired the wolf.”

He laughs again. “Something like that. There’s not a hack that I’m not wise to.”

“What about a Denial of Service attack?”

“Nobody can do anything about that but they’re not taking anything, it’s just a pain in the ass. Besides, there’s no website to attack.”

“What do you mean? There’s an IP address, isn’t there?”

“Sort of. There are actually several, different shell corporations around the world. Hobbes just uses the system to collect information and communicate. Encrypted data packets sent to different businesses under different names that get forwarded to here, the businesses and accounts keep constantly changing. It’s 256 bit encryption, the best that money can buy, better than the CIA or NSA has. The system could be blocked, if you had enough zombies, but the target keeps moving. It’s not like he’s Amazon or Facebook.”

“I see. What are all these tubes running through the servers? Are they water cooled?”

“They don’t get that stressed. The basic data’s pretty simple, text files mostly, a little video occasionally. The whole thing is over built, just to be on the safe side.”

“So, what are the tubes for?”

He rolls closer to me. “Acid.”

“Why would you use acid?! If it leaks …”

“Exactly! Someone tries to physically remove the data from the system, it’s an acid shower. Even if they could somehow beat the encryption, they’d never get the chance, the acid will eat through the hard drives at the flip of a switch.”

“What if there’s a malfunction? You’d lose everything.”

“There’s encrypted backups, every hour on the hour, but they’re on a separate self-destruct system, so it would take at least three separate malfunctions to get everything, it’s pretty remote.”

“Sounds like you’ve got all the bases covered.”

“Ain’t nobody better, Babe.”

I drop my laptop into its bag. “Gretchen and I have to get to work … out by the pool.” His eyes get real big and his mouth goes slack. A blind man could see what he’s thinking. “So, we’ll see you around.” I reach for the door.

“Wait a sec. Are you the one who built that surveillance camera?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Could I get a look at it?”

“Sure. Why do you want to?”

“Just curious. It caused a lot of grief around here.”

“Sorry about that. I can drop it by next week, assuming they let me come back.”

“Great. You’ve got my vote, Babe.”

Wonderful. I push the door open and we hurry out, closing it behind us. There’s the now familiar *clunk* as the security bolts reset.

“I may not know much about boys” says Gretchen, “but I know that he’s a world class jerk.”

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

The girls are sitting in loungers by the pool. Henry’s got the inside post today by the doors and I got the outside post near the hedge. It’s not that hot out, so I got the better spot. It’s supposed to just be the two of us on duty right now but there seems to be a lot more casual traffic than usual. A lot more radio chatter too. Both the traffic and chatter peaked when the girls took turns applying sun screen to each others backs. I have to admit that I paid more attention than usual; they both took their time and seemed to enjoy it. There was a lot of giggling. I’m married with two kids and I enjoyed it too. So did the seven other guards who just “happened” to be in the area.

When it was just Gretchen, no one else bothered to come by if she was at the pool. I mean, she’s a nice looking girl and all, particularly in that new school uniform. That was … damn! I guess when you see a kid every day, see em’ grow up, the changes sneak up on you and it takes a big change to get your attention. Now, it’s hard to think of her as a little girl anymore.

The new girl though, she was just dropped into our laps. She’s wearing a bright blue bikini, not one of those thong types though, thank God! With those tits and that ass, if she was wearing a thong, Henry and I’d have to have shotguns to keep some of these guys off her. We’re the old hands around here but some of the others are still young bucks. That’s why Hobbes gave us the job of watching over Gretchen, he figured we’re too old to take a shot at her and that she was too young. She’s not getting any younger but neither are we, so it’s still a safe bet. Plus, we both know what he’d do to us and our families if either of us was stupid enough to try something.

That’s not the case with the young guys. Sometimes, a young guy’s dick overrules his brain. Actually, it’s closer to fifty percent. Up to now, Gretchen wasn’t that tempting, but that’s changed. And now that friend of hers. We may have more trouble inside the walls than outside.

“What’s happening, Lou?”

It’s Tippett, the tech guy. Now I wonder what brought him out of his cave. “Hello, Tippett. What brings you out into the sun?”

“Oh, just needed to stretch my legs.”

“Hehe, yeah, right. Maybe you’re planning to stretch something else a little bit later.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

He steps forward a couple feet, stretching up to get a better view over the hedge. Patricia’s giving Gretchen a word in English and she’s replying in French. Her grades in French have really improved this year. I don’t think Tippett is interested in French.

“What ya’ looking at Tippett?”

“Same thing as you, Lou. Same thing as all these other guys. How’d you like that little bitch on a bed under you, her legs up on your shoulders, her big knockers bouncing around while you pound her …”

I reach out, grab him by the collar and pull him back to me, spinning him around so that we’re nose to nose. “Just so you know it, Tippett, I got a daughter, and I don’t like to hear the “B” word. As for Patricia Conner, she’s Gretchen’s friend and therefore as off limits as Gretchen is.”

“Who says, Hobbes?”

“I say. She may be a little obnoxious sometimes, but she’s an okay kid. Anybody who messes with her while she’s here answers to me … got it?”

“Trying to claim her for yourself?”

I grab his shirt near the neck and jerk him up off the ground. “Don’t piss me off you piece of shit! I’m old enough to be her damn father. You don’t want to fuck with me.” I let him go and he falls on his ass. I look up. Everyone’s staring at me, even the girls.

Great.

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

Lunch is light, soup and sandwiches along with salad and some fruit. Apparently Hobbes doesn’t want to be too full when he starts playing ball.

By the time Gretchen and I change into more casual clothes and get to the court, they’ve already started. It’s Jackson and Stark verses Gomez and Sidney. They’re going at it pretty hard. It’s a rough game. Any time you call your own fouls, things usually get physical. The only one of the four who’s a real player is Sidney, but Gretchen’s right, the man’s a chucker. Never seen a shot he didn’t take. He’s got decent form but shoots first chance he gets, missing more than half. Since it’s score and keep the ball, each basket’s worth one point, baskets from outside the three point line are worth two, play to twenty one and win by two, someone hitting less than fifty percent is a liability, particularly if he doesn’t give his teammate a chance to get in position for a rebound. The other three guys are just grunts … like how I played. Eventually, Jackson and Stark’s steady play wins out, twenty one to sixteen. Hobbes and Riley have winners.

While they shoot around to warm up, I look around the court. There are about two thirds of the guards here. There’s got to be a skeleton staff at the gate and the security center. If someone was going to try and break in, this might not be a bad time.

The game starts and it’s clear Gretchen is right again. Riley and Jackson are leaning on each other under the basket but Stark isn’t pressing Hobbes at all. He’s on him fairly tight but not like the first game. No one wants to foul the boss.

It’s shirts and skins, Hobbes and Riley are skins. Hobbes is in very good shape for a guy his age. Not a sculpted six-pack or anything like that, he hasn’t got time to work out hard enough to get and keep something like that. He’s just in condition, basically flat stomach, the very slightest roll around the belt line. The muscles in his back, arms and legs are well defined. His naturally dark skin is augmented by a healthy tan. All in all, not bad.

Riley, on the other hand, is a lean, lanky, blonde, blue eyed, semi-greek god type. 6’ 6”, maybe 235 to 240 lbs. Abs you could crack walnuts on. Surfer hair and movie star smile. When ever there’s a break in the action, he looks right over to the section of bleachers where Gretchen and I are sitting. Wish he wasn’t wearing such baggy shorts, then I could get a better look at his backside … and his front side.

As play continues, Gretchen nudges me, then whispers “I may not know much about boys, but I know that he’s a world class babe.”

“Who, your dad or Riley?”

“EEEEEWWWWWW! Riley, of course! Gawd! Don’t even think that!”

“He’s not bad for an old guy.”

“I don’t care! Never say anything like that ever again … PLEASE!”

“Sure. So … you got the hots for Riley?”

“Not the hots … not exactly. He’s just … a really nice looking …”

“Piece of sausage?”

“Yes … NO! What are you saying? I don’t know anything about his … sausage.”

“Want to find out?”

“NO!”

“A girl could spend her time on worse things.”

“Patty! What are you talking about?”

I nudge with my shoulder. “Just kidding Gretch. He does keep looking over here at you.”

“It’s not me … it’s you.”

Me? Really? “Let’s just say it’s us.” I cross my legs and clench, remembering what my largest vibrator felt like last week.

I need to get home and visit my mechanical boyfriends … soon.

Hobbes plays a decent game, moving well and sharing the ball. He and Riley would probably win a lot of games even if he wasn’t the boss. They beat Jackson and Stark, twenty one to fifteen and it wasn’t that close. They play two more games then drop out. Hobbes grabs a towel then comes over and sits next to Gretchen.

“So, you decided to come watch your old father play, eh?”

“Patty wanted to come, so I came with her, that’s all.”

“Then I have her to thank for dragging you here.” He nods his head towards me. “Thank you, Ms. Conner.”

I nod back. “You’re welcome, Mr. Hobbes. You and Riley aren’t bad. Do you ever mix up players, break up old teams?”

“Sometimes. Particular people work well together, some are still searching for the right partner. Mr. Riley and I work well together.”

Yeah, he’s almost four inches taller than the next guy. Who wouldn’t work well with him, maybe even Sidney. “You’ve got quite a setup, Mr. Hobbes. How long have you been playing ball here?”

“Since we bought the house. I don’t get many recreational opportunities off the grounds so this helps me keep in shape.”

“Oh, it shows.” He smiles and sits up a bit taller. “It’s a shame you don’t take your game to some other places. The downtown YWCA has a league for two on two. You’d fit right in.”

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid that security wouldn’t permit that.”

“That’s a shame. You always hear about how money gives people the freedom to do what they want. Seems it’s done the exact opposite for you.”

“I am not trapped here. I can go where I please. It just takes … preparation, that’s all.”

“Glad to hear it! Maybe at dinner, you can tell me of all the interesting places you’ve visited. I’ve never been outside of the U.S. It will be nice to hear from someone who’s a world traveler.”

“I don’t want to get your hopes up Patricia. I did most of my traveling as a young man, before I became the … business man I am today.”

“Then you can reminisce about happier times, right?”

“Certainly.”

The last game ends and everybody starts to pick up their equipment “Is that it?” I ask.

“Yes, we must all get back to work. I will see you ladies at dinner. Enjoy your afternoon.”

Everyone quickly leaves, heading in different directions. Gretchen and I remain sitting. I stare at the court, then stand, walk over to a small bin of balls, remove one and start dribbling around, testing the surface.

“What are you doing?” asks Gretchen.

“Just seeing what the court is like.”

I continue methodically dribbling around, back and forth, until I’ve covered most of the surface. There doesn’t appear to be any defects. I work out beyond the three point line, directly in front of the basket, stop and shoot. Nothing but net. I retrieve the ball and repeat the shot from the left baseline, then the right. Same results.

“You know, Gretchen. I think we could beat those guys, if we got a little practice.”

“Are you crazy!? I can’t play basketball.”

I toss the ball into the bin from thirty feet away. “Not yet you don’t, not yet.”

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

Patty’s slowly brushing my hair, starting at the top and going all the way to the end, stroke after stroke. It’s really relaxing. She’s been at it for at least five minutes and I feel like melting butter.

Father had ordered steak for supper and not just for us, steak for everybody. He must be in a good mood, because that’s pretty rare. He’s done it in the past on holidays and special days. I think Raul had to hustle a bit to get the grills set up but I saw a couple of the guards helping him, everybody pitches in when it’s steak.

Father and Patty spent the whole meal talking about philosophy. I really couldn’t follow much of what they were talking about but Patty seemed to be defending that Machiavelli guy, saying that morality could be a factor to consider when deciding what to do, because, in the long term, the morality of the king’s actions will affect how he is judged by his subjects and history. Father didn’t think morality should mean anything, according to Mr. Machiavelli, or at least how he read what he wrote. I’ve never read anything by him, so I don’t know who’s right, but they both sounded like they knew what they were talking about. Each of them kept bringing up historic stuff as examples of what they meant and then more historic stuff to show why the other one was wrong. I think Patty had more stuff on her side than Father … though I’m not the best judge about that.

What surprised me was that, even though they were arguing, neither one seemed to be mad at the other. Neither one ate much of their meals either, at least not until the end. After we finished, Patty and I went out to the stairs and she sat down at Mother’s piano. She and I used to sit together on the bench when I was little and I’d watch her play. Sometimes she’d let me help by pushing a key when she told me to. Those were some of my favorite times with her. I can’t remember anybody playing it since she died.

Patty flipped the cover up off the keys and began playing it, quietly and slowly at first but she started getting into it. I don’t know what she was playing, but it sounded like the kinda songs Mother used to play, classical music. She scooted over, making room on the bench for me to sit down next to her. When I did, it was both familiar and strange. I’m so much bigger now, the piano seems a lot smaller than it did back then. Patty’s not nearly as tall as Mother was so that’s different too, but the sound is the same as her fingers dance over the keys. The look on her face when she plays is the same as Mother’s, a combination of concentration and pleasure.

She had played a couple of songs and had her hands poised over the keys to start again when I looked up and saw some of the maids and guards standing in doorways, watching and listening. Raul was there too. They were all smiling. Patty started again and had been playing for a few seconds when Father came into the room. Everybody quietly scattered except Raul, who just stood there, nodding his head in time with the music. Father slowly approached the piano; I don’t think Patty saw him because her eyes were focused on the keys. He came around behind us and lightly rested his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently. I glanced up and thought I saw a tear in his eye. He blinked it away, a sad smile on his face, sighed and walked back out. I’m not sure if Patty was even aware that he had been there. She kept playing until the song ended. I told her that she was great but she just downplayed it all, like anybody could do it if they tried.

We were going to go upstairs when she saw Raul, she ran over to him and they huddled together for a couple of minutes, planning something. When they separated, Raul patted her back several times then smiled and slowly shook his head as she ran back to where I was waiting for her. She wouldn’t tell me what was up, said it was another surprise.

Once we got back to my bedroom, we started the makeovers I wanted to do last night. I started with her first. I sucked. Really sucked. Mega-sucked. Sucked to infinity. I couldn’t do anything with her hair, her make-up, nothing. I’ve only done my own and never did much with it. When I was done with her, Patty looked more like a rabid raccoon.

She was a good sport about it though, insisting I take a picture, saying that if she ever did have a real Facebook page, this was going to be first picture. She really is nuts.

After getting cleaned up, she started on me. The first thing was a shampoo, and now she was brushing my hair.

“Patty?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s this basketball stuff about?”

“Don’t you want to beat your dad?”

“Sure, but we can’t do that.”

“Oh, we can do it, no doubt. I’ve seen you in gym class. You’re a natural athlete, very graceful, very coordinated.”

‘No, I’m not! I couldn’t do anything when Father was trying to teach me soccer. I was horrible! I could barely stay on my feet.”

“That was years ago. Sometimes it takes awhile for a kid to get used to her body. You were likely in the middle of a growth spurt. Now that you’re done growing, you’ve had time to adapt. Remember a couple of weeks ago, when we were doing volleyball?”

“I remember. The ball hit me in the head.”

“Twice, but that was early. By the end of class, you were spiking the ball like you’d been doing it all your life. The girls on the other side were getting out of the way of the ball.”

“That’s just jumping and swinging your arm. There’s a lot more to basketball.”

“True, but two on two is pretty simple, or at least it is the way everyone here plays it. I bet you that we could be ready to take on your dad and Riley by next week if we practice during the lunch hour.”

“What if we do? Why does it matter?”

All this time, she had still been sitting behind me on the bed, brushing my hair, but now she stopped and sighed.

“Listen Gretchen, I’m gonna tell you something. I don’t want you to get mad about it or anything, just hear me out … okay?”

“Sure, what is it?”

She goes back to brushing my hair. “Your dad loves you, loves you a lot … but he doesn’t respect you.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t respect me?! Did he tell you that?!”

“Calm down. He didn’t tell me, not directly, but it shows in the way he treats you, in the way he thinks about you.”

“Huh?”

“He still thinks of you as a little girl, he doesn’t see you as a young adult.”

“How can he think of me as little, I’m almost as tall as he is!”

“I know, but that’s the way he sees you. You do fine at school but he expects that, and you did that when you actually were a little kid. You haven’t done anything since then to change his view of you.”

“How could I? He never gives me the chance to do anything other than go to school. I’m stuck here. That’s why I’m so outa here when I turn eighteen.”

“That may not be the right answer, but you’re correct, he hasn’t really given you a chance. Basketball is your chance.”

“But sports are stupid!”

“Some might be stupid, frankly, I never understood figure skating, but …”

“Figure skating is WONDERFUL! The outfits, the music, the dancing, and talk about graceful! They’re just beautiful, gliding along … “

“Yeah, yeah, beautiful, I get it. As far as I’m concerned, it isn’t a sport if you can’t win ugly.”

“What is ‘winning ugly’?”

“Okay, here’s an example. Years ago, the Minnesota Vikings had a quarterback named Joe Kapp. He threw some of the worse passes you ever saw. He was bow legged and ran like a crab, a slow crab.”

“So why did they let him play?”

“Because those ugly passes always seemed to go to open receivers. And if they weren’t open, the passes were in the perfect locations. Somehow, he succeeded despite looking terrible doing it.”

“Maybe he had really good teammates who covered for him.”

“Nope, he had some great players on his team, but so did other teams. Kapp was the leader and a winner. The Vikings won ugly, gave the Packers all kinds of trouble.”

“Fine, you can’t ‘win ugly’ in figure skating … but what about all the jumps and …”

“I don’t want to get into this debate right now, my point is that to earn your dad’s respect, you need to impress him doing something he thinks is important, or at least interesting. We can do that in basketball.”

“Okay, say that we do, how does that help me?”

“It helps because, if he respects you, he’s more likely to listen to you, to think what you say is important and to treat you like an adult, which means …”

“He might let me do more stuff on my own!”

“BINGO!”

“Huh, that’s not bad. What if we don’t win?”

“We will, but just being competitive should be enough.”

What have I got to lose? Things can’t get much worse around here.

“Alright, lets do it!”

“Good! We start Monday after lunch. Right now, I’ll show you how to fix your eyes so that nobody will think you’re a little girl.”

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

I’m busy helping with the weekly electronic bug scan Sunday morning when Gomez calls me over the radio.

“Lou, Hobbes wants to see you.”

I’m wearing the wireless VOX ear piece for my radio, so I just answer him. “What’s this about?”

“Didn’t say, he just asked for you to come to his office.”

“Henry and I are almost done with the main floor. Can’t this wait?”

“Stop stalling, Lou. He meant now.”

“Rodger.”

I look over at Henry, he heard the whole thing and looks sympathetic. “Can you finish this on your own?” I ask.

“I’ll wait. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“It’s never nothing when he asks to see one of us alone, you know that.”

“Hey, look on the bright side, Enrique’s not here. He always gets the dirty work, so it can’t be that bad.”

I hand him my scanner. “Always the optimist, aren’t you Henry.”

“I’ll be right here when you get back, Lou.”

I nod my head and start walking slowly towards Hobbes office, trying to think why he wants to see me. He doesn’t take a personal interest in the guards unless there’s a problem of some kind, and usually a big problem. Either that or it involves the basketball games, but I haven’t played in a few years, tore my Achilles chasing a rebound.

I still haven’t figured it out by the time I reach the office door. I check my watch before I knock, it’s 11:21. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I rap on the door with my knuckles.

“Come in, Lou.”

It’s unnerving when he calls you by name through a closed door. We all know about the video camera hidden in the door frame but it still freaks you out for a couple of seconds. I reach out with my right hand, grab the door knob, twist it to the right and push the door open. Stepping into the office, I close the door behind me and walk towards his desk, stopping ten feet in front of Hobbes, who’s working on his computer. I wait for a few seconds but he keeps typing. I keep waiting, if he didn’t jump on me right away, maybe it’s not that bad. I’m not going to interrupt whatever he’s doing. He stops typing, studying the screen a moment, then he looks up at me.

“Our United States inventory seems a little large right now.”

I don’t know what to say about that. He doesn’t usually discuss stuff like that with us, we’re just guards. He looks at me, so I better say something.

“Yes, Sir.” That should be safe.

“Do you know why that is, Lou?”

“Uhh … no, Sir.”

“It is because our production and transportation systems are currently more efficient than our sales.”

What the hell has this got to do with me? “Yes, Sir.”

“Enrique is dealing with the primary problem hurting our sales, which is why I’m talking with you right now. Normally, he would deal with problems like this.”

Fuck, there is a problem! “Yes, Sir.”

“I understand that you and Mr. Tippett had a confrontation yesterday. He is a very valuable employee, skilled in many areas that contribute to the efficiency of my business. I strive for efficiency, Lou. Do you understand?”

Shit! Why did I have to go and mess with that piece of crap? Bet he went straight to Hobbes, crying like a little girl. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

“Do you? It is much easier to replace a guard than my chief computer specialist. And you know how we replace people around here.”

I close my eyes and breathe slowly. Some of the past guards who quit went on to other jobs, some of them just disappeared. If Tippett gets me killed, I hope to God Henry does something about it. “Yes, Sir. I know what’s happened to some of the other guys.”

“You may think you know but people tend to believe speculation or rumors. I think that a warning should be adequate in your case. You’ve been a loyal employee over the years and done a very good job with my daughter. I have no desire to replace you … unless absolutely necessary. While there are things about Mr. Tippett that I find … disquieting, his benefits to me outweigh the negatives. Keep that in mind during your future dealings with him, understand?”

I try not to smile. Seems like I dodged a bullet this time. “Yes, Sir, I understand completely.”

“Good. I would like to know why you attacked him.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Mr. Tippett said it was unprovoked.”

The fucking little rat! “He was saying how much he’d like to ummmm … how can I say this … have relations with Gretchen’s little friend. He called her a bitch and I told him that I didn’t like that word and that the girl was off limits to him, just like Gretchen. I didn’t attack him, I just pulled him away from the hedges when he was laying on them trying to get a better look at the girls by the pool and picked him up by his collar when he used the ‘B’ word. That’s all.”

Hobbes leans back in his chair. “Are you certain that was all that happened?”

“Hand to God, Mr. Hobbes.”

He sat there for about half a minute, tapping his right index finger on his desk. “I will tell Mr. Tippett that he is to watch his language in the future and that Patricia Conner is to be treated as my daughter is treated. It will likely cause fewer problems in the long run if she is ‘off limits’ to all the guards and staff.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, Sir.”

“I’m sure you did, Lou, but I can not have my people brawling with each other. I have enough problems elsewhere to deal with. In the future, let Enrique deal with these issues.”

“Yes, Sir. When is he coming back?”

“He should be back by Wednesday.”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. Hobbes looks to his left at a small monitor built into his desk.

“What can I do for you, Gretchen?” he calls out.

“Patty and I have something special for you”, she answers from the other side of the door.

“Really? Come in.”

The door opens and the girls come in, Gretchen carrying a tray with a cloth over it. The cloth may cover the view but not the delicious smell. She whips the cover off with her left hand. “Fresh from the oven!”

It’s a big pile of cookies, which she sets on the desk in front of Hobbes. He slides forward and takes an exaggerated sniff.

“What a wonderful smell! What kind are they?”

“Patty calls them Turtle Cookies. They’ve got chocolate chips, caramel, and pecans.”

“Actually, toasted pecans, it makes a difference” added Conner. “The other ones are Snickerdoodles, just in case someone has a nut allergy.”

“You do think of everything, Patricia” said Hobbes. He reached out, carefully picked up one of the chocolate ones, inspected it by turning it in his hand and then finally took a bite. He chewed slowly, savoring the taste. You’d think it was a wine tasting. “Marvelous! Truly marvelous! Where do you come up with these delicacies?”

“Gretchen helped this time, Mr. Hobbes. It’s not a difficult recipe but I think toasting the pecans before adding them brings out their unique flavor.”

He pushes the plate towards me. “Have one, Lou.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hobbes.” I search for a big one and take a bite. Man! That’s good! Both crunchy and chewy. Conner is standing at the front of the desk, staring at the large picture of Hobbes’ dead wife.

“Did you leave the recipe with Raul?” asks Hobbes.

“Uh huh,” she distractedly answers.

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

Whatever is on Hobbes’ monitor is reflected in the glass of the picture behind his desk. I can’t read it because it’s backwards but it looks like a spread sheet of some kind. If I can just study it for a few seconds, I should be able to remember the image and, if lucky, copy it. I got to be cool about it though, keep him talking so he’s not aware.

“Raul shouldn’t have any problem following it.”

“You should watch being so open with your recipes, Patricia. If you give away all your secrets, you will have nothing to bargain with.”

I should look at him but I can’t risk losing the chance to memorize this image. “If I run out, I can always create more.”

“Ahhhh, the optimistic view of youth! You think of creativity as an endless fountain instead of the limited resource that it is. When I was young, new inspirations were constantly popping into my mind. Now I feel as hidebound as a fossil. Is there something wrong with my photo?”

Shoot! He’s caught me! I just need a few more seconds. Remembering something you recognize is one thing, memorizing gibberish is much harder. “No, nothing wrong. It’s very impressive. Did you take it?”

“Yes, I did.” He turns around to face it. “Back in my younger, artistic days. Do you recognize the style?”

Nuts! Now I have to actually think instead of tossing platitudes. “Uuuuhhh, let me think.” I lean over the desk to get a closer look at the reflected image. It’s definitely a spread sheet. Just a bit longer.

“Perhaps this will help.” Hobbes reaches for the switch at the base of the monitor, preparing to turn it off.

NOT YET! “Avedon!” I shout a little too loudly. His hand hovers over the switch a second, as I hold my breath, concentrating as hard as I can on the image.

“Exactly! Very good Patricia!” He pushes the button and the image disappears. I close my eyes, quickly reviewing what I had seen.

I got it!

I slowly open my eyes, barely restraining the overwhelming urge to smile. “Why Richard Avedon, Mr. Hobbes?”

He turns to face me. “If you’re going to steal, steal from the best.”

“Don’t artists refer to that as inspiration?”

“Inspiration, theft, sampling, homage … it’s all the same thing. Taking the work of those that came before you.”

“And improving on it.”

“Possibly. It depends on your point of view.”

I pick up one of the cookies from the platter. “I didn’t create this from scratch. It’s a combination of five recipes from other people, who likely made changes to recipes from a bunch of other people to come up with theirs, who all did the same thing going back to the original Toll House Cookie recipe, which some people dispute anyway.” I take a bite, chew slowly, then swallow. “However it came to be, you can’t argue with the results.”

Hobbes takes another cookie from the platter and winks at me. “On that, we can agree, Patricia.”

Severance Pay (Chapters 31 through 36 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Caution:

CAUTION: Rape / Sexual Assault

Audience Rating:

EXPLICIT CONTENT

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Patricia's discovery stresses the relationships among the team. Themes and Elements listed apply to entire story, Rating to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for their editorial assistance.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

We went back to Gretchen’s room after delivering the cookies all around the compound, even the Security Center. When I was a cop, I maintained that a person could get into any special event if they carried a bag of ice on their shoulder. If you carried two, they’d open the doors for you. If you wanted to get into an office building, a hard hat and clipboard would usually do the trick. Those scams have nothing over two cute girls and a bunch of hot cookies.

Or maybe that’s two hot girls and a bunch of cute cookies. Guess it depends on your audience.

Either way, I got a second look at everything I saw before and managed to pick up some things I missed the first time, like multiple emergency back up generators. The more I see, the more impossible the job seems. There’s just no way to sneak around this place without being observed. Even if I could, everything is completely locked down.

We’re sitting together on Gretchen’s bed, looking through some “Style” magazines I’d brought with me. I’m not actually reading anything, I’m mentally reviewing that image, making sure I don’t forget part of it. I can’t afford to write anything down now, I’ll have to wait until I get home … which needs to be sooner than later, but I can’t just bolt.

“Patty … are you okay?” asks Gretchen.

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, you haven’t said much in awhile.”

“I’ve just been thinking about all the stuff I’ve got to get done at home before school on Monday. I probably should split pretty soon.”

“You’re not bored are you?”

“No, are you?”

She puts down her magazine and takes my hands in hers. “I’ve never had a better weekend in my life.”

“Come on Gretch, we just hung out, did a little baking, nothing special.”

“It may not seem special to you, but it was to me. Other girls may get to do stuff like this all the time, but I don’t. I’ve dreamed about having a friend come over … and it finally happened. It’s been everything I hoped it would be.”

“Jeez Gretch, pressure much? We’ll get more chances, don’t worry. I think it all went well. Your dad didn’t seem to have any problems with me being here.”

“I think he actually enjoyed it, which really surprised me.”

“What, I’m not likable?”

“NO! I mean yes, you’re likable … you’re very likeable … maybe even … lovable?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.” She lets go of my hands and then hugs me, her elbows pressing into the sides of my chest, her arms running up my back, hands on my shoulder blades, pulling me into her chest, hanging on to me as if she was afraid I was about to disappear. I think she may be crying.

I return her hug but not nearly as intensely, patting her back. “Hey … hey … Gretchen … it’s okay … it’s okay. We had a lot of fun. I had a lot of fun. We’ll have more fun next weekend when we kick ass on the basketball court, right?”

She sighs deeply. “Yeah, we will.”

I gently pull away from her hug. “Good. Now, I really need to book. Mom’s got to review my homework and I’ve got to get supper started.”

She reluctantly lets go, then rubs the tears from her eyes. “How do you find the time to do all the stuff you do? I never seem to have time to get my schoolwork done and I don’t have to do a tenth you do.”

I slide off the bed and scoop up my bag. “It’s just what I’m used to doing. All in the scheduling. When you get to come to my house, you’ll see for yourself.” I wink at her. ”You may not want me as a friend after that.”

She smiles, then laughs. “You don’t think I can do it, do you?”

“We’ll see, real soon.”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Gotta go. See you tomorrow morning.”

She jumps off the bed and grabs my arm. “I’ll see you out, okay?”

“Sure. It’s a big place … I may get lost.”

We walk down the hall, bumping up against each other while she keeps a death grip on my arm, giggling the entire time. When we get to the bottom of the stairs, Hobbes is waiting for us and Henry’s manning the front door. Someone must have been listening and gave him a heads up. This place is security to the max. Bet the only place not monitored is his office … and the top floor of the Security Center.

“Ahh, Ms. Conner, all packed I see.”

“Yes, Sir. I appreciate you letting me visit this weekend. It was a lot of fun but I’ve got to get home and get to work.”

“We enjoyed having you here. Perhaps you could come again next weekend? I would like for you to meet Enrique.”

The mysterious Enrique. Yes, I’d definitely like to meet him. “I’ll ask my Mom. I don’t know of anything we’re supposed to do but I can’t do this every weekend. I usually get a lot of stuff done around the house on Saturdays and Sundays. Laundry, cleaning, cooking, things that I can’t get done during the week.”

“I understand, Patricia.”

I walk over to the scanner and drop my bag on the belt. Henry starts to reach for it but Hobbes calls him off.

“That won’t be necessary, Henry”

“I’d prefer that he did” I say.

“There is no reason.”

“Could we talk for a moment … in private?”

Hobbes looks confused. “Certainly” he says and leads me back to his office. He shuts the door but neither of us sit down.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I really think it’s in my best interest that I get scanned coming AND going.”

“And why is that, Patricia?”

“No offense, Mr. Hobbes, but we both know what you do for a living.” He starts to say something then stops. I continue. “People who do what you do, they don’t normally retire like average people do. Sooner or later, it ends … badly.” I pause, waiting for his reaction.

He seems to be tense but under control. “Go on,” he says.

“If something bad happens while I’m around … let’s face it, I’m gonna be suspect number one. Everybody else is either family or a partner or a long time employee or a person you’ve known for years. I’m the new girl, the unknown, and I’m the one who’s getting blamed. That’s the risk that I’m taking when I come here to visit Gretchen, that’s why I’d rather do this at my house, why my mom’s so afraid. The best protection I’ve got is for me to be scanned and watched as closely as possible. That’s why I don’t care about all the cameras and the bugs, they’ll help protect me when all hell breaks lose … and we both know that, sooner or later, all hell will break lose. No matter what you do, eventually, their gonna get you, they always do.”

“Maybe I’m the exception to the rule.”

“Maybe you are, and more power to you, but the odds aren’t good. Either the cops get you or one of your competitors do. In order to avoid trouble, you’ve got to win all the time. They win once … you’re in deep doo doo. Nobody wins all the time. Like I said, sooner or later. I just don’t want to be caught up in the mess. So you’ll be doing me a big favor be letting Henry do his job.” I step closer to him and drop my voice. “I didn’t want to say any of this in front of Gretchen because I didn’t want to worry her. It’s not something she should have to deal with.”

To Hobbes’ credit, he doesn’t react right away. It’s clear he didn’t like what I had to say, but he’s thinking about it. Eventually he walks past me, reaching for the door knob.

“A very sensible argument Ms. Conner. You’re request will be granted.” He opens the door and steps aside to let me leave. As I walk by him, he reaches out, gently touching my left shoulder. I stop and look up at him. He still appears to be upset. “I appreciate your honesty, Patricia. It is a rare commodity.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Hobbes.”

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

I keep reviewing the image as I ride home. It still feels clear in my mind, whatever the heck it is. Mom’s car is in the driveway as I pull up to the house. I sprint to the back door, unlock it, and burst into the kitchen. Mom’s there, stirring a pot.

“Patricia! My God, you scared me to death! Are you okay?! I’ve been worrying ever since you left Friday! Thank God, you’re home! How are …”

“I’m fine, Mom. I need a big piece of paper … right now.”

“Paper? Why do you need paper? What happened at that terrible place?”

“I’ll explain later. Right now, I need to write something down while it’s clear in my mind. Do we have any big sheets of paper?”

“How big?”

“Two feet by two feet maybe, something like that?”

She looks around the kitchen and picks up a roll of wax paper. “How about this?”

“Good size put wrong surface.”

“Of course, you’re right.”

She looks around again, smiles, and hurries back to the utility room returning with a large white paper shopping bag from the recycling tub. Opening a drawer, she pulls out a pair of scissors and starts to cut the seams of the bag. In seconds, she has a large, irregular sheet of heavy white paper with several creases in it but it’ll do.

“Great! Perfect! You’re a genius, Mom!” I open another drawer and grab a handful of pens and pencils. Sorting through them until I find a good sharp pencil. Laying the paper on the kitchen table, I sit down, smooth out the creases and start drawing. I can feel Mom hovering over my shoulder.

“What is it? Some kind of blue print or lay out of the house?”

“No, it’s the reflected image off Hobbes’ computer screen. I only saw it for a few seconds before he switched it off. It may be a spread sheet but it could be something else. I just need an hour or so to recreate it and we’ll see what it is.”

She leans down, her head practically resting on my shoulder as I return to work.

“Do you think it’s important?”

“I don’t know, Mom. It could be nothing. His security’s so tight, I’ll take scraps. Give me a little time.”

“Sure, honey.”

She stands up and moves away. I hear her rattling around in the cupboards and then the gurgle of liquid pouring. She’s back hanging onto my shoulder in seconds accompanied by the distracting smell of coffee. I didn’t have any while at Gretchen’s and I missed it … a lot. She reaches down and points to a block of backward numbers.

“Are those supposed to be account numbers?”

“Mother! Please! Let me do this! I don’t want to start interpreting until I’m finished. If I start guessing while I’m drawing, it my influence what I draw. I just want to recreate what I saw as best I can.”

She backs off. “Sorry … Patricia.”

Great. I’ve upset her. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I’m going to do my best imitation of a human Xerox machine.

Ultimately, it takes longer than I hoped. After two hours and several pencils, I’m getting close to the end. Mom had walked out of the room after I snapped at her but she couldn’t stay away for long. At least she was quiet when she came back. A few final strokes to complete the crosshatch shading of the header and I lay down the pencil, taking a deep breath and rubbing my fingers, working out the stiffness.

Mom returns to her spot behind me. “May I look?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out.”

She says nothing for a few seconds, then reaches down to rub my neck. “I have no idea what it says, Patricia.”

I reach up, covering her hand with mine. “Neither do I. Let’s take it to the bathroom mirror.” Carefully grasping the upper corners, I stand up and lift the paper off the table, keeping it stretched out. It probably wouldn’t smear but I’m not taking any chances. Mom leads the way, opening doors and holding them for me as I walk through. When we finally reach the bathroom, the picture is facing me, not the mirror. I hold one edge out.

“You take this edge, Mom, then I’ll walk around in front of you, switching it around. Don’t stretch it until I get in place.”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

She takes the corner from me and I edge past her, it’s a small bathroom but a big mirror behind side by side sinks. Once I get past her, I turn to face the mirror.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Let’s do it.”

We lift the picture up and slowly pull in opposite directions until it’s straight and flat. This is what I saw, but now I can read it.

Oh. My. GAWD!!!

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

“EVERYTHING?”

“I can’t be sure. Certainly it’s the majority of the U.S.”

Patricia’s legs actually buckled when she first looked at the picture. All I saw was a big spreadsheet with lots of numbers but she must have known what it was almost instantly. She fell back against the wall behind her, almost dropping her corner, but she caught herself. We ended up taping the picture to the wall behind us and then leaning into the mirror to read it.

“Why just the U.S.?” I ask

“I don’t know. There might have been a page two. Or three. My Gawd, what if there was a page three?”

“What are you saying?”

“Well … there’s going to be product in the pipeline, plus at the manufacturing sites. Plus, he’s also in Europe.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because Raul has specialty meats you can’t get in the U.S. shipped back after deliveries in Europe.”

“Who is Raul?”

“Hobbes’ chef, a really nice guy. He showed me how to make this roux, it was HEAVENLY! And so simple! It’ll be great with chicken and …”

“Patricia … the drugs.”

“Right, sorry. So, this is just what’s ready for distribution here in the United States.”

I point to a column of figures. “Are these pounds?”

“You’re off by a factor of three.”

“Thousands of pounds?! Then this means …”

Patricia reaches out with a toothbrush, touching different areas of the mirror. “Cocaine. Meth. Marijuana, though that may be tons. Heroin. I’m not sure about this row, it might by Oxy.”

“How many locations?”

She quickly runs the toothbrush across the mirror. “Eleven.”

“So this is worth … “

“Over nine hundred million, maybe closer to a billion.”

“And we know where it all is?”

“Pretty much. There aren’t any actual addresses but it has cities and business names. Assuming there’s only one facility in each town, we can locate it.”

I feel a bit faint myself, almost falling back into the picture, forgetting for a moment it’s actually behind me. Patty grabs me before I make contact.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

“Oh heavens yes my baby! We’re finally finished! We’ve got him! Well, you got him and I couldn’t be prouder! We get this information to Daniel and we can go home!”

“I’m not so sure about that, Mom.”

“What do you mean? This is exactly what we need. The police raid the buildings, arrest all the gang members, some of them take deals, testify against Hobbes and he goes to jail for the rest of his life. If we’re lucky, maybe some one will know about what happened to my Robert and darling Alisha, then Hobbes can go to the gas chamber. We’ve won!”

Patricia steps away from me, turns and walks out of the bathroom. “What’s wrong?” I ask as I follow her back to the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

She sits down, putting her head in her hands for a moment, then looks up at me, her hands trailing down either side of her face. “Look Mom, it’s like this. I’ve been thinking about it for some time. I don’t see how Lipscomb can use anything I find. I’m never gonna be able to testify in court. He can’t explain to a judge about me, so how can I be a reliable source to justify a search warrant? Even if he’s got a tame federal judge out there, without my testimony, the evidence gets tossed at trial. I just don’t see how he’s gonna do it.”

I sit down at the table opposite her. “That’s not our problem Patty … it’s his. He’s the lawyer, he’s the expert. We’ve done our job, now it’s his turn to do his.”

“I’ve been doing some reading about that and the rules are pretty clear about what it takes to make the evidence admissible. There’s just no way. There’s also all the damage this is going to do. What about Gretchen? She hasn’t done anything wrong … this’ll destroy her, particularly when she finds out I did it.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t care about Hobbes’ daughter. He obviously didn’t care or he wouldn’t have gotten into this business in the first place. What about my daughter? Killed by his hoodlums, they go free and she’s dead! Dead! I vowed to make him pay one day and that day is now!”

“Let me think about this for a little bit, okay? Don’t tell Lipscomb right away. I need to find addresses for all the locations anyway.”

“We’re going to met him Tuesday after work at Matthews’ office. What are you planning to tell him then?”

“I don’t know yet; just let me think about it. There maybe another way to do this. We can afford to take our time and get this right. Please, Mom, give me a chance to think of something.”

The look on her face is heartbreaking, how can I say no? She’s gone through so much, I guess she’s entitled to a little time. However, I will not let this opportunity get away. “Okay, Patricia. You can have a week, then I tell Daniel about this.”

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

Mom’s not going to give me one second more than a week. She wants Hobbes bad and doesn’t care who else gets hurt. Obviously, there was going to be some fall out if we caught Hobbes but this whole thing was a fluke. You don’t get this kind of intel the first shot out of the box. I’d hoped that I’d have the time to figure out a way to safely use any information I discovered but now I’m out of time. Well, I’ve got a week.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Patty’s waiting for me on the court Monday right after lunch. She told me to eat light. I hope we aren’t doing a bunch of running. Terri’s also with her. As soon as she sees me, she waves me in, so I hurry over to where they’re standing under the basket. She passes the ball to me when I get close.

“Hey, Gretch. I asked Terri to help us, she’s on the school team. We’re gonna keep this simple. Basketball is all about physics. Once you figure out the physics, it’s a piece of cake. For example.” She pulls a laser pointer from the pocket of her shorts and shines it on the backboard, making a small red dot appear on the left corner of the box painted on the backboard right above the rim. “You hit that spot with the ball, it’s going in the basket.” She shoots the ball, squarely hitting the spot she had pointed out. The ball bounces off the backboard and crisply through the net. “It doesn’t have any choice, physics dictates the outcome every time. You hit that spot, it’s two points. Simple. We don’t have time to teach a whole lot but if you can learn to hit a lay up and catch a bounce pass, we can beat those guys.”

“Don’t we have to have a bunch of plays or something?”

“We’ll need just one play, the pick and roll. John Stockton and Karl Malone are in the Hall of Fame because of that single play. They knew every variation there was. We just need to practice a couple. Nobody in those games have organized plays anyway, it’s alley ball. An actual, honest to God play is as common as Haley’s Comet.”

“What about defense?”

“We’ll need to work on that too, but if you get the ball and score, you get the ball back. As long as we keep scoring, we never play defense.”

“Yeah, but Riley’s like 6’ 6”, he block’s shots all the time. I can’t shoot over him, and if I can’t, you sure as heck can’t.”

“Don’t worry about it Gretch, physics will win out. Issac Newton would have made a great ball player. When you get open, I’ll put the ball right in your hands. All you have to worry about is hitting lay ups, wide open lay ups.” She tosses me the ball. “Let’s start on that now. Just stand there and hit the spot on the backboard. Terri and I’ll rebound.”

I felt kinda stupid, just standing three feet from the basket, shooting the ball at a point on the backboard, though Patty was right, if I hit the spot, the ball went right in the basket. I must have shot a hundred times, Patty and Terri chasing down the ones I missed, though I didn’t miss many toward the end. Then Patty had me take a couple of steps and jump as I shot the ball. This was harder, but I got the hang of it pretty quickly and managed to hit twenty in a row, though my legs got a little tired towards the end.

“Okay” Patty said. “That’s enough for today. Tomorrow, we work on you catching a pass as you get to the basket and then the pick and roll. By the end of Friday, we’ll be ready, I promise. Go change clothes and I’ll be right behind you.”

As I trot off to the locker room, I’m feeling more confident than I did at the start. We may be able to do this.

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

“What do you think, Terri?”

“She learns quick enough. I didn’t realize she was so athletic, I’d never seen her do much in gym.”

“I know, she just needed a little prodding and some coaching. She’ll be okay as long as she doesn’t panic.”

“I don’t know, a 6’ 6” guy, is he any good?”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Good looking?”

“A blonde babe magnet.”

“Ooooo … sure you don’t want to play three on three? I can make the time.”

“You’re a bit of a slut Terri, you know that?”

“Am not. I’ve just got … healthy appetites, that’s all.”

“You’ve got appetites, that’s for sure. She won’t have to worry about his defense too much. The guy plays on her father’s team. He may push around the other guys, but he’ll be too afraid to knock Gretchen around, daddy may not like.”

“And her daddy may do something about it.”

“Exactly. He’ll be too worried about his own his own skin, at least at first, to play rough. They may switch off and Gretchen’s dad covers her, which is fine by me.”

“A 6’ 6” guy guarding you?”

“I’ll run him into the ground.”

“Oh, I just thought of something. Do they play shirts and skins?”

“Yeah?”

“So what’s his abs …”

“Like iron plates.”

“You know, three on three is a much more interesting game. I could …”

“Down girl.”

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

I’ve decided what I’m going to tell Lipscomb about the Hobbes compound, but am still up in the air about the spreadsheet. It’s a break that’s not likely to be duplicated, but the storage sites aren’t going to change any time soon, he’s got too much invested in the locations. I went online and came up with addresses and pictures, both street level and overhead. Each one is an active warehouse with a customs section, all near the coasts or the Mexican border, some within a mile or two of the border. The particular inventory in each place will move out and get sold, but there’s always more drugs coming in. They can raid them anytime and get hundreds of millions of dollars of drugs, so we don’t really lose anything by waiting. There’s got to be an ideal way to use this information, one that causes the least amount of harm to innocent people. I’m really tired of destroying everybody’s lives when we finally bust the bad guys. I need to find a better way.

When we walk into Dr. Matthews’ office, Lipscomb is already there, as usual, drinking a cup of coffee.

“Hail the conquering heroine! I hope you have good news for me.”

Mom and I sit down. “What do you want to hear first, the bad news … or the terrible news?” I ask.

Lipscomb frowns. “Shouldn’t that be bad news and good news?”

“Sorry, not a lot of good news, mostly just bad and terrible.”

“Then I’ll take the little good news.”

“I’m invited back for next weekend.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much. The bad news is the place is a security fortress. Cameras, sensors, biomechanical security on all physical file cabinets, all computers and files encrypted. Lots of guards who know their stuff. Weekly bug sweeps. Everything and everyone who enters the place gets scanned. The White House could learn a thing or two from these guys.”

“And the terrible news?”

“Their head of security wasn’t even there, he’d been gone for at least two weeks dealing with some problem in Los Angeles, so they had probably gotten a little lax. He’s back tomorrow. Things should get back to normal real soon. Oh, by the way, does the name Enrique Cardoza ring a bell?”

“No, can’t say it does.”

“He’s the security guy and second in command. My briefing didn’t mention him at all. I’ll probably be meeting him next weekend. It would have been nice to know something about him … anything at all.”

“Peter, I told you up front that there were gaps in our knowledge about Hobbes’ operation. I had no reason to hide anything from you, we all want success here.” He looked over at Mother. “We all have our reasons for that.”

All this time, she hadn’t said a word, not even “Hello”. She doesn’t look particularly comfortable right now. I hope she’s not changed her mind.

“It’s not completely hopeless Lipscomb. I think I made a good impression and most of them either like or tolerate me. If I can get past Cardoza, there’s a chance I can find out some stuff that can be useful. It may be a long shot but …”

“We know where he keeps all his drugs” Mom blurts out.

“WHAT?!” Daniel shouts.

I stare at her. Betrayed by my own mother. We had a deal. She looks back at me, pleadingly.

“I’m sorry Patricia; I can’t miss this chance to take Hobbes down. He destroyed my life, he’s got to pay for that. If things are as bad as you say they are, this may be our only opportunity. It’s a gift from God.”

“Will someone tell me what is going on?” asks Lipscomb.

Mom looks at me but it’s her show now. “You wanted to tell him, go on then, tell him.”

“Patricia, don’t be like that. It’s what’s best for all of us.”

I’m not buying that, not now. She’s on her own. I sit there, arms crossed, gazing at the wall next to me.

“Very well. Patricia happened to get a look at a picture from a computer monitor reflected in the glass of a photo. She quickly memorized it and, when she got home, recreated it. We looked at it using the bathroom mirror to turn the image back around and discovered it was a list of Hobbes’ inventory in the United State, including locations. Patricia thinks there may be a billion dollars worth of drugs, adding it all together. It’s all there, waiting for you to pick it up.”

“Where’s this picture?”

“Back home, hidden.”

I’m not looking at him, but I feel Lipscomb getting closer to me. “And when were you going to tell me about this, Peter?”

“Probably … never.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t use it. And if you try, we’re all dead.”

“How’s that?”

I turn towards him. “You can’t get a warrant because I’m not ‘a reliable source’, I’m a freak, whose existence must stay a closely guarded secret or we all go to jail. Even if you could manage to get a warrant, the drugs would eventually be tossed at trial as fruit of the poisonous tree and Hobbes goes free.”

“Let me deal with the legal issues, that’s what I’m trained to do.”

“Fine. Explain to me how you plan to do this … legally.”

He looks a little nervous, which is unusual. He never looks nervous. “I’d rather not reveal those plans at this time, but I assure you, I have it under control.”

“I don’t think you do, Lipscomb, but let’s assume I’m wrong. Let’s assume you manage to talk your bosses into going ahead with this, your office makes a request for search warrants, the judge grants the eleven warrants for searches over six states, you contact the necessary agencies, the FBI, DEA, local police, get everything organized and raid the warehouses … you know what you’ll find?”

“What will I find, Peter?”

“Nooothinnngg. Hobbes has got people on his payroll at each and every step along that process. He’s got people in the DOJ, the Judge’s office, the FBI, the DEA, the local cops, everywhere. By the time the last guy informs Hobbes what’s going down, he’ll be politely told that the problem’s already been taken care of. Every place will be empty of drugs, cleaned up spic and span. And after this all blows up in your face, Hobbes will come looking for the leak. We ALL end up dead, probably tortured first, then killed, our bodies never found.”

Lipscomb appears to at least be thinking about what I said. He’s looking down at the table, slowly tapping his fingers on its surface. He finally looks up. “Peter makes some valid points, Jessica.”

“NO! YOU CAN”T BE SERIOUS?! Daniel, this is our chance! We’ve got to strike NOW! We may never …”

Lipscomb raises his hand and Mom falls silent but seething with anger. “Hear me out, Jessica. Peter is quite correct about the corruption within the system. I raised the same points with my superiors in putting this team together. Bribery is rampant; you have no idea who you can trust. An operation that large would surely get back to Hobbes at its earliest stages. We could never move fast enough. Odd as it may be, this information is too big to move on.”

“Then go after only a few places! Do SOMETHING Daniel!”

“To what end, Jessica? We make a few, possibly spectacular, busts but we don’t substantially hurt his operation. Hobbes’ involvement is likely shielded by a convoluted ownership history and we’ve revealed the existence of a leak, bringing unwanted attention to bear on Peter. This information is too great to safely pursue but too small to provide a killing blow to Hobbes and his organization. We’re stymied.”

Mom looks completely defeated. I almost feel sorry for her but she’s the one who broke our deal. However, there may be a bone I can throw her. “Lipscomb … about that killing blow. Hobbes has an advanced computer system, totally up to date security wise, both physically and electronically. He keeps everything on it, and I do mean everything. It probably has records concerning pay offs, his total inventories across the world, manufacturing records, the works. If I could get to that, you’d have all the evidence you’d need. I still can’t see how you’re getting it in front of a jury, but, at least you’d know who you can and can’t deal with, probably give you names of guys who you can flip to testify against him. It may take me a while to figure out a way to do it, but it’s worth a shot. I mean, I’m already inside, no reason not to try, right?”

His eyes light up. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about! I don’t recall computer hacking as a skill listed on your resume, Peter.”

“Peter Harris didn’t know squat about hacking, but Patricia Conner knows quite a bit and plans to learn a whole lot more.”

He rubs his hands together rapidly. “Very good. The computer system is our new objective. Contact me if you need assistance or equipment … and please keep me informed of progress. While I agree with your opinion about the usefulness of the inventory information, I insist on being told about this type of intelligence in the future. I have people I must answer to and both my life and career are on the line here as well as yours. I will not be kept in the dark. Do you understand, Peter?”

“Yeah, I got it, but let’s keep these meetings to a minimum. Every one is a potential security breach. I can’t afford to be linked with you in any way.”

“Fair enough. We can continue to use the dead drop system. Is that acceptable Jessica?”

She just nods dully, all the fight sucked out of her. Serves her right.

I stand up. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got homework to do.”

Lipscomb also stands. “One last thing. I want that computer image.”

I’m instantly suspicious. “Why? We both agreed we can’t use it. What can you do with it?”

“Likely nothing, but I may be able to pull additional information from it, you never know.”

I don’t trust him, not at all. My gut is screaming at me to keep it away from him … and I don’t know why. It’s a reasonable request, he’s part of the team after all. “You know, if this gets out, Lipscomb, I could end up dead real quick.”

He smiles. “But not before telling Hobbes all about me, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I better take very good care of it.”

He’s got me. “You can have a copy, I’m keeping the original.”

“That’s a reasonable compromise.”

I walk out the door, heading directly for the car. I hear the office door open and close behind me, so Mom is probably following, but I’m not going to look back. The lock on the car door clicks, so I open it and sit in the front passenger seat, eyes forward. The drivers’ side door opens and closes. It’s Mom, I smell her perfume.

“Patricia … I was just doing what I thought was best for all …”

I keep my eyes straight ahead. “Mother. I’m not talking to you now. I don’t know when I will.”

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

It took me much longer to resolve the disputes in Los Angeles but it was time well spent. My personal relationships with both gangs are stronger. Right now, as far as they are concerned, Enrique Cardoza is the face of our cartel. When it comes time for Hobbes to go, the transition should be seamless. That day may be fast approaching. I’ve barely dropped my bags on my bed before he calls for me. It’s a polite request, on its face. “Come see me when you are available.” He means I’m to make myself available right now. The man is Argentinean, through and through.

When I get to his office, he is all smiles and congratulations. “Enrique!” He takes my hand, shaking it vigorously. “How are you, my old friend? Have all issues been resolved?” The man is a born politician. If he had dedicated his life to politics instead of the more lucrative drug trade, he might be President of Argentina by now.

“Yes, X-ray, everything has been worked out … for now. There is no guarantee each gang will stick with the agreed upon boundaries. Each is looking to take a bigger slice of the pie.”

“Fools! Why can’t they see the harm they cause with these petty disputes?”

“Everyone always wants more, X-ray. It is human nature.”

“But there is plenty of profit for all. How much is enough?”

“These are young, aggressive men. They are still attempting to make their fortunes.”

“Not like us, eh Enrique?”

You mean not like you. We have failed to take advantage of numerous opportunities over the last few years, particularly in Mexico. We could wipe many of the smaller cartels out, if Hobbes would only unleash our men.

“Yes, X-ray, not at all like us.”

“Well, there is peace for now. It is good to have you back. I’ve had to deal with a number of issues with the staff while you were gone, I don’t know how you keep this place running so smoothly.”

“A minor skill of mine, X-ray. What problems?”

“Nothing serious, mostly just keeping the peace. You would think that grown men could deal with a single girl.”

“What girl?”

“Patricia Conner, Gretchen’s little friend. A truly remarkable girl, we were quite wrong about her.”

This can’t be good. “What are you talking about?”

“You remember, Patricia Conner. You had her investigated and we decided that it would be best for Gretchen to have no further contact with her. I’ve spoken with her several times; we could not have been more mistaken. She is an absolutely delightful girl … intelligent, responsible, mature, relatively respectful, very accomplished and a lot of common sense. Gretchen’s attitude and behavior have already improved.

“When did you speak with her?”

“That is an interesting story, Enrique. Apparently, two weekends ago, she did a sit in outside the gate, demanding to speak with me about Gretchen. No one told me about it until it was too late … I had dinner with the Senator scheduled, I’m sure you remember that.”

“Certainly. Why was she permitted to stay outside the gate?”

“Speak to your guards. If you were here, I’m certain that you would have handled it, but they seemed incapable of dealing with her, though, in their defense, she is a deceptively cunning girl. And brave too. When she first met me, she threw a collection of electronic bugs on my desk, accusing me of ordering their instillation. Can you believe that?! And she knew who I was!”

“Well, it was true.”

“I know, but still … the audacity, you must really appreciate the audacity. And it didn’t stop there. I was basically dressed down for being a terrible father.”

“I see. What happened when you threw her out?”

“Ahhhh … that’s the interesting part. Once we were done talking, we ended up agreeing on a number of things. I permitted her to come visit Gretchen this past weekend and it went quite well, actually surprisingly well, except for the staff problems.”

“What were they?”

“Mr.Tippett seems to have been making inappropriate comments about the Conner girl in front of one of the guards and he took offense. Perfectly understandable but I had to remind Lou as to how valuable Tippett is to our business. He understood and that will, hopefully, be the end of it.”

“Did she say where she found the electronic bugs?”

“Around her home, naturally. That is were your people planted them.”

“And how she found them?”

“No.”

“Did you ask her?”

“No, does it matter?”

Damn it! I’m too late! He’s already infatuated with this girl! He didn’t even think to ask the obvious questions. I’ve seen this before with him. He has a weakness for women with strong personalities. Like his mother. And his wife. And now, apparently, this girl.

“When will Ms. Conner be back?”

“This weekend. How did you know she would be coming back?”

“Just a good guess. I’d like to meet her.”

“I want you to, you’ll be impressed.”

He’s likely correct. Unfortunately.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Cardoza ordered me to meet him at the end of my shift. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, I sure as fuck hope I haven’t, he’s not the forgiving kind. He told me to meet him on the third floor, not his office on the first floor. I don’t know anybody who’s ever been up there. I take the stairs instead of the elevator, it gives me time to think and I wouldn’t be trapped in elevator cab if he’s waiting for me with a surprise.

I raise my hand to push the buzzer on the intercom but it crackles to life.

“Come in, Mr. Escaban.”

Huh. Same trick as Hobbes. Wonder who came up with it first.

The deadbolts open so I slowly turn the doorknob and push the door, stepping back as it swings open. Nothing yet. I quickly enter and look around. There’s a lot more room than furniture. If he’s not going to use all this space, they ought to expand those damn cracker boxes we live in. Cardoza’s in the kitchen, holding two beer bottles.

“Have a seat on the couch please, Mr. Escaban.”

There’s nothing obviously suspicious about the couch, but it’s Cardoza, there wouldn’t be. As I sit down, he walks out of the kitchen and sets the two beers on the low table in front of the couch. “Have one.” He says, sitting in the padded chair on the other side of the table.

Which one? The one near me … the one near him? Are they poisoned? Maybe this is a test. Maybe I’m just too fucking paranoid. No, I’m not. I take the one nearest Cardoza but don’t drink until he does. He smiles at me after taking a swig from his bottle.

“Yours could still be poisoned, Mr. Escaban.”

Great. Am I being that obvious? I sniff the beer, seems okay. Well, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it. Tipping the bottle back, take a couple of big gulps and return the bottle to the table. “You can only take so many precautions.”

“True, but I’ve noticed that you always appear to be aware of when to take them. For example, when ever there is an emergency call, you’re never the first person to arrive, even if you are the closest to begin with. But you aren’t the last to arrive either.”

This IS a test! “Are you saying I’m not doing my job, Mr. Cardoza?”

“Not at all, Tony. I approve of your caution. Why be the first man through the door? You could get your head blown off. It is almost always best to be second or third. You may miss some profitable opportunities, but almost always survive to fight another day, eh’?”

“Something like that.”

“I have appreciated your willingness to keep me informed as to what is going on among the staff. You’ve provided valuable information in the past. Which causes me to wonder why you failed to contact me about Patricia Conner.”

I KNEW IT! That little BITCH was going to cause trouble! I’m the one who’s gonna take it in the ass! Well, I’m not going down alone. “Look, Mr. Cardoza, I wanted to contact you right away, but Henry said that we could handle it, to leave you out of it, that you were away on really important business.”

“Henry was right. I was away on important business and you all should have been capable of dealing with a tiny teenage girl. I have reviewed all the security tapes, she made fools of all of you.”

“I was on the night shift then, I had nothing to do with chasing that phony motorcyclist.”

“True … but it WAS your idea to call the police to try to force her off. Very successful.”

The cops should have done their damn job! “If they had been willing to do what we hire them for, the problem would have been over.”

“Or much worse. Ms. Conner planned her attack quite well. She benefited from some favorable circumstances that she could not have been aware of … or at least I hope she was unaware of. If she knew of the dinner party and my absence, then we have more serious problems than a young girl. Regardless, she had an answer to every action by the guards. This is an intelligence not possessed by your average young girl, not even an extraordinary young girl. So … what exactly is Patricia Conner?”

He’s looking at me, expecting an answer. Crap!

“I’ve seen her at the pool, she’s all girl, Mr. Cardoza. She’s got a pair of tits that just don’t stop, ya’ know? And that ass? No doubt, she’s a fine little bitch. Me personally, I don’t fuck with jail bait, at least not in this country, she looks to be exactly what she says. You don’t think she’s an older woman faking it, do you?”

He doesn’t say anything right away, just swirls the beer in his bottle. “I am not certain. She could be, though my investigators confirmed her story. All I know is that, when I watch the security files, she seems believable, but when I just listen to the files, she does not sound like any teenager I have ever known. She sounds more mature and intelligent than many women I have known … and most MEN. All of which concerns me. It is likely too late to do anything about it now anyway.”

What’s he talking about? “Too late for what? You can talk Mr. Hobbes into getting rid of her. You can talk him into anything.”

He smiles at that. “Perhaps you are correct, but not in this case. Raymond Hobbes is an outstanding man … loyal, charismatic, generally intelligent, well bred, all positive attributes, but he has one glaring weakness.”

“Which is?”

“He has an unnatural infatuation with women possessing strong personalities. His mother was such a woman, which probably explains a lot. His deceased wife was also such a woman. It appears the Patricia Conner fits that description.”

I chuckle. The old goat is fucking that little cunt. I shoulda known. Though … none of the guards said anything. If any of them knew something, they’d speak up. Well, a couple might keep it quiet. “Are you saying that Hobbes is screwing her?”

He seems surprised. “Sex? No, you misunderstand. He puts them on pedestals, worships them, but, most importantly, he listens to their opinions. I can see it in his face when he talks about her, he is already in the process of infatuation. Opinions will not change that course, though facts might.”

“What kind of facts?”

“Proof that she is not what she seems.”

“Got any of those ‘facts’?”

“Not now, but I have yet to speak with her. After that, we shall see. However, even if her story remains intact, she may still be useful.”

“How’s that?”

Cardoza looks at me for several seconds, remaining silent. It’s like he’s studying me or something. He suddenly stands up, walks back to the kitchen, picks up a file folder, returns to his chair and sits back down.

“I have been working with Hobbes for many years, we built this organization together and it is very successful, very profitable. Hobbes has a good head for business and a willingness to do what is required to get ahead. When we started, he had the contacts we needed among the authorities and I had the contacts we needed among the drug suppliers. We started as simple lieutenants in the Miguel Gallardo cartel. Soon we had our own territory, then multiple territories, then a country, and finally, countries. Gallardo … retired and we took over the largest, most profitable parts of his organization. The rest is history. Currently, we are the most successful and profitable of the cartels.”

“I know, that’s why I wanted to work for you.”

“Work for me … or Hobbes?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Not until now.”

Uh oh. “Now?”

“Hobbes has become complacent, more concerned with expenses than increasing sales. He doesn’t realize that we are under constant attack, directly or indirectly. Our position at the top is not guaranteed. We need to be more aggressive in Mexico, not only responding to attacks but going on the offensive, removing weaker cartels, survival of the fittest.”

“And Mr. Hobbes doesn’t agree?”

“He does not! He wants peace among the cartels. All this conflict is bad for business, according to him. While that’s true in the short term, there can be long term benefits, if you are willing to fight! He has become soft and content.”

“So … you plan to talk him into doing things your way? You seem to be able to do that on a regular basis.”

“It is interesting that you have noticed, Tony. Or did someone tell you that?”

I shrug. “People talk. I haven’t been here that long but I know your history with Mr. Hobbes. I know you’re the power behind the throne.”

“I am. My question to you, Tony, is where do your loyalties lay?”

SHIT! I don’t need this, not now, but he’s not going to give me time to think about this. “I’m kinda partial to whoever pays me, Mr. Cardoza.”

“You mean, who ever pays you the most?”

“Exactly!”

“I would hope for loyalty not contingent on a paycheck.”

“You’re the realist, Mr. Cardoza. I’ll go where ever I can do the best.”

“If you help me now, Tony, I can guarantee you’ll be taken care of in the future.”

“What about the present?”

“Better treatment now would only raise suspicions. I’m not ready to move yet, though it may not be long before I am. For now, you’ll need to continue to monitor things here at the compound for me. That hardly seems to be too much of a burden.”

“What will you be doing?”

“Traveling mostly, checking on the security of our far flung operations, making face to face connections with the vital people in the organization.”

“If I’m going to be doing all this extra work, I really think there should be some kind of pay increase.”

“So you won’t have to steal from the kitchen anymore?”

OOOHHhhh Jesus Christ! “I’ve got no idea what you’re …”

Cardoza taps the manila file folder on the table in front of him with his right index finger. “Raul keeps his inventory records in his head. He knew what was missing almost right away. When I checked the security logs, there were a series of camera feed outages. I get the same feeds here in my quarters up here.” FUCK! I didn’t know that. “So, I decided to stay up a couple of nights and watch. Imagine my surprise when I discover who has been stealing Hobbes imported beef. The man is an Argentinean, they know … and love their beef.”

He’s just sitting back, smiling at me. Hobbes wouldn’t have me killed for this, probably, but I’m gone if he finds out. Cardoza’s got me.

“I’ll keep you posted on what happens here, but what if Hobbes doesn’t stay put?”

“How many times has Hobbes left his home since you’ve been working here?”

“I don’t know … three, four I guess.”

“And each of those was by helicopter, straight to the airport, right onto a plane and out of the country for meetings that required he personally be there. Other than those few times, he stays right here, where I want him.”

“You want him stuck in this place?”

“Hobbes has an enormous fear of assassination. His parents both died that way and he’s been threatened a number of times. I’ve managed to foil several attempts over the years.”

“Real attempts?”

He smiles. “As far as anyone can prove. His wife grew tired of the constraints and was close to persuading him to be more willing to venture out into society when she, conveniently, died.”

Oh my GOD! Conveniently?! Did he kill Hobbes wife? I’m not even going to ask him that, just nodding my head.

“I see. So, how is it the kid goes to school instead of a tutor here at home?”

“An unfortunate promise that I was unaware of. As I said, Hobbes has a number of admirable qualities. Keeping his promises is one of those. The end result of all of this is that he is not likely to be going anywhere in the near future. Raymond Hobbes remains a good manager, a charismatic figurehead and a focal point for the organization, all positive assets for out cartel. He is not an unbalanced lunatic looking for fame and glory like some of our competitors. They live their lives as if they expect to die shortly in a blaze of gunfire and publicity, lives of excess and conspicuous consumption. I plan to help them reach their goals, then pick up the pieces, building the new, dominant drug cartel of the future. If Raymond is unable to support that vision … then we had a good run, he and I.”

He had as good as said that he was going to kill Hobbes when he stopped being useful, but he didn’t actually say it. With what he had on me, Cardoza could get me fired and discredit anything I might say about this meeting, though it probably wouldn’t come to that. He’d already told me way too much to let me go and blab to Hobbes. If I didn’t accept his offer, I’d likely not make it back to my room. So, that’s the test. Am I smart enough to see my options and pick the right one. I grab my beer bottle.

“Okay, I’m in. Let’s drink to your successful trip.” I extend the neck of the bottle towards him.

Cardoza clinks his bottle against mine. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Escaban.”

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

It’s been two days and Patricia has barely spoken with me, and then just one or two words at a time. I don’t know where she learned it, from my programming or Peter Harris’ experience with three wives or the unknown recesses of a female teenage brain, but Patricia wields the Silent Treatment like a pro. I tried to explain why I felt it necessary for Daniel to know about the warehouses but she won’t let me get two words out before she’s gone, headed for her room, the basement, wherever.

I know it was wrong to betray her trust, but surely they both can see how this is an opportunity to finish off Hobbes and bring this dangerous, exhausting operation finally to an end.

I’ll try to talk with her again tonight, after work.

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

Gretchen’s doing a footwork drill, setting practice picks, then pivoting and sprinting to the basket, looking for the ball. Patricia doesn’t pass the ball, she’s just checking out her form, which is way lots better than anybody on our pathetic team.

Gretchen’s really improved in the few days we’ve been practicing after lunch, she’s getting the hang of it, particularly for someone who’s never played ball before. Whether or not she can play against a real person in a real game and, oh bye the way, that person is a tall, strong, GUY, that’s another thing. I look over at the gym clock. It’s 12:50, time to wrap this up. Patricia looks my way, I wave and point to the clock. She glances at it, turns back towards me, and nods her head.

“That’s enough for now, Gretchen. Get changed and I’ll see you sixth period.”

She trots gracefully over to Patricia. Gawd! A girl who looks like her, so tall and beautiful … it makes you want to claw her eyes out. Too bad she’s so damn nice. “How’m I doing, Coach,” she asks brightly.

“Not bad, not bad. You still hesitate when you first take off towards the basket. Don’t wait, just go as soon as you pick the guy off. They’ll probably try to grab you a little, maybe a lot. Just knock their arms away and GO. If you’re open, I’ll hit you. Don’t chase the ball, it’ll be there,” answer’s Patricia.

“When do we start actually passing and shooting?”

“Tomorrow, Thursday. Friday it’ll be defense and Saturday we kick butt!” She puts up her hand for a high five but it’s barely higher than Gretchen’s head. She slaps it anyway, turns and strolls towards the locker room, wiping her face with the front of her shirt. Patricia watches her go, while I walk over to talk.

“What say you, Terri?” she asks, not taking her eyes off Gretchen.

“She’s doing way better.”

“Come ready to play tomorrow. It’ll be your job to push her around as hard as you can.”

“Can I push you around?”

“You can TRY, if you can catch me.”

Fat chance of that. I don’t know why it is, but she seems kinda … sad.

“You okay, Patty?”

“Sure, fine … why not?”

“Don’t know, you just don’t act fine.”

She sighs. “Had a fight with my Mom. We’re not talking right now.”

“Hah, wish me and my mom weren’t talking. She’s all over me about all kinds of shit every day. It’s like hand to hand combat. What you guys fighting about?”

“She just told somebody something she promised she wouldn’t.”

“Ohhh, the old violation of trust thing, that’s a toughie.”

“She says she thought it was the right thing to do.”

“That’s always the way, isn’t it? Like a parent ever admits she did something wrong. But you try to explain why you did what you did and she’s all up in your face, no excuse is good enough, you’re just an immature little kid who can’t think for yourself, right?”

“Uhhh … yeah, just like that.”

“Don’t let her push you around, Patricia, stick to your guns. Everybody around here looks up to you.”

She smirks. “Everybody?”

“Well, a lot of girls … the smart ones.”

She winks at me. “I’ll try not to let em’ down. Thanks for the help, Terri. I couldn’t do this without you.”

I stand up taller, prouder. “No prob … Da’Pee.”

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

I haven’t had a chance to check out my lap top since getting back from the weekend at Gretchen’s, haven’t even turned it on. I made a mirror copy of absolutely everything before giving it to Mr. Tippett and I want to check it for changes before doing anything else. I’m curios to see exactly what he did. He said it was only what was necessary for me to access the home network, but I’ll believe that when I see it.

After booting it up, I attach the backup USB hard drive and start comparing code, using a separate monitor, line by line. Normally, this could take weeks but I can scan this stuff at lightning speed. Setting the Balancer on Pink Forty Five, I’m just looking for changes, nothing else. I can feel the computer part of my brain smoothly shift into high gear and take off. When I catch a change, I note where it is and move on, analyses is for later.

It only takes me about an hour to go over everything twice, just to be safe. Now, to see exactly what he did. At first, the subroutines appear to be what I would expect, then they take a more sinister turn. He’s getting access to the modem and the wireless card. And the root drive. If I read this right, whenever I access the internet, he’s going to not only know it, but be able to monitor what I do and see, along with searching my emails and reading any file on my computer.

I shouldn’t be surprised, I’m sure he did the same thing to Gretchen’s lap top, but she’s Hobbes daughter, I’m just a visitor. He had to be pretty confident of his skills to even try stuff like this. I could march right into Hobbes office, show him exactly what Tippett did and scream bloody murder. I’d likely get an apology and a new lap top, even if Hobbes had originally ordered Tippett to do it. Blame whoever you can when you get caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

However … now that I know about it, I can use it. There’s absolutely nothing incriminating on my computer and, by studying what he did, I should be able to see how he thinks when programming. It could help me find some security holes in his system. Any information can help.

After turning the Balancer back to Blue Fifty, I sneak back to Mom’s bedroom and return it to the table by her bed. Technically, I’m not supposed to mess with it, the Balancer is her responsibility. We’ve not had any fights about it for months. In fact, she’s insisted on Blue Fifty more often than our original deal. For quite awhile, I honestly can’t say that I’ve noticed the particular settings between Blue Thirty Five and Pink Ten; it all feels the same to me. If I concentrate, I could probably determine the setting within a couple of points, but it hardly matters. Still, I shouldn’t be changing settings on my own. I just don’t want to deal with Mom right now.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

I shouted out to Mom that I was leaving for the weekend as I left the house after school on Friday, not waiting for her reply. I know, I know … this Cold Shoulder thing has gone on long enough, but I don’t know how to end it. I’m certainly not going to apologize because she was in the wrong but there’s got to be a good way to stop this. It’s a shame they didn’t add all the old columns of “Dear Abbey” to my data base.

The attitude at the gate is friendlier this time, as is my search by Henry. He actually helps me take off my back pack and everything.

“You got anything special planned for us this weekend, Conner?”

Actually, I thought I could do several fruit pies for Saturday dinner and chocolate chip muffins for a Sunday snack … but I’m not telling him. “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”

“The guys have been speculating, Lou’s betting on a cake of some kind.”

I lean in close as I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Take his money.”

He smiles. “Sure thing.” He points to a section of the x-ray image of my bag. “What’s this?”

I bring the bag back off my shoulder, drop it to the floor and unzip the front pouch. Reaching in, I grab the camera and pull it out. “It’s something Mr. Tippett asked me to bring for him to see. He seemed interested.”

Henry took it from my hand and inspected it from several angles. “Okay, as long as you take it right to him, got it?”

I salute crisply. “Yes, Sir!”

He hands it back to me. “Get out of here, smart ass. I’d keep an eye on Tippett, if I were you though. He’s a bit of a pervert.”

I swing my bag over my shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll be careful.”

“Make sure you are, Conner.”

As I enter the foyer, Gretchen comes hurrying down the stairs, grabbing my left arm as soon as she reaches me. She looks worried.

“Enrique’s here!” she urgently whispers.

“So?” I whisper back.

“He’s gonna want to see you!”

“Good, I want to meet him. I’ve already met everybody else.”

“You don’t understand, he’s not like the rest of the staff, he runs this place! He’s in charge. Nothing happens around here that he doesn’t approve.”

“But, he works for your dad, right? Your dad makes the important decisions.”

She squeezes my arm tighter. “Sometimes I wonder about that. They start off disagreeing once in awhile, then Enrique gets his way, eventually. He’s a Svengali.”

I pat her hand, then gently pry it off my arm. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I gotta drop this off at Mr. Tippett’s office, then we can change for dinner. Is Mr. Cordoza going to be there?”

“Probably, he’s there about half the time, talking business with Father. I leave as soon as I can.”

I take her arm in mine. “C’mon, let’s take this to Mr. Tippett. One job done, on to the next.”

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

Patty just doesn’t understand. Enrique’s nothing like the guards, like anybody else here. He’s … scary. She acts like it’s no big deal to have to talk with him, but the guards are afraid of him. I’ve seen it.

Tippett seemed happy to get the thing Patty took to him. She showed him how it worked and he went right to taking it apart. He better be able to put it back together or I’m telling Father. Patty doesn’t seem to care but he can’t go breaking my friend’s stuff, especially because she doesn’t have that much to start with. The clothes she brought with her look like most of the same things she brought last week. We got rid of a lot of my clothes last weekend and I didn’t even think about what she might have at home. I forget how much better off I am than her, at least financially.

We go to my room to change and I offer to let her use the bathroom but she says we’re cool, which makes me happy. I like it that we’re comfortable with each other, I’ve never really been comfortable around girls my age, boys either for that matter. Patty’s just different from anybody else I know.

She puts on the same blouse and skirt she had last week, though she adds a light scarf tied loosely around her neck. She seems calm. I wish I could explain to her what kind of person Enrique is, how dangerous he is. I can’t say that I’ve ever actually seen him do anything that bad, but I’ve heard the guards talking about him when they don’t know I’m around. If they aren’t lying, he’s done or ordered some terrible things. I hope my Father’s not aware of all he’s done, but I’m afraid he may. What kind of person does that make him?

“How do I look?” Patty asks.

“Great. Ahhh … listen. You sure you want to do this?”

“Eat? Yeah, I’m famished! You may not have noticed, but I didn’t eat much lunch, wanted to leave plenty of room for whatever Raul is making today. You don’t know how lucky you are, he’s a terrific chef.”

“Yeah, I’m reeaallyy lucky. I wasn’t talking about supper, I meant are you sure you want to speak to Enrique. He’s not the kind of person most people want to talk to … or see … or be around … or breathe the same air.”

She pats my arm. “Don’t worry. I think your Dad likes me, that should be enough.”

I shake my head. “I sure hope so.”

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

Both Patty and I are sitting in the dining room, waiting for Father to arrive, when Raul comes into the room. He never comes in unless Father asks for him. It’s not like he isn’t allowed, he just doesn’t do it. This time, he opens his arms wide.

“Where’s my girl?!” he shouts.

Patty jumps up, runs over to him and they hug, both smiling. I’ve never seen Raul hug anybody before. He’s so much bigger than she is, she practically disappears when he grabs her, you just see her arms around his waist. They do this for a couple of seconds, then break apart.

He puts his hand on her shoulder. “You got ideas for this weekend?” he asks.

She looks around quickly, just seeing me, leans in closer and quietly answers. “I’m thinking fruit pies.”

“Basket weave crusts?”

“With egg white glaze.”

He smiles. “Very good! We start right after supper, get crusts ready. In morning, we go to city market and get fresh fruit. Okay?”

She looks over at me. “I’ll go if Gretchen can go; I’m her guest this weekend. It’s only fair.”

Raul frowns. “I no think Mr. Hobbes like that.”

“But if you ask him, and we take Henry and Lou with us, it should be fine. It’d be like a school field trip, right?”

Raul grins down at her, rubbing her head. “Okay, Raul ask, maybe he say yes. You enjoy meal. Lemon broiled tuna, asparagus soup, your bread, Caesar salad. Everything perfect!”

“Sounds wonderful Raul! I can’t wait. Haven’t eaten all day!”

He laughs, waves goodbye, opens the door to the kitchen hall and walks out, whistling. I’ve never seen him so happy.

“What was that about?” I ask.

“What was what about?”

“All that. The hugging, the planning, all that. I didn’t get a hug.”

“You want one?” She opens her arms.

“That’s not the point.”

She drops her arms. “Then why’d you bring it up?”

I don’t know why I mentioned it. “That’s not important. Just what’s the deal with you and Raul?”

“Nothin’. We’re just friends and coconspirators.”

“About what?”

She leans in closer to me. “To get you out of this house once and awhile. You heard about the city market, right?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“It’s a fascinating place, plus, it gets you away from here for a little while. It’s the first small step of many. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”

Just then, Father and Enrique came in. They seemed to be in a good mood. Father’s face lit up when he saw Patty.

“Patricia! So good of you to come see us this weekend! I’d like to introduce you to Enrique Cardoza, my strong right hand. I don’t know what I would do without him.”

Enrique gives her an oily smile and offers his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Conner. Raymond has told me so much about you, I feel as if we are already friends.”

She takes his hand and shakes it, returning his smile with one of her brightest. “Happy to meet you, Mr. Cardoza, though I’m afraid I don’t know much about you. People here don’t seem to want to talk about you.”

“I prefer it that way, Patricia. May I call you Patricia?”

“Sure, Mr. Cardoza, it’s my name after all.”

Father pulls out his chair and sits. “Let’s all sit down. I hear that Raul has outdone himself today.” He looks over at Patty. “I wonder why that is.”

She simply shrugs and sits back down, as does Enrique.

The maids immediately come out and serve the soup and salad, putting baskets of bread on the table. The smell is incredible. If it tastes half as good, Father could be right.

Patty and Father pick up their philosophy discussion again. This time it’s about fate verses self determination. Patty argues for self determination while Father seems to believe fate has a hand in most situations. Patty claims that there is always a moral choice to be made and not choosing is a choice. They go back and forth, eating and fighting, but in a friendly way, Father frequently laughing and Patty giggling.

All this time, Enrique says nothing, he just watches, listens, and eats. It’s just like him, watching like a snake, waiting for his turn to strike, all the patience in the world. As Father finishes eating, he turns to Enrique.

“Is she not everything I said she was, Enrique? Have you ever met a more interesting girl?”

“No … no, I have not. Raymond told me you are originally from Spokane, is that true?”

Patty doesn’t say anything right away, she gets a serious look on her face. “No … Portland Oregon.”

“Ahhh yes, Portland. And your mother works for a bank?”

Now she’s frowning. “A public relations firm.”

“Where was it you went to school before St. Ann’s?”

“Look, Mr. Cardoza. Mr. Hobbes and I have already talked about this. I know that you know all about me and my Mom and how you found out. She and I are still pretty upset about the whole thing. Mr. Hobbes and I agreed not to mention it again, to avoid fighting about it.”

“That is true,” Father said.

Enrique smiles tightly. “I, however, have not agreed to anything. I am curious how you discovered the listening devices.”

Patty returns his smile with one of her own. “That was easy. I was trying to set up a Wi-Fi network at home and got a free router from Craig’s list. It was first generation B, so it was pretty old. I couldn’t get a clean signal because of a lot of interference. Turns out the bugs were broadcasting on a nearby frequency and there was some bleed over. I just used my laptop and the router to find the source of the interference and viola … found the bugs. Took about twenty minutes.”

“How did you know it was done by us?”

“You didn’t do it, you hired someone else. They passed themselves off as FPL repairmen. They were the only people who had been through the house recently. I should have suspected them from the start.”

“And how did you trace them to us?”

“I didn’t, it was obvious. Why would anybody care about me or my Mom? We’re just a couple of nobodies. They show up shortly after Gretchen and I become friends. One plus one equals two.”

“I see. You seem to have an answer to every question.”

“My Mom says that if you always tell the truth, you won’t have any trouble answering any question.”

“Interesting. Do you and she always tell the truth?”

“Pretty much. We’re fighting right now because she told somebody something I thought she should have kept to herself.”

“And what was that?”

“None of your business, Mr. Cardoza.”

I gasp quietly. I’ve never heard anybody say anything like that to Enrique. The smile has left his face. He leans forward on his forearms.

“And if I decided to make it my business?”

Patty cuts a piece of fish on her plate with her knife and fork, spears the slice with her fork, slowly raises it to her mouth while intently staring at Enrique. She pops it in her mouth, thoroughly chews it, swallows, and replaces the fork on her plate.

“Then you and I will have a problem … Mr. Cardoza.” She’s not smiling either.

Oh. My. God. I stop breathing and look over at Father. He looks shocked. Patricia just told Enrique, very politely, to drop dead. I don’t think even Father ever told Enrique that! There’s just total silence for several seconds, no one moving. Patricia and Enrique continue focusing on each other, neither blinking. Finally, Enrique leans back into his chair, a small smile on his face but fire in his eyes.

“No Raymond, I have never met a more interesting girl.”

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

After supper, Father summoned Raul to compliment him on the meal. While he was there, he asked about Patty and I going with him to the City Market Saturday morning. He’d already spoken with Henry and Lou and they, reluctantly, had agreed, as long as they got extra pieces of pie. Enrique made his usual objections about safety and security, but he didn’t really push it, which was odd. Father ended up agreeing that we could go. Patty gave me a thumbs up, smiling broadly. I gave her a thumbs up back. Then Raul mentioned we’d be leaving at 6:30 in the morning.

What the hell is with Patty and Saturday mornings?

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

I was in the last half hour of my shift, watching the monitors in the Security Building, when someone put their hand on my shoulder. I looked up and back to my right. It was Cardoza.

“I would like to talk with you when you’re done here.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Cardoza.”

He walks away to his office, closing the door behind him.

I know he’s just finished eating at the house. We’ve got a camera in the dining room but we’re ordered to turn it off during meals, to give Hobbes some privacy. The microphones on other nearby cameras can pick up parts of conversations so I’ve got some idea what went on. I think there was some kinda argument about something. Actually, there was a lot of arguing throughout the entire meal, but the early stuff sounded friendly, there was a lot of laughing. Not so much later on.

The rest of the shift is normal, nothing happening any where on the grounds. As the next shift comes wandering in, I walk over and knock on Cardoza’s door.

“Come in, Tony.”

I open the door, slide in and quickly close it behind me.

“Sit down.”

The office is as bare as his apartment above, nothing but the basics. The chairs are also just basic wooden chairs, no padding. The ones out in the main room are much nicer. I sit down, saying nothing. He seems upset, though it’s hard to tell with him.

“I met with Patricia Conner.”

“How’d it go?”

He doesn’t answer me, instead he leans back in his chair, elbows resting on the arms, fingers interlocked, thumbs bumping against each other.

“It is worse than I thought. Hobbes is completely taken with her. I can’t tell what her game is, she seems to have no interest in our business but she has attempted to befriend every important person in the household. I suspect some of the guards are also … attracted to her.”

“They spread the word, she’s strictly hands off.”

“Which just proves my point. She’s made an effort to make friends with most everyone … except me. She goes out of her way to confront me. If she was trying to charm her way into the household, she should be trying to win me over more than even Hobbes. Unless she’s unaware of my position.”

“Oh she knows. Raul’s told all of us to watch out for her, make sure she doesn’t accidentally do something stupid to annoy you. Talk about winning someone over. I think Raul would adopt her if he could.”

“Which makes her behavior even more puzzling.”

“You think she’s a plant of some kind?”

Again, he doesn’t answer, just sitting in his chair, thinking, the only thing moving are his thumbs. “No … no … I don’t think she is … at least there is no evidence she is … not yet, though that may change. She is … unsettling. Too smart and mature for her age, too opinionated for a young girl.”

“How many young girls do you actually know?”

“None, other than Gretchen.”

“Then you don’t know any young girls. They’ve got lots of opinions. Some of em’ will talk your damn ears off. I agree, she’s different, but that’s not why.”

“Why do you find her different?”

“Because, it’s like she’s always thinking. Every time I see her, it’s like something’s going on in her head. You don’t know what or why, but it’s there … just like you, Mr. Cardoza.”

He smiles for the first time tonight, chuckling. “Maybe that’s it, Tony. Maybe I subconsciously recognize some similarities between us. Regardless, she could be useful. It has been some time since Hobbes suffered a personal loss. The lessons from the deaths of his parents and wife may be wearing off. It is getting more difficult all the time to keep him from leaving the compound. If he becomes emotionally invested in this Conner girl, her death will be all the more devastating.”

WHAT?! “You’re going to kill her?!”

“Me? Personally? No, of course not. That will be your job, Tony.”

“WHOA! You want ME to kill her?”

“Possibly, though it’s more likely that you’ll find someone else to do it for you. You DO have connections with the local gangs … don’t you?”

So that’s why he’s using me, my outside gang contacts. “Yeah … what about em’?”

“Simple. I don’t want Conner in the household. It is too late for me to persuade Hobbes to just kick her out. She has done nothing wrong, or even suspicious. But her presence is a problem, none the less. She is disruptive and unpredictable and I can’t control her, quite similar to Hobbes’ wife. If I can’t control her, I might as well use her. Her death, perhaps gruesome death, could be helpful, properly timed of course. Let Hobbes have his new toy, let him grow fond of it, let him have a taste of freedom. It will be all the more crushing when I take it away … don’t you agree?”

He’s looking at me, a bland, emotionless expression on his face. There’s no doubt … he’s a crazy mother fucker. A dangerous, crazy mother fucker who’s always thinking. There’s only one thing to do.

“Absolutely, Mr. Cardoza. I completely agree.”

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

I was deep asleep when the bed started shaking. It took me several seconds to figure out what was going on. Patty was on her back, arms spread out at her sides, pressing down on the mattress, head tossing back and forth, muttering something I couldn’t understand. She seemed to be still sleeping. I couldn’t decide what to do, I remember a girl at school saying that if you wake somebody who’s sleep walking that they’ll die. It could be the same thing here. Patty’s getting louder and more active, now she’s practically throwing her body left and right, back and forth. I’m just about to push the panic button by my bed when she screams real loud and shoots upright, breathing rapidly.

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

I’m back in the darn warehouse with Tommy Flannigan, doing the deal for the guns. Of all my continuing nightmares, this one is among the top ten. Try as I might, I can’t stop the inevitable from happening, me blowing Tommy’s head off. And it’s just as horrifying every blasted time. This time, when I wake up, I don’t recognize anything. It’s not my bed or my bedroom … and someone’s in bed with me.

“Patty! Are you alright?”

“What?!... What? … Where … ” I can’t catch my breath, as usual. Who ever it is reaches out with her arms, gently pulling me to her and wrapping her arms around me. I hang on for dear life, breathing hard.

“Come on Patty,” she quietly says. “You’re gonna be fine. It was just a bad dream, that’s all it was, just a nasty ol’ bad dream.” She lays her head against mine and tenderly rocks me, until my heart stops pounding.

I’d remembered it was Gretchen and where I was almost as soon as I’d gotten my senses back in order, but I don’t stop her, I just let her hold me and slowly sway back and forth, both of us sitting upright in her giant pink bed. Closing my eyes, I return her hug, pulling my right cheek into her soft breasts, her warm breath tickling my neck. We just stay there, for what seems like several blissful minutes, when there’s a knock at the door.

“Miss Hobbes! Are you alright?”

Gretchen sighs. “Go away, we’re fine. Patty just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to check on you, Miss Hobbes. It’s the rules … sorry.”

Gretchen lifts her head from mine but keeps hold of me. “We’re okay,” she says, raising her voice. “I’m okay, everything’s okay. It’s fine, just a bad dream … that’s all. Go away … please go away.”

“I’m very sorry,” the voice insists, “but I gotta see you, see you’re safe, that’s the rules … very sorry about it.”

Gretchen sighs again. “Damn it” she mutters, then loosens her grip on me. I reluctantly let her go too as she slides away towards the edge of the bed, throws off the covers and quickly stalks to the door, switching on the lights when she reaches it, momentarily blinding me. She unlocks, then unbolts the door, throwing it open.

“See! We’re fine, no problems.”

A guard sheepishly steps in as she stands back, away from the door. He looks around the room, his eyes landing on my boobs, hanging mostly out of my black satin nightie. Quickly covering myself with the sheet, he continues to stare at me, like I’m gonna give him another peek or something.

Gretchen steps next to him, craning her head around so that she’s speaking directly into his left ear. “Seen enough?” she asks acidly.

The guard snaps his eyes away from my chest and rapidly backs towards the door. “I’m really sorry about this Miss Hobbes but the rules say I gotta check out any suspicious noise. When she screamed … I had no choice ya see.” He stops, standing just inside the door way. “It’s the rules,” he repeats.

Gretchen puts her hand to his chest and shoves him out of the door way. “Fuck the rules!” she shouts, slamming the door and relocking it. She returns to bed but the moment is clearly gone, both of us looking awkwardly at the other.

“Sorry about that, Patty.”

“No, no, I completely understand, makes perfect sense. Someone screams in the middle of the night, ya’ gotta check that out. Could be anything.”

She flops back onto the bed. “I have NO privacy in this place. People come in here all the time. If I hadn’t let him in, he would have come in himself, they’ve ALL got the key.”

“That’s a bummer. Uhhhh … thanks for helping me … you know … back then … when I was all … uh, panicky and everything.”

“You’re welcome. That’s what my mother used to do when I was little and had a nightmare.”

“It, ahhh, it really helped, a lot. Wish you were around all the rest of the time.”

“Does it happen often, the bad dreams?”

“Yeah, most of the time, actually. Some are worse than others. That was a bad one.”

“What was it about?”

“It’s kinda hard to remember the details, ya’ know? Basically, some one I know gets shot. I try to stop it but can’t. There’s a bunch of blood and stuff.” And guilt … lots of guilt.

“That’s terrible! Can’t they give you something for that?”

“Maybe, but I don’t really like to take drugs, not if I can help it.”

“But it’s medicine, good drugs instead of … you know.” She looks ashamed. It’s not her fault what her father does. I take her hand.

“What do I need drugs for when I’ve got Gretchen’s healing touch, right?”

She smiles and pulls me down next to her, wrapping her arms around me. “Fine, but no more bad dreams tonight. I was scared to death during that last one, all that thrashing around. At first I thought it was one of those sex dreams, until you screamed.”

“Sex dreams can end that way too … if you’re lucky.”

She giggles. “You nasty girl!”

You’ve no idea how nasty … girl.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

Mom and I’ve been to the City Market several times, but never this early. This time of day, it’s a completely different experience. The only ones shopping now are the professionals, commercial chefs from local restaurants, buyers from the smaller markets and non-chain grocery stores, and personal chefs like Raul. Everyone seems to know Raul and he knows them. Buyers know what they’re looking for and how much they’re willing to pay. There’s a lot more haggling going on. When it’s just regular people, the prices are what they are. Now, it’s raw capitalism on parade. Supply and demand rules.

Raul introduces me to every vendor he deals with and has me check out each item he’s considering, waiting for my opinion before making an offer. I don’t really know what I’m doing but can fake it, thanks to all those years under cover. We actually do a little bad cop, good cop on a couple of fruit and vegetable sellers, managing to get several good deals on some really nice fresh fruit, particularly the strawberries and blueberries. The apples are good too, this years crop fresh from Michigan. The peaches are disappointing though. There’s nothing you can do to save an average peach. If they’re good, you’re fine, if they aren’t, don’t bother with em’.

Gretchen wanders all over the place, checking out everything, Henry and Lou staying right with her. I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else but it would have been nice if they’d cut her a little slack. It’s clear that not many shoppers show up with bodyguards. I think some people are trying to figure out who she is … a singer, an actress, maybe a model. It’s kinda funny to watch how people treat her, nicely but warily.

Henry and Lou end up carrying most of the stuff back to the car, grumbling the entire time. I’ll need to make sure they’re properly rewarded at supper tonight. Gretchen was full of questions all the way back to the compound; she’d really enjoyed the whole thing, except the early morning part. I bought her an Elephant Ear when we first got to the market and her attitude improved immediately. She’d never had one before.

I promised Raul that I’d be back in plenty of time to work on the pies. First, Gretchen and I’ve got some asses to kick.

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

Hobbes is anxious to end our meeting after lunch, he’s wanting to get to his little basketball games. In fact, he’s already changed clothes. I don’t understand why he’s adopted American basketball when football is the sport of the world, though, admittedly, it would be hard to fit a football pitch inside the walls of the compound and get enough players together for two full teams. Still, it seems to be an abandonment of his culture.

“Enrique, our inventory is too large. I’m uncomfortable having this much product in the country, it’s pushing our storage capacity to the limit.”

“Don’t worry X-ray, it is a temporary problem. Once things settle down in California, their sales will increase and product will start moving again at the usual rates. Besides, what are your other options, let it accumulate in Mexico? You’re always complaining about how unstable everything is there, that our competitors are crazy fools, likely to do anything. At least we have control here in the United States.”

“True. You are correct again Enrique, as usual. Do you still plan on visiting all of my facilities in South America?”

“Certainly the major ones in Bolivia, Argentina, Venezuela, and Chile. Plus Mexico, of course.”

“Venezuela. There the government is crazy. Chavez should hurry up and die.”

“Then who replaces Chavez?”

“Good question. Dictators rarely have a succession plan, unless it’s within the family. He doesn’t have a son, does he?”

“I don’t know, X-ray.”

“Let’s hope not. As for my competitors, what progress on the infiltration plan?”

“Very good. We have contacts with people in all the major cartels and most of the minor ones. I believe that they want to have a connection with us so as to have some other, shall we say, employment possibilities, should their current employers fail.”

“Have promises been made?”

“Some.”

“Are any of them likely candidates?”

“No.”

“Then they will be disappointed. Unfortunate for them. If there is nothing else …” He starts to stand up but there is a buzz at the door as soon as he rises from his chair. I can see the monitor, it is Tippett.

“Yes, Tippett.” He says, clearly frustrated about being delayed.

“Sorry Mr. Hobbes. You wanted me to tell you if I ever heard about good business opportunities in the tech area. I think I’ve got one.”

Hobbes rolls his eyes. “Perhaps this can wait until later.”

“Sure Mr. Hobbes. It’s just that the Conner girl gave me her camera and …”

Hobbes’ face lights up. He reaches over and pushes the button to unlock the door. “Come in, Mr. Tippett.”

He slowly opens the door as Hobbes waives him in, pointing to a seat. Tippett is carrying a small box with him, which he keeps in his lap as he sits down.

“What about Patricia?” Hobbes asks.

“I asked her to bring me that surveillance camera that she built, you know, the one that caused all the problems? I got it yesterday and took it apart. It was really amazing! A hand built circuit board, a SD card for memory, off the shelf solar cells, rechargeable batteries from some old cell phones …”

“Briefly, Tippett.” I say. Hobbes looks relieved.

“Sure, sure. The whole thing is brilliant. Self contained, mobile, good anywhere in the world with 4G wireless access, lots of battery power to get through cloudy days, it does it all. She cobbled this together using old tech and off the shelf parts then wrote a dead simple operating system to make it all work together. It’s so simple, it’s hack proof.”

“Your point, Mr. Tippett?” asks Hobbes.

“There’s a market for this, a big one. If you used current tech and manufacturing, you could get this thing down to the size of a softball, maybe smaller, depending on the solar cell’s efficiency. You could drop it anywhere in the civilized world and you’ve got eyes and ears on the ground. The military would love it! Security firms would kill for it. She’s got night vision in here, for God’s sake. Change the wireless card and it’s good in Europe, China and Japan. You could sit in this office and check out what’s going on in damn near two thirds of the world. Five years from now, it could be the entire world. That kid is fucking good!”

“And why does that matter to us?” I ask.

Tippett appears to be confused. Hobbes speaks up.

“I told Mr. Tippett to keep an ear to the ground for attractive business opportunities. I thought that it might be good to expand into more legitimate areas, should the prospect arise.”

“Why would we be interested in that, Raymond?”

Hobbes stands up, moving towards the door. “We can talk about this later, Enrique. I’m already late for the game. Thank you for bringing this to my attention Tippett, we will speak in more detail later.”

And he’s gone, leaving Tippett and I alone in the office.
“Tippett …”

“He told me to do this, Mr. Cardoza! I’m just doing what I was told to do! It’s not my …”

I raise my hand slightly. “Calm down Tippett. I understand, I’m not blaming you. I just have a question. Since you’re so good at doing what you’re told, did you follow my instructions concerning Conner’s computer?”

He appears relieved. “Yes, sir! Any outside computers with access to our systems gets spy ware. It wasn’t easy either. She damn near had her own version of Linux, took me a lot longer than usual to make the mods. I couldn’t begin to describe the kernel …”

“I don’t need the technical details. Can you monitor her computer?”

“Absolutely. She goes online and I’ll know it. I can see anything she does, read any email, search her hard drive, just like I do with Gretchen’s.”

“And she won’t know it?”

“Naw, not a chance. Clearly, she’s good. I mean, wow, that camera, but I’m the best, Mr. Cardoza.”

“Good. I want you to watch her carefully. Report anything suspicious to me immediately.”

“Yes, sir. You got it. You can count on me.”

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

Hobbes was late, so they started without him. He and Riley never play first any way. Sidney blows hot so he and Gomez win twenty one to ten. Jackson was pissed, must have had some kinda side bet. Hobbes showed up just after the first game finished so he and Riley warmed up. Five minutes later, Lou arrived, slapping me on the back.

“Hey Henry, just won twenty from Jackson.”

“He didn’t look happy about it.”

“Shouldn’t have made the bet then, should he?”

“Guess not. Got money on this game?”

“You kidding? Who bets against Hobbes? Might as well bet against the Globetrotters.”

“Yeah, for the same damn reason.”

“They’re good, you know that.”

“Riley’s good, Hobbes is okay. You switch Jackson for Hobbes, Riley still wins. No one gets up in Hobbes face on defense, not really. You watch.”

Lou sits down next to me on the bleachers. “I know. Maybe you and I can get out there, show em’ how it’s done.”

“Yeah. Right.” I snort. “I’m way too old for that shit, you too. I’d like to keep my ACL in one piece, thank you very much.”

“You’re a chicken shit, Henry.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You need to take a chance now and then, that’s all”

Gomez has called time out. They’re already down seventeen to ten, they won’t last much longer.

“WE GOT WINNERS!”

Who the hell? It came from behind me, everyone looks that way. It’s Gretchen and Conner, standing side by side, dressed in athletic shorts and T shirts, Conner with a ball on her hip and a crooked grin on her face, Gretchen looks scared and nervous.

Some of the guys start to laugh, including Lou, but I’ve learned the hard way not to underestimate Conner. She looks cool and confident. She’s up to something.

“What the hell do they want?” asked Lou.

“Looks like they want to play ball.”

“Against Riley and Hobbes? No chance.”

“NO Chance, Lou? None at all? You haven’t seen them play yet.”

“They’re just a couple of girls. Gretchen’s tall, for a girl, but Conner’s a midget! Look at em’. Mutt and Jeff with tits!”

“I’d wait until you see what they can do, if I were you.”

“You think they’ve got a chance, put some green down buddy. Hell, I’ll give you odds, three, no, four to one. Four to one, Henry. What do ya say?”

“I’d say I’m in for a benny.”

“A hundred?! You’re kidding!”

“Nope. You gonna cover that, big man?”

“Hell yes.”

Hobbes is smiling. I can’t figure out if he’s happy, amused, surprised, proud or what. I know he tried to get Gretchen into some kind of sport for years before he gave up.

“You girls certain about that?” he asks.

Everyone turns to look at the girls. Conner nudges Gretchen with her elbow, who steps forward.

“Yeah, we’re certain!” she shouts.

“Excellent! We’ll finish this game quickly and then it’s your turn. No mercy, just because you’re my daughter, Gretchen.”

“No mercy because you’re my Father either.”

A number of guys go “UUUUUUWWWWWW!!” then laugh, but they don’t see Conner pat Gretchen on the back, who turns and smiles at her, her nervousness apparently gone.

While Hobbes and Riley finish off Gomez and Sidney, I slip off the bleachers and walk over to Conner.

“Hey.” I say.

“Hey.” Conner answers.

“Can you guys actually win this?”

“Yeah, we can and will. I’ve been watching them, got a pretty good idea what they can do. They’ve never seen us and we’ve been practicing.”

“When?”

“After lunch at school.”

“So, you’ve been planning this?”

“Yep.”

“Well you better win. I’ve got a hundred bucks riding on it.”

“Huh. You must have a lot of confidence in us.”

“I got good odds.”

“What are they?”

“Four to one.”

“Not bad. From who?”

“Lou.”

“He good for it?”

“Better be.”

Riley just slammed home the final point over Sidney. I’m pretty sure he and Gomez didn’t put up much of a fight after the girls showed up, they knew what Hobbes wanted.

“Looks like you’re up girls. Good luck.”

“Thanks, we’ll do our best.”

“Screw that. Win.”

They trot off to the court and I return to my seat.

Nobody’s left and they’re intently watching the girls warm up. They’ve both got decent form and Gretchen actually has some hops, for a girl, but Riley can block anything she’s put up so far. I don’t know how Conner is going to even get off a shot. They both have hit about one third of their warm up shots.

“You wanna pay me now, Henry?”

He may be right. “Fuck off, Lou.”

“They can’t hit shit unguarded. Riley may set a block record.”

“We’ll see.”

Hobbes and Riley are sitting in chairs on the sideline, also closely watching, occasionally leaning closer together, talking. Hobbes reclines in his chair, hands behind his head.

“Ready whenever you are, ladies.”

Conner passes the ball to him. “Let’s go.”

“Very Good.” He and Riley get up and walk on to the court. “I assume you both know the rules.” He passes the ball back to Conner.

“First to twenty one wins, win by two. Behind the line’s two points, inside the line’s one point. When the ball changes possession, you gotta bring it back beyond the line. Score, you keep the ball, check it before play starts. Call your own fouls, though that’s a waste of time.”

“Nicely put, Patricia.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a coin. “Call it, heads or tails.”

“That’s okay, you can take it out.”

Hobbes looks surprised. “As you wish.”

Riley sets up close to the basket as Hobbes takes his place outside the line, handing the ball to Conner, who bounces it back to Hobbes. She immediately attacks, getting in close to him, raising her arms, trying to reach the ball. Hobbes simply holds the ball high above his head, passes it to Riley, who catches it while Gretchen’s behind him. He pushes past her, stuffing the ball in the basket. One nothing. The guys whoop as Riley retrieves the ball and passes it back to Hobbes. Hobbes again hands the ball to Conner, she bounces it back to him and the same thing happens, two nothing.

This ain’t good. Lou looks like he’s already spending my money.

This time, Conner and Gretchen quickly change places, Conner fronting Riley. She barely reaches his waist. When Hobbes gets the ball back, Gretchen presses him, hands high. She’s only an inch are so shorter than he is and he’s having trouble getting a clean pass to Riley, who’s just holding Conner off with his arm as he stands just to the left of the basket, though he has to bend over a lot just to reach her.

Hobbes dribbles to his right but Gretchen’s all over him, flailing her arms around. It’s not very pretty but it’s effective. Hobbes isn’t used to having someone in his face. When he finally passes the ball, she manages to deflect it so that Riley has to move about six feet to reach it.

He doesn’t take a step before Conner takes off, easily beating him to the ball, then sprinting to the line.

She shouts “GO” just as her right foot lands outside the line. Gretchen breaks for the basket, Conner hitting her with a perfect bounce pass for an easy lay up. Two one.

Hobbes doesn’t react. Conner sets up outside the line, handing him the ball, which he bounces to her. Immediately, she quickly runs to the baseline outside the line, leaving Hobbes standing there, she stops, jumps and swish, two points. Two three.

Next possession. She takes two quick dribbles to the left, but Hobbes is ready, he’s chasing her until she quickly reverse dribbles back the other way. Hobbes stumbles, almost falling down. Riley charges at Conner but she gets the shot off long before he can get close. Nothing but net. Two five. I’m feeling a lot better and Lou looks a little sick.

So far, Gretchen’s just stayed near the basket, keeping Riley occupied. This time she set up just inside the line to Conner’s left. When Conner gets the ball back from Hobbes, she fakes right, then comes back left, with Gretchen setting a pick. Hobbes bit on the fake and is trailing Conner. The pick freezes him as Riley shifts to cover Conner. She shouts “GO” again and Gretchen breaks for the basket. Hobbes tries to grab her but she slaps his hands away and Conner makes another perfect pass, this one bouncing sideways, finding Gretchen all alone for another lay up. Two six.

The guys don’t know what to do. It’s clear some of them are impressed with what Conner and Gretchen are doing but they’re not stupid enough to cheer for them. The other guys who play are sick and tired of losing to Hobbes and Riley, but, again, they can’t say anything. The result is an eerie silence, where the only sound is the breathing on the court.

Conner gets the ball back from Hobbes and this time, he starts talking.

“Impressive Patricia. You better hope I don’t get the ball back. If I do …”

Conner takes off again, ignoring him, this time dribbling past Hobbes, heading for Riley under the basket, Hobbes chasing her. When she gets to Riley, she pulls back, then goes left as Riley lunges at her. Hobbes and Riley nearly run into each other as Conner dances away. Conner keeps dribbling around, letting Hobbes and Riley chase her. She’s trying to tire them out, which may not be that tough to do because they’ve already played one game and aren’t used to being pushed. This goes on for at least three minutes, Conner just dribbling all over the court.

I’ve never seen someone as quick as she is. She dribbles like the ball is part of her body and she’s so damn short, the ball never gets far from the court. Neither Hobbes nor Riley can get low enough to steal the ball. She changes direction so quickly, you try to stay with her, you’ll twist an ankle.

Eventually, both Hobbes and Riley just stand there, watching her dribble outside the line, where she simply stops, shoots and swish. Two eight. Hobbes, gasping for air, calls timeout.

He and Riley huddle away from everybody, but it’s clear they’re arguing, or at least as much arguing as you can safely do with Hobbes. Conner and Gretchen also huddle but they’re closer to the bleachers so we can hear what is being said.

“Great job, Gretch! You’re playing just like we practiced! We got em’ right where we want em’.”

“Thanks, you’re playing pretty well yourself, haven’t missed yet.”

“Neither have you, but don’t count on me hitting everything. Go for the rebound. Box Riley out.”

“I know … but he’s so big! I never thought he’d be that tall. It’s different from just watching.”

“Doesn’t matter, play like we practiced and you’ll be fine. You having fun yet?”

“Oh yeah.”

“So am I. Let’s get em’!”

When the girls take the ball out, Hobbes has backed off Conner just a bit, he knows he’s not quick enough to stay with her but she could just shoot it now and he’d never get to her before it was too late. Gretchen’s positioned to set a pick again. Conner takes a hop step towards Hobbes, trying to freeze him, then dribbles towards Gretchen. Riley jumps the pick, leaving Gretchen wide open. Conner shouts “GO” but Gretchen’s already heading for the basket, Hobbes chasing her. Conner makes another one of those screwy passes of hers, like it’s a Gretchen seeking missile. Just as she reaches for the ball, her dad grabs her, pulling her back, the pass going out of bounds.

“Foul!” she screams. “You FOULED me!” pointing at Hobbes. Before he can say anything, Conner’s there.

“Okay, okay. Your ball out.”

Gretchen is pissed. “He grabbed me, Patty. I was open and he just grabbed me! It was a foul!”

Conner takes her arm and pulls her a short distance away. “This is a man’s game Gretchen and we’re playing by men’s rules. Our time will come. Okay?”

She’s still pissed but calmer. “If you say so.”

She pats her arm. “Good. Take it out on them on the court.

Hobbes actually looks ashamed. Everybody saw him blatantly foul his own daughter and Conner let him off the hook, which was actually worse than insisting on the foul call. When he checks the ball, he looks distracted, like he doesn’t know what to do. Conner’s guarding him again, but not as tightly as before. He dribbles right a few feet then burns a pass over her head to Riley, who’s gotten good position near the basket, pushing Gretchen around like she’s not even there. He slams it home. Three eight.

They do that two more times before Conner backs off a little more, sagging down on Riley a couple of feet. Hobbes takes the opening to shoot behind the line, but he’s not quick enough. As he starts to bring the ball up from his waist to shoot, Conner rushes in and swings her arm up, cleanly knocking it up and out of Hobbes grasp. She runs it down, dribbles backwards across the line and shoots. This time, she misses, but the ball comes off the board right into Gretchen’s hands and she lays it in. Five nine.

Gretchen takes her usual pick position but this time, instead of setting a pick, when Conner yells “GO”, she hands the ball to Gretchen. Riley’s jumped the pick again so he’s out of position when Conner takes off for the basket. Gretchen throws a poor pass, making Conner wait for it, giving Riley a chance to catch up from behind. He’s still behind when Conner goes in for a lay up. Riley’s all big eyes and open mouth, ready to swat it away, but she dribbles past the basket, then quickly shots a reverse lay up before Riley can jump, using the basket to block him. Five ten.

These girls know what they’re doing. I scoot over next to Lou. “Four to one.”

“Shut the fuck up you bastard. It’s only ten to five. There’s plenty of time.”

“Look at em’ out there. Hobbes and Riley are toast, they just don’t know it yet. The longer this goes, the slower they get. Conner’s as fresh as a daisy and faster than a cheetah. They couldn’t catch her with a net. If they don’t get the ball back in the next five minutes and hold it for at least eight straight possessions, it’s over.”

“We’ll see. Don’t count your money yet, Henry.”

Lou’s mad as hell but he knows I’m right. Hobbes doesn’t get the ball back until five eighteen, when Gretchen misses a lay up, fumbling the pass out of bounds. She’s all apologetic but Conner just swats her on the ass, tells her to forget about it and to guard her dad. When Hobbes gets the ball back, Riley makes a bee line for the corner on the opposite side of the court. Hobbes passes it to him and then tries to go under the basket but Gretchen’s all over him, sliding with him left to right and back, pushing and shoving him. Riley decides to show off his ball handling skills so he turns to face Conner, getting down low, right foot back, elbows out.

Big mistake.

Conner swipes the ball before he can even dribble once. She kicks in the afterburners and dribbles to the opposite corner nearest the bleachers, Riley in hot pursuit. He doesn’t have a chance. She turns and shoots, holding her hand up, wrist bent, following through the shot.

The ball gently falls through the net as Riley runs over Conner, tossing her violently into the bleachers.

The crowd erupts. Everyone but Lou was rooting for Conner and Gretchen by now. How could you not? They played hard, no hot dogging, took fouls most of these other guys would have been bitching about for weeks. Now Conner was sprawled face down across the third row of a set of metal bleachers. A couple of the guys, including me, ran to check on her, the rest rushed the court, screaming at and shoving Riley.

By the time I got to Conner, she was sitting up, running a finger across her teeth, checking to see if any were loose. I’d done the same thing back in the day when I played football and got my bell rung. She took the finger out of her mouth, twisted her head left then right and spit. There was a lot of blood in that spit.

She had a small cut over her left eye and a couple of nasty abrasions on both knees.

I lean down close to her face. The pupils of both eyes are the same and the eyes are clear, no blood. I check out both ears, no blood there either.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Let me stand up and I’ll see.”

I squat down in front of her as she slowly climbed off the bleachers, arches her back, which just happens to push her boobs near my face, turns left at the waist, then right, then bends forward, giving me another good look at those boobs of hers. She flexes at the knees, pulls up her right leg, then left, rotates both arms at the shoulder.

“Think I’m fine. What’s going on out there?”

Looks like things aren’t going so well for Riley. He’s been forced back to the basket, about nine guys around him in a half circle, all shouting and threatening. Someone may need to do something before this gets out of hand. I turn to see if Conner is still fine but she’s not there.

Where the hell did that girl go? If I got hit like that, I’d have broken something, maybe several somethings. She may have a concussion for all I know. It’s not safe for her to be wandering around alone. One problem at a time though, Riley’s first.

When I look back at the court, Conner’s pushing her way on from behind the basket. She stands next to Riley, waiving her hands. “I’m okay! I’m okay! No problem! Just a few scrapes and cuts! Really, I’m okay!”

The guys start to quiet down, though the mood is still ugly. Hobbes steps past the crowd, getting in Riley’s face.

“Riley! What in God’s name were you thinking?! You could have killed her! What would I have told her mother?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Hobbes. I never meant to hurt anyone … I just lost it for a second, snapped …”

Conner moved next to both of them. “It’s all cool Mr. Hobbes. I’m okay, it’s a rough game, things happen. We’re cool, right Riley?” She makes a fist and holds it out to Riley, who tentatively and very carefully, bumps with his own fist. “See, we’re good. Our ball, right?”

“Patricia, I don’t think we should continue under the circumstances” said Hobbes.

“I’m fine. Henry checked me out. Didn’t you?” Hobbes looks at me. I just shrug. “No concussion, nothing broken, just some scrapes and cuts, a little blood. The rules say first to twenty one, right? Everybody sit down and we can finish this.”

The guys slowly move back to the bleachers as Gretchen comes up to Conner.

“You’re really okay? I thought you were dead!”

“I’m fine.” She spits again, still a lot of blood there. “The shot went in, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Good, one basket left. Let’s try the special.”

“Really?”

“Why not?”

“Why not. Fine.”

Conner takes her place outside the line. Hobbes picks up the ball and bounces it to her. She starts to dribble. Hobbes is guarding her but he’s back at least five feet. Riley’s also guarding her, ignoring Gretchen. He’s ten feet behind Hobbes. Conner’s moving slowly, slower than anytime today. Something could be wrong with her. She’s sliding to her right, Hobbes and Riley moving with her. She stops and nods her head. Gretchen dashes to the basket as Conner throws the ball through Hobbes legs with an insane amount of back spin. The ball stays low, spinning and hugging the court as it shoots through Riley’s legs too. As the ball gets near Gretchen, it finally bites the surface of the court and pops up, right in front of her.

Five twenty one.

There’s shouts and applause all around, even Lou. He looks over at me.

“Henry … it was worth it.”

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

A couple of the guards got Patty some ice packs for her injuries. She’s holding them to both knees when Father comes over and sits down next to us.

“I’d like to apologize for what Riley did out there, Patricia. It was completely out of bounds. He will be disciplined.”

“Don’t do it on my account,” she says. “He was frustrated. I bet there’s been lots of fights on that court.”

“Certainly. I like my men to be prepared to defend themselves as well as protecting me. Emotions get high during competition.”

“Well, that’s what happened here. Did you discipline those other guys when they fought?”

“Not usually.”

“There you are. Why do anything different now?”

“Obviously, you’re a girl. A man should never do something like that to a young girl.”

“Don’t make special rules to protect me, Mr. Hobbes. I’ve been hurt before and worse. He’s your guy, you can do what you want, but I don’t need anything like vengeance. If I did … I’d take care of it myself.”

Patty may be little, but I think she’s the toughest person I’ve ever met. And the smartest. And the nicest.

Father shook his head. “I understand the frustration, but he should have controlled it better.”

“You know, Mr. Hobbes, this is the only kind of basketball game Gretchen and I even had a chance to beat you in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Long term, we couldn’t play defense against you guys. With make it take it, we just had to keep scoring. With only two people, you couldn’t double team me. Even three on three would have been tougher than two man ball. Five on five would have been impossible. My ace in the hole is quickness, which you guys didn’t have an answer for. A team can defend a quick guy but two people can’t, not without leaving someone wide open. Gretchen’s way too good to leave open, she’ll make you pay every time.”

“You seemed to be able to stop us when you needed to.”

“We were lucky a couple of times. The score could easily have been the same but going the other way.” She dropped the ice bags in a bucket. “Sorry, gotta run. I’m helping Raul make pies for dessert tonight.” Patty hurried off. I started to follow her.

“And where are you going, Gretchen?” asked Father.

“I’m going to help Patty.”

I continue following her but only take about another ten steps when Father called to me again.

“Gretchen?”

“Yes, Father?”

“You played well today … very well … I was impressed.”

“Thank you, Father.”

I ran to catch up with Patty before she got to the kitchen.

“Patty!”

She stopped and waited for me.

“Yeah?”

“Can I help?”

“Sure, no problem. It’ll be fun.”

“Thanks. What was all that stuff you were saying to Father? Was it true?”

“Sorta. The rules gave us an advantage … as long as we kept scoring. We had a chance to scout them, they never had a chance to scout us. Next time, it’ll be harder.”

“Next time?”

“Did you like it?”

“Sure, it was fun to beat him.”

“Was it fun to just play?”

“That was fun too.”

“Then why stop? You’ll only get better with practice. Heck, we could play on the school’s team. Think what you could do against girls if you practice against guys.”

That might be fun too.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

“WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOU?!”

Patricia had several bruises on her legs, a cut on her forehead and nasty scrapes on both her knees. If Hobbes has been beating her, I’ll kill him myself!

“Take it easy Mother, I’m fine. I just took a spill while playing basketball.”

“I played basketball in high school and that’s more than a simple fall!”

“Alright, I got shoved off the court and landed in the bleachers.”

“Who did it? I want his name, right NOW! You are NOT going back to that house until he is punished.”

“Don’t worry. If I had known what was going to happen afterwards, I’d have paid him to do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everybody came after him, including Hobbes. All I had to do was make nice and suddenly I was the poor, innocent victim, beloved by all. Raul had to be actually restrained when he heard about it. If I was Riley, I’d be eating take out for the next few weeks.”

“So, who is this Riley character?”

“Just another guard, but now, thanks to him, I’m the sweetheart of the entire household! The food didn’t hurt, but now, I’ve got their respect. I’m the tough little girl who got up off the floor after being unfairly pounded by a bigger person and forgave him. I’m golden at that place.”

“And how does this help us get what we need to put Hobbes out of business?”

“Not directly, but it keeps me in the house until I can think of something.”

“I’m not sure I like how this is turning out. They shouldn’t treat you like this. You’re just a little girl, after all.”

“I’m not a girl, Mother, I’ll be seventeen in two weeks … I’m practically a woman.”

She’s what? “A woman?”

“Well … you know what I mean.”

She couldn’t have forgotten who and what she is, could she? “No Patricia, what do you mean?”

“Clearly physically, I’m … below average height but that doesn’t mean I’m some kinda baby. I’ll always be … shorter than most people, no matter how old I am.”

This isn’t right. Patricia has never acted like this before, even when we knew we were being watched. Her identification as a woman has never been this strong, certainly not at Blue Five … assuming she’s still at Blue Five.

“Patricia … do you know what your setting is?”

“Setting?”

“The Balancer. What’s the current setting?”

“I returned it to Blue Ten before I left for Gretchen’s.”

“YOU set it?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mother. That should have told me something. She never called me “Mother” unless she was angry at me or the setting was high Pink, very high. “Patricia, wait right here.”

“Certainly, Mother.”

I dash to my bedroom and pick up the Controller from my bedside table. The lock button is off and it is set on Pink Forty Eight. I never forget to lock it once I change the setting, but Patricia doesn’t know about that feature. If you don’t lock it down, the setting can drift. Why was she changing her settings? That is my responsibility. I return to the living room, controller in hand. I hold it out for her to see it.

Patricia is amazingly truthful at this setting so I might as well take advantage of it. “Do you see this setting?”

She leans in closer to get a better look. “Yes, mother.”

“Can you explain it?”

“Yes, Mother.”

She is also literal at the highest pink settings. “Tell me what happened, Patricia.”

“I had to review the computer code on my personal lap top computer, looking for changes. It’s much easier to do that at the high Pink settings, where my cybernetic features dominate. After completion, I returned the settings to Blue Fifty. Friday I changed the setting to Blue Ten and left for Gretchen’s.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“I didn’t want to deal with you right then.”

No need to ask why that was. She hadn’t said twenty words to me since returning from Matthews’ office. I just did what I thought was right. Why can’t she understand that? It’d serve her right for me to leave her at this setting for a day or two, teach her a lesson, but that’s not going to solve anything. I turn away from her, blocking her view of the Controller as I change the setting to Blue Fifteen. Patricia immediately becomes sullen and withdrawn.

“Patricia, do you have anything you want to tell me?”

“Like what?”

“Maybe … thank you.”

“Yeah, right” she snorts. “Thanks for ratting me out to Lipscomb.”

“Will you please get over that? We had a disagreement, that’s all.”

“What we had was an agreement to keep that information to ourselves and now Lipscomb’s got it. God knows what he’ll do with it.”

“You won that point; he said he agreed with you, that it couldn’t be used.”

“What he says and what he does are two separate things. He’s a lawyer, you can’t trust em’. I thought I could trust you, but apparently I was wrong.”

“Is that what all this is about … trust?”

“In this business, trust is all you’ve got.”

“What about you, going behind my back, changing your settings by yourself … and screwing it up, I might add. Do I have to lock this up?” I ask, shaking the Controller in her face.

She doesn’t like that. “Do what you think you have too. It had to be done, and it worked. I found out what I needed to know.”

“And you could have walked into Hobbes compound set on Pink Forty Eight. How would that have turned out?”

She looks away from me. “I’d have handled it.”

“How? All anybody had to do was ask you an open ended question and you’d have spilled the beans. You can’t lie to me at Pink Forty Eight.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. Besides, talking to you is different from talking with Hobbes.”

“You mean you … trust me?”

She picks up her bag. “I’m going to bed. I’ve got a physics test early tomorrow.” She heads for the stairs.

“What about supper?”

“Fix it yourself!” she shouts from the second floor.
She’s getting gourmet food and I get beanie weenies! I throw the Controller onto the couch, where it bounces up and hits the floor.

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

I don’t have a test; I just needed to get away from Mom. There’s no doubt that could have been handled better, certainly by me. I don’t know why I can’t be more reasonable but, sometimes, she just ticks me off … particularly when she’s right.

I hadn’t noticed the change in my setting right away when I walked into the house. I’d always wondered if Matthews was right about the range of the Remote, now I know. Once Mom started talking to me and I couldn’t control my answers, I knew something was up. She’s right, if I’d gone to Hobbes at that setting, who knows what could have happened.

Right now, I just want to go to bed. Those late nights with Gretchen create a sleep deficit that’s catching up with me. Gotta stay sharp at school.

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

I’m in the back of a pick up truck, in one of those camper things people put in the beds, which is weird because I never did anything like that when I was working undercover. I’m moving, it feels like a bumpy road, bouncing me around. I pull a curtain open on the side and look out. It’s dark, but there is a small light on in the camper. I can see my reflection in the window.

I’m Patricia!

This has never happened before! I’ve always been Peter Harris in my dreams … always! Why would I be Patricia? What’s changed? Peter Harris never rode in a pick up camper before, where’s this memory coming from? Maybe it’s not a memory, like the other nightmares. Maybe this is an honest to goodness dream.

I check out my reflection in the window again. I look younger, maybe twelve or thirteen, hard to say for certain. The truck hits a big hole, throwing me off the seat and onto the dirty floor. The camper smells bad, kinda like a little hunting lodge a friend of mine used to have … actually it was just a one room cabin by a lake. It smelled of fish guts, dead worms and sweat, lots of male sweat. He rarely cleaned the place so it eventually smelled just like this camper, minus the exhaust fumes.

I unsteadily stand up, the camper still rocking back and forth. I’m wearing a mid-calf dress and a short, padded jacket. It’s chilly and feels damp. The next big bump throws me back towards the seat, which I grab and hold onto tightly. The camper’s a bit of a mess but most stuff is tied down, one way or another, with ropes or bungee cords. Looks like who ever owns this likes to fish cause there’s a number of fishing poles and several tackle boxes.

The speed slows as the truck turns right and the road gets rougher, sounds like a gravel road or driveway. We continue for just a few more minutes then stop. The truck door opens with a rusty groan then slams shut, then heavy, crunchy steps work their way to the door of the camper. Keys rattle in the door momentarily and it opens. A large hand reaches in and flips a switch by the door, filling the small space with light.

“Get out, Jenny Jo.”

He’s a large man, or at least he looks large, squeezed into the small door frame at the back of the camper. I don’t say anything, just pull my little coat tightly around me, hop off the seat and hurry out as the man steps away from the door. There are no steps down to the ground so I have to jump about two and a half feet when I leave the camper, landing on my feet at first but stumbling forward, falling but catching myself on my hands. Straightening up, I look around as my eyes adjust to the dark.

We’re parked on a grassy strip of land between the edge of the woods and a large lake. There’s a dock and boat about hundred feet away, the ground dropping sharply towards the water. The gravel path we came in on snakes back into the woods, fading in the deepening gloom. The trees are full of leaves but it’s too cold to be summer, though the sky is cloudy. The man, whoever he is, is inside the camper and I hear banging and thumping coming from inside. He steps out of the back door and jumps to the ground.

“Come here, girl” he says gruffly. I approach him slowly. “Hurry up!” he adds.

“Yes, Daddy.”

My father, well not MY father but her father, Patricia’s father, though apparently her real name is Jenny Jo. And she’s afraid of him. I’m scared, very scared, actually shaking, though from fear or the cold I can’t tell. When I reach him, I see he’s actually slightly below average height, maybe five eight, one eighty, though it’s hard to tell because he’s wearing baggy bib overalls and a denim jacket. He easily picks me up and tosses me into the camper. I land on the seat, which has been folded out into a bed. He climbs in after me, carefully locking the door.

He stands up, next to the edge of the bed, slightly crouching to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling of the camper.

He shrugs off the denim jacket, tossing it in the corner of the camper on his right, then reaches up, unhooking one of the straps of his bib overall.

“It’s time, Jenny Jo. Your momma told me that you need to go on the rag, that you’ve been bleeding regular for four months now. I waited till you got old enough, took long enough, had those tits of yours over a year.”

I scurry to the head of the bed, as far away from him as I can get, sitting on my bottom, legs pulled up to my chest, arms wrapped around my legs.

“No, Daddy. That’s not pussy blood, that’s … that’s … uhh, from gym class. I got hurt and …”

He lunged at me, grabbing my left arm, dragging me towards him as I try to grab something to keep me from sliding on the bed, but couldn’t find anything. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me to my knees, squeezing until my eyes start to water from the pain.

“Don’t be lyin’ to me girl! Your momma knows. Tell me the truth!”

“It’s gym class” I sob.

He lets go of my shoulder and back hands me across the face with his right hand. I see stars, then the pain comes rushing in.

“The truth, you ungrateful bitch!”

“It was gym …” Another smack, open palm this time, rattling my teeth and brain. His hands are back on my shoulders, shaking me.

“Don’t lie to me again, girl! What kinda blood?!”

I’m crying, can’t catch my breath.

“It’s … it’s … it’s …” He lets go of my shoulder, reaching back with his hand, ready to hit me again. “… it’s … pussy … blood.” He pushes me away, I fall onto my back, legs splayed, still crying. He unbuttons the second strap, letting the overalls fall to the ground.

He’s not wearing any underwear. His dick is hard and red, pointing right at me. He steps out of the overalls.

“I’d hoped this first time would have been easier … but you’ll grow to like it. I know I will. Before I’m done, you’ll know every trick in the book, maybe invent a few of our own. Until then …” He grabs my left leg, pulling me closer to his cock. I can’t take my eyes off it, bobbing in front of me. Quickly flipping me onto my stomach, he puts a hand in the middle of my back, pushing me into the thin mattress while the other hand pushes my skirt up over my bottom and grabs my panties, tearing them off.

Momma had given me an old, worn pair of panties to wear today. I told her they were too bad but she insisted. I was thankful I didn’t have gym today. Now I know why she did it. She knew.

Daddy falls onto my back, trapping me on the bed. I try to squirm away but can’t move, my legs spread wide underneath him. He props himself up on his elbows on either side of me, giving him some space to move but keeping most of his weight on me, controlling me. I can feel his hips moving, his dick searching for my vagina. I try again to twist away but end up pushing right into his cock.

“Ahhh, you want it, don’t ya’ Jenny Jo?” He pushes forward, just entering me.

“No! ... NO! … NOOO … I don’t want … AAAAGGHH!!”

It hurts, it burns, burns like a hot pan on a stove. I’ve never felt pain like this, stretching, tearing my tender flesh. I’d been stabbed, I’d been shot, but this was worse. Those other injuries were sudden, shocking, but over with immediately. There was always the residual pain, sometimes a lot of it, but you knew what had happened and you could deal with it. Here, each new thrust was a new assault, a different part of my body suffering damage as Daddy pushed further in, plus repeated attacks on the already ravaged parts of my young vagina.

I feel his balls finally hit my bottom. He chuckles, pulls back a few inches, then drives forward, grunting. The pain only gets worse. I start to scream.

“Scream all you want, Jenny Jo, ain’t nobody out there to hear. We’re miles from anybody.”

I continue to cry and scream as he starts thrusting harder and faster.

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

Her door is locked!

It’s never been this bad before and now I can’t get in. It’s a simple push button lock. Running down the stairs, taking two at a time, I hit the landing, stumble, grab the railing and swing towards my bedroom. I let go and bounce off the furniture and walls, skidding to a stop at the bedroom door. I charge in, throw the closet door open, searching for an empty wire hanger. Finding one, I tear back to and up the stairs, straightening the hook of the hanger as I go. I almost overrun the door but manage to brake myself by grabbing the door handle. Immediately inserting the straightened wire into the hole in the center of the door handle, I poke and probe, trying to hit the release button.

“Come on. Come on. Idiot! A child can do this! Come …” the lock clicks open! I throw the door open and turn on the lights.

Patricia is wrapped in her sheets, flailing and turning, screaming as if being tortured. Why the neighbors haven’t called the police is beyond me. I try to grab her arm but she pulls it from my grasp. Setting on the bed next to her, I lay me upper body against hers, trying to stop her violent thrashing. I put a hand on each side of her head, stilling it.

“Patricia! Wake up, wake up! You’re fine! You’re safe! Wake up, Honey! Please … wake up! Come on, Baby, please wake up.”

Suddenly, she stops, gasps loudly, opens her eyes widely. She appears to be out of it, confused. She’s still breathing hard, a little panicked.

“Mom? Is that you?”

“Yes, Baby, it’s me. You’re safe, you’re safe Baby.”

“Where am I?”

I slide off her, freeing her body, though she’s still wrapped in her sheet.

“You’re at home, in your bedroom, honey.” I help her sit up and free her arms.

“My bedroom?”

“Yes Honey, your bedroom. Safe at home.” I lean in closer to her. “What happened, Patricia?”

She throws her arms around my neck, pulling me tight, laying her head on my chest and cries.

“I’m not a virgin” she sobs, between the tears.

Severance Pay (Chapters 37 through 42 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

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?

Severance Pay (Chapters 43 through 48 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Audience Rating:

Adult Oriented (r21/a)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

After talking her way out of trouble with X-ray Hobbes, Patricia and Gretchen start the weekend as regular girlfriends but the relationship deepens. Jessica has a traumatic epiphany. Hobbes implements Patricia's plan. Listed Themes and Elements apply to entire story, Rating to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for editorial assistance.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE

I’ve never seen so many people before, at least not in person. So many of them are kids our age. Girls and boys.

Lots of boys.

Lots and lots of boys.

Patty and her mother walk a few steps ahead of me while I look around. I’ve never been to a mall before, not that I can remember. So many stores, so many mannequins in the front windows wearing stylish clothes. The stuff in my closet doesn’t look anything like what they’re wearing.

But they do look like what Patty’s wearing.

I’ve never seen her dress like this before. She’s actually wearing black leather boots. With high heels! At least four inches! The top of her head practically touches my chin. And the way she walks in them, hips swinging, bottom … moving. It’s all so different.

She’s got on this light blue dress. It’s wool knit, very soft, the hem flounces as she walks. It’s only like fifteen or sixteen inches from her waist. And the neckline. It buttons right at the top but it opens up in a circle, showing … well a lot more than she’d get away with at school.

Way lots more. Like give Sister Carmela a heart attack more.

She looks great!

I’m just wearing jeans, my basketball shoes and a T-shirt. Plus a jacket, this place is kinda chilly. A lot of the kids are dressed like me, though it’s more of the boys. The girls are dressed more like Patty. I didn’t pack any of my nicer clothes, the whole thing happened very sudden like. Next time, it’ll be different. Still, even my nice stuff seems to be out of style.

Patty and her mother stop walking and I almost run into them. They’ve stopped in front of a store called “Soffia’s”. Looking through the lightly shaded windows, it seems to have a lot of teen age girls as customers.

“We can start here” said Patty. “It’s a good place to get ideas about prices and styles. I’d never actually buy anything here, way too pricey, but it’s a good reference point. Mom can meet us back here in … say twenty minutes?”

“NO! I want her to come with us … if that’s okay, Mrs. Conner?”

“Are you sure, Gretchen? Patty hasn’t let me help her buy clothes … lately.”

“It’s not like I don’t want your help, you’re just always so busy and when I’ve got time you aren’t …”

“What about Wednesday three weeks ago. I had my purse in my hand, ready to go and you said not to bother, you’d handle it.”

“The half-price color at Goodwill was red that week and there were a couple of dresses I had my eyes on for two weeks. It was a quick trip, no bigee.”

“As you can see, Gretchen, my daughter is ashamed to be seen with me. I’d be happy to help you.”

“MOTHER!”

Mrs. Conner wraps her right arm around my left and leads me into the store with Patty following, but at a distance. Mrs. Conner points to a rack of black leather coats with a lot of silver metal studs, chains and badges.

“Now, there’s a good example, Gretchen. Something like that jacket may be currently in style but it’s so ostentatious that when it goes out of style in six months, at most, you won’t be able to wear it if you want to be stylish. You need to find classics that you can accessorize with a few more stylish, less expensive items. It’s much less expensive to buy a new scarf than a new dress.”

“Callista Thomas has that exact same jacket!”

“And I’ll bet she won’t be wearing it after April of next year. A complete waste of money. Now, over here, these are your basic dresses. I wouldn’t look at those with bias cut hems, much too eccentric.”

Patty joins us. “Mom, don’t say that. Gretchen has the perfect build for that hemline. It was made for her. You’d look great too. I’m the one who couldn’t wear that. That red one, over there, Gretch would absolutely KILL in that!”

Patty’s pointing to a faceless mannequin standing on an elevated platform attached to a pillar by the changing room. It’s wearing a gorgeous bright red dress, the hem cut on a slant. It’s a full skirt with the top having a mid V neck and three-quarter sleeves. The mannequin has matching red pumps with I guess three inch heels. I’ve never worn heels, at least not since I was three years old and used to play in my mother’s shoes.

That probably doesn’t count.

“It’s very attractive, Patricia, but not very practical.”

“I think her dad can afford it.”

That seems to upset her. “It’s not about affording it, it’s about being a smart shopper … and I would think that the less of that money there is to spend, the better!” She storms out of the store. I look at Patty.

“Don’t worry, she’ll calm down in a little while.”

“I think we should find her, she seemed upset.”

Patty takes a dress off the rack and holds it up against herself. “Suit yourself.”

I hurry out of the store and look around. I can’t see her anywhere, but she’s tall, like me, so I should be able to find her.

Walking up this side of the Mall, I head for the Center Court area. I can see a big indoor fountain. Moving with the crowd, I can’t see her. If she stepped into one of these stores, I’ll never find her. My best chance is if she sat down somewhere to cool off. When I reach the Center Court, I stop and look around. There’s a lot of benches near the fountain. Several shoppers surrounded by bags are taking a break. Eventually, I spot her, sitting, head turned toward the water. I slowly approach, not sure of what I’m going to say.

“Mrs. Conner?” She turns her head, looking at me. “I’m sorry if anything I did upset you. You’ve been super nice to me and all and I’m really, really sorry if I’ve made you mad or anything.”

She pats the bench next to her. “Sit down, Gretchen.” I slowly sit where she patted. She folds her hands in her lap. “It’s not anything you’ve done or said. You’ve been a perfect guest. It’s just …” She shakes her head.

“It’s my father, isn’t it?”

“Yes … yes, it is.”

“I saw how you acted around him at the paintball place. Why do you hate him? I know why I hate him but why do you?”

“Gretchen! Don’t say that! A child should never hate their parent. Not without good cause.”

“Don’t I have good cause?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t. I’m afraid that I just can’t accept what he does for a living. Patricia seems to be able to separate the man from the business, but I can’t. To be honest, when I heard the news on the radio Friday about the record drug busts, I was ecstatic.”

“I was pretty happy too. I thought, maybe now, this all can stop, maybe we can live like normal people, like you and Patty.”

She chuckles at that. “Oh Patricia and I are far from normal. I don’t think you want to use us as your baseline.”

“You guys are the most normal people I know.”

“Maybe you need to expand your circle of friends.”

“I’d like to.”

She reaches out, taking my hands in hers. “I’m sorry about blowing up in the store. It’s not your fault. You’re a perfectly wonderful girl. It’s my problem and I’ll deal with it. What do you say we go back, find Patricia and have an enjoyable afternoon?”

“Sounds good to me, Mrs. Conner.”

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

It’s about time!

I really need them to bond if Mom’s going to help me pull this off.

I followed Gretchen when she left the store, hanging back far enough so that she wouldn’t see me. One of the advantages of my current height.

I couldn’t hear what they said to one another but it looks like Mom’s warming up to her.

One step at a time.

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

When we get back to “Soffia’s”, Patricia is still looking through the rack of dresses where we left her.

“We really should see how Gretchen looks in that featured dress, Mom.”

“If she wants to. Do you, Gretchen?”

“If you don’t mind. I’ve never had anything like that before.”

Patricia picks up a dress that she had set aside. “Here ya go, Gretch.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t hurry, dear. Patricia and I’ll be right here.”
As soon as Gretchen closes the door to the changing room, I turn to Patricia.

“What was that all about?”

“What was what all about?”

“Sending Gretchen after me.”

“I didn’t send anyone after you. Gretchen did that on her own. She thought we should go after you. I told her that you’d eventually calm down and come back on your own. And here you are.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Look, there’s no reason to get into a fight now. Save it for home after she’s gone. Besides, we got bigger problems to deal with.”

“What problems?”

“Ssshhh. She’s coming.”

I look back towards the changing room. Gretchen’s coming out the door.

“How … how do I … look?” she asks, clearly unsure of the answer. She shouldn’t be.

“Stunning, my dear. Absolutely stunning! That dress fits you like a glove, like it was made for you.”

“What do you think, Patty?”

Patricia walks around her, lightly tugging at the dress at various places, checking the fit.

“If it was me, I’d let the top out just a squosh. Other than that, it’s fine.”

“Only fine?”

“Oh, I thought you were asking about the fit. You look spectacular, except for the shoes, of course. I said you would, didn’t I? It’s better than I imagined.”

“Really?”

“No doubt about it.”

Gretchen smiles at our praise. She really is an extraordinarily lovely girl, not at all what I expected, though I’m not sure what I actually did expect. A woman who looks like a sales clerk approaches us.

“Oh my heavens! I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone looks so nice in that particular style. It is just perfect for you.”

“Thank you” Gretchen said, shyly.

“Well, it’s not exactly perfect” added Patricia. “See right there, in the bust, it’s stretched too tight, causing this gap in the back. Turn around Gretchen.” She did. “See, right there.”

“It’s barely perceptible” replied the clerk. “With the right bra, it wouldn’t be there.”

“Yes, but she’s wearing flats. This dress screams for heels, which will only make it worse; ass back, chest forward.”

“I see what you mean.”

“We shouldn’t pay this much for a dress she’ll end up fighting all night.”

“The alterations needed are fairly minor; we could have them done within the week.” The clerk is looking at me. I raise my hands.

“I’m just the mother here. You know how much control I have. It’s up to them.”

Gretchen bends her knees, dropping down to look Patricia in the eyes.

“Patty, couldn’t you fix it? I look so nice, you said it yourself. I don’t have anything like it. Couldn’t you?” she pleads.

“Gretchen, it’s early. We haven’t looked in any of the other shops yet. We’ll leave it as a maybe, see what else we can find, okay?”

“If you say so.”

Gretchen’s clearly not happy. Neither is the clerk.

“There’s no guarantee we’ll have that in stock much longer.”

“Paaatteee!” Gretchen whines. Patricia waves her off.

“It’s a big mall. Lots of stores. Miami’s a major city. If we decide that this is the only choice and you can’t find it anywhere, I’ll make one for you. Go on.”

Gretchen returns to the dressing room as the clerk looks at Patricia with disdain.

“You’ll make a dress like that?”

“I made this” Patricia answered. “Wool knit’s a lot harder to work with. Besides, with her figure, practically anything that fits looks fabulous. She’s better looking in jeans and a T-shirt than practically anybody else in this store, me included. You’ll see.”

We all waited until Gretchen returned, dress in hand. The clerk gave her a thorough looking over then sighed.

“You’re right, she is. Keep us in mind. The sale runs through the weekend.”

“We will” I tell her. “Thanks for your help.”

“Not at all, that’s what we’re here for.”

After we left the store, Gretchen was still disappointed.

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t get that dress” she groused.

Patricia laughed. “Because you didn’t have any money, idiot. I was just getting us out of there.”

Her eyes grow wide. “Oh my God. I forgot completely about that! I’m not used to dealing with things like money.”

“Tell you what” I say. “I’ll pay up to one hundred dollars, my treat, for whatever you want to buy today.”

“Mrs. Conner! That’s so nice of you!”

“Yeah, Mom, it is. What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I’m curious to see what you two can do with a hundred bucks.”

“My father will pay you back as soon as …”

“No. He won’t. This is my treat. My money, not his.” I said that more forcefully than I should have.

Patricia gently pats my arm. “Your treat, Mom. We got it. Thanks a lot.” She’s smiling at me, knowingly, with that bright beautiful smile of hers.

“You’re welcome. Now, you two better hurry. We don’t have all day. We’ll need at least two hours for basketball. I’ll follow along.”

With a pair of waves, they dash off, laughing. I know that Gretchen is a truly beautiful girl … but there’s just something about Patricia, once you get to really know her.

It’s probably a mother’s prejudice.

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

They did better than I thought they would. Patricia has gotten very good looking for bargains. She managed to find a very nice blouse and skirt combo, shoes and a purse, plus some underwear. Gretchen’s decked out in her new clothes, the old stuff is in the bags.

We’re having a late lunch in the food court, Daniel Lipscomb’s treat because I’m expensing this meal. No one is eating anything extravagant. Gretchen and Patricia are splitting a large sausage and pepperoni pizza, I’m having a cheese calzone. The girls are telling me all about their bargain hunting.

“I was getting ready to buy this one pair when Patty found almost the exact same shoe in the half price display except they didn’t have the little bow. Well, I didn’t care about the bow and it saved us twenty dollars, which gave us enough to go to the Victoria’s Secret clearance sale.”

“Yeah, there was this lady there, really hogging the space. Wouldn’t let anybody else get a look. She wasn’t being super aggressive about it but she wasn’t being polite either. When she turned to put stuff in her basket, Gretchen slipped in next to her and set a pick so that I could move in and grab some stuff for her to check out. That lady was pretty upset about the whole thing but she totally deserved it. She was mumbling something about rude kids as she left but as soon as she did, three other ladies came rushing in.”

“One of them actually thanked us, didn’t she Patty?”

“She did. I got the feeling they’d butted heads before. She wasn’t a match for Conner and Hobbes, was she, Hobbes?”

“No way, Conner!”

They high fived each other, or at least as much as Patricia can high five.

We’re all sitting on stools around a small, raised table, in an open area surrounded by assorted food stalls. It’s a common eating area. I notice that Gretchen has her feet resting on the rungs of the table.

“Are those new shoes hurting your feet, Gretchen?”

“No, I’m just not used to wearing heels. I’ve never had any before. It feels kinda weird standing that tall.”

“You should try standing next to you some time” Patricia grumped.

“But they don’t actually hurt your feet, do they? Because, if they do, we need to return them right now.”

“No, I just need more practice, that’s all. I almost fell down twice. I would have if Patty hadn’t caught me.”

“If that Mall Cop had been looking where he was going instead of ogling you, it would never have happened.”

“He wasn’t ogling me” Gretchen whispered, blushing.

“The heck he wasn’t! Drove his stupid little cart right into that trash can. He nearly knocked you over! Lucky thing I was looking right at him when he drove by. His eyes never left you, not for an instant. He actually accelerated as he tried to turn around to make a second pass then BOOM, right into the trash can, which bounced off a bench and came right at you.”

“But you stopped it with your foot … saving my life! My savior!”

They both laughed.

“Who you saving now, Da’Pee?”

Who said that? I turn towards where the person spoke. There are two teen age boys standing about ten feet away. I recognize one of them right away, he’s Patricia’s friend Cruz, the one who helped us at Hobbes’ home. The other one is also familiar, but I can’t place him. He’s a rather large boy.

“Hey! Cruz, Javier. Grab a seat! This is my mom, you guys met her at the dance.”

The two boys move a table close to ours and sit down. I remember Javier know, he’s a member of the same team as Cruz.

“Hey, Ms. Conner.”

“Mrs. Conner.”

“Hello, boys.”

“This is Gretchen, my friend from school.”

It’s interesting to see the boys react to Gretchen. Their attitudes change. They sit up taller … and wider, subtly flexing their chests to appear bigger. Patricia also changes, leaning forward just ever so slightly, giving them one of her multi watt smiles. Gretchen actually withdraws a bit, looking confused.

“Hey, Gretchen. How you doing?” asks Javier.

“Down boy” warned Patricia. “I’ll tell Terri.”

Javier deflates a little.

“You’re Terri’s boyfriend?” asked Gretchen.

“He is” replied Cruz as he leaned towards Gretchen, “but I ain’t nobody’s boyfriend.”

“For good reason” added Javier. “No girl’s that desperate.”

“What you mean, fool? I’m a perfectly fine specimen of the American male.” He leans a little closer to Gretchen. “Any lovely lady would be lucky to have me as a boyfriend.”

Gretchen appears flustered. I’m about to intervene when Patricia does it for me.

“We may be here shopping, Cruz, but we’re not buying what you’re selling, not today.”

“Not even if I’m offering free samples?”

“Not even if you had coupons.”

“Coupons. Now that’s a good idea Pee. I should hand out coupons.”

“Is he desperate or what?” said Javier.

“I’m not gonna give em out to just anybody.” He looks at Gretchen. “Just certain, highly desirable, potential customers. Call it consumer research.”

“May… maybe you’ll need a … customer satisfaction survey” Gretchen stammered, still uncertain.

This only egged Cruz on. “Maybe so. Would you care to give the product a try and let me know how… satisfied you are?”

“I … I … don’t think so, I’m not a fan of discounted merchandise.”

Javier and Patricia rock back on their stools.

“OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!” they cry in unison as Gretchen smiles and Cruz raises his eyebrows, nodding his head.

“Hey! I don’t have to sit here and take this abuse.”

“True” said Patricia. “You can go sit way over there and we can abuse you long distance. Now, why are you guys really here?”

“My mom’s birthday is next week, so I’m here looking for something” said Javier.

“I’m his gift consultant” Cruz added.

“There’s your first mistake” Patricia joked. “Why not get Terri to help?”

“Practices start today.”

“Basketball? Already?”

“Yep. It’ll be tough to make time to see each other for awhile.”

“Speaking of which” Cruz interjected “we haven’t seen you much around the Y since that dance where you played the piano. You forgotten’ bout you’re friends, Pee?”

“Naw, just been busy with school and stuff. When’s the next dance?”

“They don’t have one in November or December, the holidays and all, but they have a kick ass New Years Eve party. Punch fountain, real food, a decent band for once. It’s pretty sweet.”

“Sounds interesting. We may have to make time for that one.”

“WE?” Gretchen gasped.

“Why not?” said Patricia.

“I hate to be the wet blanket here, but we must be going” I say as I pick up my purse and one of Gretchen’s bags. “It’s been nice seeing you boys again. If they go to the New Years party, I’ll probably chaperon.” Best get that out right now. “We’ll likely meet again then, if not before.”

“Nice seeing you again, ma’am.”

“Catch ya later, Mrs. Conner. You need help with the bags?”

By then, Patricia’s also gotten off her stool and grabbed two of the three remaining bags.

“We got em’ boys, don’t trouble yourselves.”

Gretchen slides off her stool, bends down to grab the last bag, then stands up, revealing for the first time to the boys how tall she is.

“Daaammmnnnn!” muttered Cruz. Javier was just wide eyed.

“It’s … it’s … just the shoes. I’m not really … this tall … not usually” Gretchen said, self consciously.

Patricia scoots next to her, taking her arm.

“Neither am I … but it’s sure fun while it lasts, right Gretch?”

“Yeah … yeah, it is. It was nice meeting you guys.”

“See ya’ later, guys” said Patricia as we walked away. Suddenly she stopped. “Hey, tell Eric I said hello.”

The boys look at each other for a second or two before Cruz responds.

“Uhhh yeah, sure thing Pee, we’ll do that … no problem.”
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

Mom should run a big man’s camp for girls.

When we got home from the Mall, everybody changed into shorts and shirts and went back to the cul-de-sac. Mom proceeded to run Gretchen through all kinds of drills.
Dribbling, foot work, passing, rebounding, everything you could think of. She didn’t shout or scream, she just demonstrated something then had Gretchen repeat it until she got it right.

Gretchen’s really not bad. She’s got good coordination and she’s smart. She understands not only what to do but why. It’s a lot easier to do something when you know the why. It also helps you improvise when the unexpected happens.

We keep practicing until dark again. This time I didn’t have anything simmering on the stove so Mom sent me out for KFC. Gretchen had never had it before and was dying to try it. They were still going at it when I got back, outlined by the dull glow of the street light, laughing as each one tried to muscle the other for position under the basket.

“Okay, break it up! Let’s not have any of that fighting or I’ll have to call the gang squad” I shout from the car. They stop pushing and walk towards the car, still bumping against each other, smiling and giggling. “You want a ride?”

“No, honey, we’ll walk. I don’t want to get the car seat all sweaty.”

I shift the car into gear. “Okay, I’ll see you at home. Don’t be long, don’t want the chicken to get cold.”

“We’ll be there” Mom shouts as I pull away. In the rear view mirror, I can see them walking down the middle of the street, arm in arm.

I had bought the big bucket, planning on having leftovers for tomorrow but we ate it all. Or should I say they ate it all. I had my usual breast, drumstick and thigh. Mom and Gretchen devoured the rest. Gretchen in particular chowed down like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Mom pigged out pretty well too. When they were done, the both leaned back in their chairs.

“THAT was GOOD!” said Gretchen, surveying the pile of barren bones in front of her.

“Raul’s is better.”

“Maybe … but there’s something about eating food from a cardboard bucket.”

“Food always tastes better when you’ve worked up an appetite” said Mom. “Gretchen worked very hard out there, besides, she’s a growing girl, she needs the calories.”

“Really? What’s your excuse?” I ask.

“I paid for it, I don’t need an excuse.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “Good heavens! It’s 8:45.”

“Time flies when you’re gorging yourself. You go shower, Gretchen and I’ll clean up. She can go second and I’ll shower third, just make sure you save me some hot water.”

Mom wipes her hands on her napkin and drops it on the table. “How much hot water do you really need? You could bathe in the kitchen sink.”

“Keep that up and I’ll flush the toilet when you’re in there.”

She stands up and stretches. “I’m going to pay for all that exercise in the morning. I can feel my muscles getting stiff already.”

“We’ve got muscle rub cream for that.”

She wrinkles her nose. “It smells terrible.”

“Yeah, but it works.”

“Alright, I’m off. Make sure you rinse and recycle those foam bowls.”

“I know.”

There’s not much to clean up actually. We used real utensils instead of plastic, real plates and cups. Those we washed, dried and put away. The rest went in the trash or the recycle bin. It took us only five minutes or so. Mom was back downstairs in ten wearing her terrycloth bathrobe, drying her hair with a towel.

“Finished. You’re next Gretchen.”

“Hope I brought everything I need, we packed pretty quickly.”

“Anything you forgot, I’m sure Patricia can find something for you.”

“You go on up, I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

As Gretchen leaves, Mom sits down and survey’s the kitchen.

“Everything looks nice.”

“Wasn’t much to do.”

“But Gretchen pitched right in, didn’t she?”

“Yup.”

“She’s not the girl I expected.”

“Who’d you expect?”

“I don’t know … not someone so … normal.”

“I told you she was a good person.”

“Yes, I remember, but I still thought she’d be …”

“Evil? Spoiled? A brat?”

“Something like that.”

“But she wasn’t anything like that.”

“No … she wasn’t. She was very … polite, hard working, willing to help. Nice as she could be.”

“Told ya. I better get upstairs to make sure she’s got what she needs.”

I hurry upstairs. When I get to the bathroom, I can hear the shower running, so Gretchen must be okay. I go back to my room to get undressed.

Gretchen’s stuff is on the floor. I pick up her shirt and shorts, laying them across the back of my desk chair. They’re damp with sweat. She and Mom must have really gone at it. I put her bra, panty and socks on the seat.

I pull my shirt off over the top of my head, then pull my shorts down, stepping out of them once the hit the floor. Sitting on my bed, I unlace and remove my shoes and socks, first the left, then the right. After collecting my discarded clothes, I go to my closet and drop them in the clothes hamper, then remove my terrycloth robe from a hook on the back of the closet door, tossing it onto my bed. Slipping my arms out of the bra straps, I fold the cups down, pull it around my body bringing the clasp to the front and unhook it, dropping it in the hamper, my panties are quickly added to the pile of clothes.

Mom’s right about stiffening muscles. I reach across my chest with my left arm, grasping my right shoulder and giving it a pull, then repeating with my right arm. I probably won’t need any of the muscle cream.

Hope Gretch didn’t think I was kidding about the hot water. It’s an electric water heater and I think one of the units is burned out because it takes forever to heat a tank. Lipscomb won’t pop for a new one, which I can understand, but it’s a pain in the behind. I should go remind her.

After putting on my robe, I pull a towel from my gym bag and walk back to the bathroom. The water’s not running, which is a good sign.

“Gretchen, you okay?”

“I think so.”

“You think so? What’s the problem?”

“The towel’s kinda small.”

“There should be a big one on the towel rack by the toilet.”

“This is the biggest one I could find.”

“Well, let me see.”

“Come on in.”

When I open the door, the steam comes rolling out. She didn’t turn the exhaust fan on. At least I hope that’s the case. The other option means I’m gonna have a short, cold shower. It only takes a few seconds for the air to clear.

She’s right, it’s a small towel.

She’s holding it together behind her back with her right hand. The top just barely covers her nipples, the bottom is only inches below her crotch.

“Yeah, I see what you mean. You sure there’s nothing bigger in here?”

“Look for yourself.”

I’m trying not to. “There’s some regular size towels in my bedroom, bottom drawer of the chest of drawers.”

“Thanks, I was getting cold.”

Don’t I know it. She scurries past me, hunched over, towel flapping as she scoots down the hall, giving me a good look at her toned bottom until she turns the corner into my room. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

I get prepared before I turn on the water. Soap, shampoo, conditioner, everything ready. Once it’s running, I jump in. The water’s not hot but it’s warm, so I’ve got about two minutes before it gets cold.

Navy shower it is.

Once I get wet, I turn off the water, saving the hot water for rinsing. I lather and scrub my body with a wash cloth, shampoo my hair, turn the water back on, quickly rinse everything clean then switch the water off again. After using the conditioner, the water goes back on and I finish just as the temperature drops.

One of life’s little victories. I don’t know why it is, but after one of these little successes, I always feel upbeat. It’s stupid, I know that but I can’t help it.

I dry off, put my robe back on and skip back to my room.

“Despite your conspiracy with my mother, I had enough hot water for my shower.”

Gretchen doesn’t react to my joke. She’s just sitting on my bed, wrapped in a towel … my sex toy collection spread out next to her.

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

I wasn’t snooping! I just did what Patty told me to do!
I open the drawer and there was a towel, just like she said. The one I had hardly covered anything. When I pulled it from the drawer, maybe I pulled too quickly, because a bunch of other stuff came flying out with the towel. I was afraid I broke something!

After wrapping myself in the towel, I went looking for the other stuff. The first one was right in the middle of Patty’s bed. It was almost ten inches long, pink, soft and squishy like Jello but it was also hard, it kept its shape. There was this little curved piece that was attached three fourths of the way from the rounded, blunt tip. The base had a screw cap if some kind. There were others scattered around the floor. Something similar but there was a wide part in the whole shaft instead of the single curved piece. There were little nubbins all around the wide part. It was blue. There were two white, hard plastic ones, the first the size of my index finger though fatter, the second eight inches long, shaped like an elongated bullet.

I didn’t know what to make of the leather harness thing that was hanging part way out of the drawer. It had a hard plastic oval plate with an approximately two inch diameter hole in the middle. The leather straps were attached around the perimeter of the plate but some of the straps were connected to each other. Weird.

There were several plastic bottles with stuff in them. One was “KY Jelly”, there were two that were flavored, cherry and strawberry, another one labeled “Anal-eze”. Thank God none of them spilled! There was also a bag of assorted batteries.

The last thing was the strangest. It looked kinda like a double ended man’s penis with a plastic collar in the middle, though one end was longer than the other and both were curved. It was made of that same squishy material as those other two things, though it seemed to have a stiffer core.

I think there was more stuff in the drawer, but I wasn’t going to mess with it, not until Patty came back. I put everything I could find on the bed. My hands were still a little wet so when I picked up the squishy ones, they were hard to hang on to, sliding in my hands. I managed to get them on the bed but found the pink one hard to put down.

It was strange how my hand slipped up and down it so easily and how it squirted forward when I squeezed it, like it was alive or something. I kept squeezing and sliding with my hands for several seconds, lost in the feelings.

It suddenly occurred to me that all this stuff might be sex toys. At almost the same moment, Patty came through the door. I was so surprised, I squeezed the pink thing and it popped right out of my hand, flying right toward Patty!

* * * *** * * * *** * * *
OH! MY! GOD!

I’d completely forgotten I’d stashed all that stuff in that bottom drawer inside that top towel! What must Gretchen think of me?! Slut! Whore!

There must be five things on the bed. She’s holding the Pink Rabbit vibrator with a death grip, wide eyed in shock. Suddenly, it pops out of her hand and sails through the air, heading directly at me. I block it with my left hand, deflecting it, and catching it with my right hand.

There’s no way we’re ignoring this.

“I’m so sorry!” we both say then clap our hands to our mouths in amazement. “You first!” we again exclaim simultaneously, hands returning to mouth.

“No, go ahead” we repeat each other for a third time. This is too much. By now, we’re both chuckling over the situation. I raise my hand. She nods at me.

“Look. I’m sorry. I completely forgot …”

“No, it’s my fault. I was in a hurry and …”

“I should have remembered …”

“I jerked it out when I should have been more …”

“I could have gotten the towel for you instead I …”

“Are these sex toys?”

That question brings me to a halt. How do I answer it? Not much choice.

“Yes … yes they are.”

“Where’d you get them?”

“My mother bought them for me.”

Gretchen picks up the Blue Silicone Vibrator, examining it closely. “Your mother is soooo cool! You are, like, sooo damn lucky!”

“What?”

“How many other mothers would buy their daughters sex toys? I don’t know of any. I’ve never even heard of a mother ever doing that!”

“Well … how many other girls have you asked?”

“None! Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Then how do you know there aren’t others?”

“Pleeezzzee! Now who’s being ridiculous?” Gretchen stares at me, eyes narrowed. I break.

“Fine. I’ve got a cool mother.”

Gretchen squeals, hopping on the bed closer to me, making all the stuff around her bounce, which is a disconcerting image.

“So … she’s okay with you using this stuff? Of course she is! She wouldn’t buy it for you if she wasn’t okay with it. That is so freaking amazing! My father would just … explode if I asked for something like this.” She picks up the double ended dildo. “What is this?”

I take it from her hands, lean across the bed and grab the harness. I fit the dildo in the mounting plate and twist, locking it in. Gretchen still looks confused. I hold it in front of my robe at crotch level.

“This part goes in … here.”

She still doesn’t get it. “The other part goes …”

I gesture towards her towel covered vagina. The penny finally drops and her eyes go wide.

“NO WAY! Two girls?!”

“Or a boy and a girl.”

“A boy?”

I pat my bottom and smile wickedly. Her eyes grow twice as wide.

“A BOY?! IN HIS BUTT?! NOOO WAAAY!”

“Or a girl too.”

Gretchen seems unsure of what to think about that. It takes a moment or two to digest the idea. She slides closer to me.

“Have you ever …” she asks quietly, not finishing the sentence but I know what she means. I hold up the strap-on.

“With this?”

“Yeah.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Either.”

“No. I’ve never used this.”

“And the rest of the stuff?”

“Oh yeah.”

“How much?”

“Lots.”

“Like lots of times or lots of months or lots of …” She trails off.

“Like a couple of times a week, depending on how I feel.”

“Do you get an … uuhh … an …”

“Big ‘O’?”

“Uhhh yeah … do you?”

“Yeah, most the time.”

“Not always?”

“Like I said, depends on the mood. Sometimes it’s late and I don’t have the time for the full show.”

“But, you’ve had them?”

“Yes, I have had orgasms.”

Gretchen looks down and away from me. “I haven’t” she whispers.

“Never?”

“Never ever.”

“Do you …”

“I try, but I don’t know how.”

“Don’t they have sex education classes at St. Ann’s?”

“Patty, it’s a CATHOLIC school. What kind of sex education are you going to get?”

“That’s true. The church isn’t big on self service. But still, if you just do what feels good, that ought to get you something.”

“Not so far. Besides, I’m always worried about someone coming into my bedroom because they heard something ‘suspicious’.”

Talk about your mood killer. To be totally honest, if Mom hadn’t bought me that DVD, I wouldn’t know as much as I do. That’s not to say I know it all. I still surprise myself, now and then.

“Gretchen, have you ever … been with a boy?”

“Ha! What boy? He’d have to fly into my bedroom.”

“Good point.”

“Have you ever been with a boy?”

“No.” That popped out of my mouth quicker than I expected.

“Patty … have you ever been with … a girl?”

Of course I have, but it’s not what she thinks.

“Look, Gretchen … uuuhhh … well, that’s … uuuhhh, that’s … complicated.”

“I know, it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, that’s not it. I asked you about boys, we were talking about a lot of private stuff. It was a fair question. I’m just not sure how to answer it without giving you the wrong impression.”

“You told my father that your mother always said to tell the truth.”

Darn her good memory!

I could lie to her, it’d be easy. She’d never know the difference. Our entire relationship is based on a lie … as were most of my relationships. And look what it got me. Professional success and personal failure. Right now, I’m trying to figure out a way to have the best of both worlds. It may not work but I’m gonna give it a try.

“Yes, I’ve been with a girl, more than one.”

“At the same time?!”

Yeah, but we’re not going there!

“NO! Of course not.”

“When?”

“Let’s just say it was before I came to St. Ann’s and met you.”

She seems relieved with that answer, though she doesn’t say anything. It appears all these questions have been leading to something but she’s not ready to pull the trigger yet. I start to pick up the toys and bottles that are spread out on the bed.

“I’ll put these away and we can get dressed for bed. I’ve got a good movie for us to watch tonight. It’s R rated so you’ve probably …”

Gretchen gently grabs my wrist as I reach towards the bottle nearest her.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Gretch?”

“Don’t put your toys away.”

“Why not?”

She takes her free hand and adds it to the one already holding my wrist.

“Patty … would you please teach me how to have an orgasm?”

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

The girls have been talking upstairs. A few times, they got rather loud but they clearly weren’t angry with one another.

They do get along together remarkably well. It’s obvious that Patricia is the leader of the two but she doesn’t abuse her power, always making sure Gretchen is enjoying herself.

It takes remarkably little for Gretchen to appear to be happy. The simplest common courtesies seem to please her to no end. She seems quite ready to pitch in to help, when she can. Plus she’s willing to learn new skills to help in the future. I’m certain that Patricia gave her a heads up as to what I expect in my household, but I can usually tell when some one is making a token effort. Gretchen appears to be completely genuine in her helpful attitude.

Patricia asked what I had expected Gretchen to be like. To be honest, I had anticipated her being a spoiled mafia princess type. How could she not be, coming from an unbelievably rich household like Raymond Hobbes’? Despite Patricia’s assurances, I was sure she would be insufferable and unbearable.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. She really took to my coaching her, even tolerating quite a bit of physical … not abuse exactly because it was all within the rules … if you stretched them a bit … but she took it, then gave as good as she got. Very impressive. She might be able to play college ball if she buckled down and took it seriously. Physical skills can only take you so far, but you can’t coach height, and she’s tall enough to play forward, certainly Division Two.

I hear foot steps on the stairs and look toward them. It’s Patricia, slowly walking down, watching me as she descends but remaining silent. She appears to be concerned about something.

“Patricia … is something wrong?”

“No, no, not wrong … I’m sure it’s not wrong.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I told Gretchen she could get a towel from my chest of drawers.”

“So? That’s where you keep them.”

“I keep other things in there too.”

“What things?”

“Those things that you bought me.”

“Still don’t know what you mean.”

“Those silicon, vibrating things?”

“Silicon … vibrating … Oh … aaahhh, yes, those things. OH MY! Gretchen found THOSE things?”

“Yeah, THOSE things.”

That’s funny!

“What did you tell her?”

“What could I? She may be sheltered but she’s not stupid. I told her what they were. And that I use them. And that you bought them for me.”

“Goodness! What did she say?”

“That you were sooo cool and I am sooo lucky to have you as a mother.”

“Well, that goes without saying.”

“She also wants me to show her how to use them.”

WHAT?!

“You said no … tell me you said no. Politely. Nicely. No.”

Patricia looks away, eyes up towards her room.

“Patricia. What did you tell …”

She looks back down at me. “I said I would.”

What was she thinking? No daughter of mine is going to do something like THAT with another girl.

“I forbid you from doing … you can’t be serious …”

“Careful Mom, you’re risking your cool mother status.”

“I don’t care about that! This has nothing to do with my status. This isn’t something you should be involved with, this is something she needs to discuss with …”

“Her father? Her dead mother? You know she can’t do that. Did you with your mother or father? I sure as heck didn’t.”

What is she talking about? We discussed it, I bought the equipment for God’s sake.

“WE did talk about it, Patricia. At length.”

“Yeah, we did about this time but I didn’t, not my first time. Sure, my dad gave me the birds and the bees talk, but I didn’t consult him before my first … date with a girl.”

Of course. It’s so easy to forget, to get wrapped up in our false identities.

“You’re right, you’re right … I’m sorry, my bad … but is this wise? How does this help us?”

“It doesn’t help us but it doesn’t hurt us either. I’ve already decided to do it. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t come barging in and freak out or something.”

“I’ve no say in this?”

“Not really. It’s not that big a deal. I’m just showing her how the toys work, what they can do for her. If you’ve been telling me the truth, it’s the kind of thing girls talk about.”

“Talk about, yes. Demonstrations?”

I can’t, in good conscience, say “no”, not in all cases. I never did anything like that with my girlfriends, but I know for a fact that some of them did with each other … not always without consequences.

“Patricia … just be careful. This is a tricky area to get into with someone.”

“You DO remember that I’ve been married three times, right?”

“This is very different.”

She gives me a smirk. On her, it’s very cute, but I think I can see the tiniest hint of Peter Harris in her eyes.

“Don’t worry Mom, I’ll make sure neither of us gets pregnant.”

“Ha ha, very funny. Try to keep it down to a dull roar.”

“Will do.”

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

Patty wanted to talk with her mother first. I can’t imagine ever taking with my father about something like that. Her mother has to be the coolest in the world.

The bedroom door opens. I pull my towel tighter around me. When I see it’s Patty, I relax.

“What’d she say?”

Patty closes the door behind her. “She’s not happy about it, but she won’t stop us.”

“Why’s that? We’re not doing anything wrong, are we? It’s a natural thing, isn’t it? Why would she not …”

Patty pulls her robe up above her knees and sits down next to me on her bed.

“She’s a mother. No mother’s ever happy about her child, her baby, dealing with sexual stuff. If you’re nervous about anything, we don’t have to do it. It’s all for you, Gretch.”

“No, I’m cool with it” I lied. Not exactly lied, of course I’m nervous. Any girl would be nervous. Except Patty. She looks totally comfortable. How can she be so calm?

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

Gretchen’s scared, anybody could see that. Heck, so am I. This could be a really stupid thing.

I mean, a really, really stupid thing.

There’s no possible benefit to the job, I’m already in as far as I need to be. If Hobbes found out, he wouldn’t be happy. If he gets upset with me, it’ll threaten everything I’ve planned.

But Gretchen needs this. She’s led such a sheltered life, she has no experience with sex. Someone has to help her.

“If we’re gonna do this, we better get started. Everything is clean from the last time I used them but that’s step number one. Always clean the … stuff.”

Gretchen giggles. “You’re embarrassed, aren’t you?”

“A little, yeah.”

She smiles. “I’m glad. This makes it easier, if we’re both … you know.”

“I know, but we have to get past it.”

The best way to get past it is to go first. I get up on my knees, untie my robe and open it, letting it slip down my back and off my arms, falling to the bed.

Gretchen’s eyes are as big as saucers.

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

She did it! Just like that! BOOM! Off comes the robe!

I’ve seen her naked before, in the showers after gym, but this isn’t the same. There you’re naked cause you have to be. Now she’s naked because she wants to be … with me.

Oh God! I asked for this. Can I do it? Only one way to find out.

I get up on my knees, facing Patty. I don’t have to do much, just stop holding my towel, just let go … but I can’t! It’s like my hand won’t do what I tell it. I start to get scared but Patty slowly reaches out with her right hand, gently working her fingers down between my breasts and the edge of the towel, grabbing the edge with her thumb.

“It’s fine, Gretchen. We’re both gonna be okay” she whispers, tenderly pulling the towel from my body. My hand loosens, letting it slip away. I resist the sudden urge to cover myself with my hands, letting them fall to my sides.

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

Why am I so darn short? My eyes are level with her breasts, her beautiful, firm, youthful breasts. I haven’t seen breasts like that in person for over thirty years.

All my wives were attractive women, very attractive. But there’s attractive and then there’s Gretchen, looming over me like some kind of dark haired, bronzed skin, Amazon. What I wouldn’t give to be my old self and twenty years old but know everything I know now.

When I was younger, like twenty eight or twenty nine, I was a pretty darn good lover. Not the best, I mean how would you figure that out, hold a contest? But everyone I slept with back then was darn happy. I thought I knew what women wanted and I could deliver it, in spades. My equipment worked very well, still had a quick recovery, and I knew how to pull back on the reins until the final charge down the front stretch, if you know what I mean.

My time as Patricia has shown me I didn’t know the half of it. I could have done so much more, it almost makes me cry when I think about it. When this job is done and I return to my old, impotent body, I’ll have all this knowledge and I won’t be able to do a damn thing with it.

Such a shame. It’d make a hell of a “Twilight Zone” episode.

Right now, I can show Gretchen what I’ve learned, up to a point, but that should be good enough.

“Gretchen, always remember this. You are a beautiful woman and you deserve to be happy and fulfilled. You are beautiful on the outside and the inside. You don’t have to settle for second best. You wait until you’ve found the right person for you. Until then, this ought to help you pass the time. Lay back and prop yourself up with some pillows.”

She blushes, then sensually slides back toward the headboard.

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

She said I was beautiful! Beautiful inside and out! I should have said she was beautiful too. Damn IT! I missed my chance.

Patty told me to lay back but put some pillows behind my upper back and neck, lifting my head. She has me raise my hips and slides a towel under my bottom, spreading it flat. I don’t say anything until I’m in position and comfortable.

“Why do you want me like this?”

“So you can see what I’m doing. Actually, it’d be better if we had a big mirror, but that might be a little too clinical.”

I giggle. “Paging Dr. Conner. Paging Dr. Conner.”

She smiles. “Dr. Patricia Conner … the llluuuuvvv Doctor.” She reaches over to the bedside table where all the equipment is and picks up a bottle. “This is a lubricant, it helps reduce friction, prevents skin irritation. Sometimes you want friction but not tonight. You can substitute baby oil, which won’t raise any suspicions at home. Girls use baby oil for a whole lotta stuff.” She flipped the top of the bottle up and dribbled some oil into the palm of her left hand, then rubbed her palms together. She took a breath and slowly exhaled. “You ready?” she asked.

I could only nod my head.

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

Okay, stay calm. Play it straight. I climb onto the bed between Gretchen’s outstretched legs, nudging them further apart with my elbows. When I get to her vagina, I pause just a moment to steady myself.

It’s not trimmed. There’s no reason to expect she would. I’m used to that though, wives one and three were earth types. Personally, I like to keep mine trimmed but not shaved. Don’t need the irritated skin.

“Alright. This may be a little cool, though I’ve tried to warm it with my hands. Either way, it’ll warm up fast enough.”

I start by applying the lube to her pelvis, just above her vagina. She jumps slightly as soon as I touch her but whether it the temp or nerves I couldn’t say. I try to smile reassuringly and start to massage with my fingertips, moving closer to the target. I want her to get used to me touching her before I get down to business.

“Just close your eyes and enjoy the feelings. I’ll show you how to do something, then you can try it. Okay?”

She just closes her eyes and nods her head again, letting it fall back onto the pillows piled behind her.

My fingers are on the outer lips of her labia, the skin soft and pliable but also plump with blood, pushing back ever so slightly against my fingertips. I look up at Gretchen. Her eyes are still closed but she’s got a slight smile on her face and she’s breathing deeply.

So far, so good.

I move on to the inner lips, rubbing and stroking, top to bottom, bottom to top. Gretchen inhales sharply several times but keeps her eyes closed, though she does turn her head to the side. I keep it up until her breathing returns to normal.

Now I start to work closer to her clitoral hood, teasing it with my thumbs as I continue the long strokes alternating with rubbing. There’s several more sharp breaths with slow exhales and her hips twitch a few times, though her eyes are still closed.

I switch up the motions, now stroking with my left but rubbing her clitoral hood with my right. The first time I make contact with the clitoris, her breath catches and her back arches slightly as she quietly moans.

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

“MMMMoohhmmmmmm”

Every change brings a whole new set of sensations. I’ve been able to get something like those feelings at home for a few seconds but I could never relax. I was always afraid someone might knock on the door or maybe, just maybe, there was a camera in the room, despite Father’s assurances.

But now, I can let go and let Patty work her magic.

That last one went down to my toes, bounced and went right back to the top of my head.

“Uuuugghhhh”

There’s another one. She just keeps … now what? I think she’s put her finger in my … oohh she has! It’s two fingers and she’s pushing them in and out, slowly, pushing them apart, while still rubbing my…

“Aaaahhhhhhh”

It’s hard to breath after that last one, I have to concentrate and take deep … wait, she’s stopping!

“No, please …”

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

“Sshhhh, it’s alright, don’t worry. I’m just gonna show you how to do it, that’s all. Give me your right hand, that’s right, now put it here and now … yeah, just like that. Now, I’m gonna take your left and … okay, I think you got it.”

She went straight to work and was soon clearly enjoying herself. I should probably leave it right here, maybe show her a couple of other tricks I’ve learned but then that’s it. That’d be the smart thing to do.

Gretchen opens her eyes, they’re bright and alive.

“What’s next, Doctor?”

Oooohhh kay. I guess we can go a little further.

“Alright, the Doctor prescribes …” reaching over to the nightstand, I pick out the pink silicon vibrator “… Mr. Pinky.”

“Mr. Pinky?”

“Well, it’s shaped a lot more like a mister than a misses.”

“I guess. So what does Mr. Pinky do?”

“Allow me to demonstrate.”

I twist the base, turning the vibrator on low, then trace around the outer lips of the labia with the blunt tip of Mr. Pinky, working towards the inside. Gretch is breathing with short, sharp breathes, not exactly a series of gasps but not far off.

“How’s that?”

“Oh yes! That’s … ummm … nice.”

“How’s this?”

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

My hips jump off the bed and I shiver all over, gasping for air. Patty touched my clit with Mr. Pinky. It was like my entire body was electrified for a few seconds but there was no pain, only pleasure. I’d never managed to get anywhere near that at home.

She keeps rubbing the tip around in small circles. The electric feeling fades a little bit but doesn’t disappear, like I’m getting used to it. All of a sudden, the vibrations increase, bringing back that electric charge to full power again. My hands reach up on their own and I start squeezing my breasts and playing with my hard nipples, adding a whole new group of feelings.

I’d felt myself up before, played with my breasts, but never at the same time. All these different feelings don’t add but seem to multiply, each one making the others even better.

Patty’s fingers are back in my vagina, which feels even slicker than before. Did she add some more of that lubricant? I can also smell something I hadn’t noticed before, kind of … earthy. It’s not sweet and it’s not sour but it’s definitely there. Doesn’t matter, I’ve got other things to concentrate on.

I’ve lost track of my breathing, I’m actually panting, trying to catch some air, when Patty changes things again. Her fingers are twisting and pulling around my clit, replacing Mr. Pinky. Is she going to use something else? I can still hear the vibrator … then I feel it, gently parting my vagina as she slowly pushes it in me.

I’ve never had anything that big in me before. I’ve used tampons but they never felt like this. Patty pulls Mr. Pinky back a little bit then pushes in again, even farther this time. My butt slides down on the towel, trying to get her to go even deeper, to go faster. She pulls back again, the muscles in my pelvis clamping down, trying to keep it there, but she quickly pushes in again, deeper still, but this time, something vibrating also touches my clit, causing a whole bunch of muscle convulsions, making me squeeze my boobs hard.

I can’t breathe right, gasping for air. I can’t talk right, just moans, groans and squeaks. I can’t see right, just flashes of things. I can’t move right, my legs, arms and body trembling. I must not be thinking right because I don’t care about any of those problems, I feel wonderful! I’d stay this way for the rest of my life if I could.

I can’t tell how long this feeling lasts, but eventually, I become aware of a change. There’s something soft and moist that replaced Patty’s fingers. I tip my head forward and force my eyes to focus.

Patty’s head is firmly lodged between my legs, her nose pressed into my pussy, licking and nibbling my clit.

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

I couldn’t stop myself.

There was her naked pussy, soaking wet with her own juices, the musky aroma filling the room, her body squirming at my touch, quietly moaning and groaning practically continuously. I’d rarely gotten a woman this sexually fired up before. Everything I did just made her hotter … and more appealing.

There’ nothing as sexy as a woman on the verge of an orgasm. You want to share in it, be a part of it, join it. My vagina was wet from just being in the same room with her. I carefully eased forward and dropped my head into her crotch, lapping up the mix of natural and strawberry flavored juices. I quickly found her clit with my tongue and began to lick, nibble and suck her towards another orgasm.

In seconds, she wrapped her fingers in my hair and crossed her legs behind my head, pulling me tightly to her body. I keep pushing Mr. Pinky in and out of her vagina but I turn the extension so that it makes contact with her anus.

I can’t see anything but I can hear Gretchen starting to whimper again as I increase my speed. It’s not long before her legs begin to tremble and she yanks me so hard against her pussy that I have to fight to get some air. Less than a minute later, she relaxes her grip with both her hands and legs. I push myself away after one last lingering kiss.

Resting on my elbows between her legs, I can see her laying back on the pillows, thumbs idling playing with her still enlarged nipples, eyes closed. Trying not to disturb her, I slid over to her left and work my way up towards her head, pausing to lean down and gently kiss and suckle her nearest breast. She sighs contentedly several times, her eyes still closed, until I stop and finish my trip to the headboard. She really is a tall drink of water.

When I finally get up next to her head, I lean on one elbow and look over at her face. She looks almost asleep, except for the wide grin.

“So … how’d you like it?”

Her eyes slowly open, her head turning towards mine. Her left arm snakes past my arm, resting lightly on the back of my head. She pulls herself up a few inches and the rolls over on top of me, crushing her mouth against mine, mixing deep kisses with giggles and laughter.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

I was the first to wake up Sunday morning. Patty was dead to the world but I was still buzzing from last night. After we finished making out, she showed me the rest of her toys and gave me a quick demonstration. It was quick because I still hadn’t recovered from Mr. Pinky. And her wonderful mouth.

Mr. Pinky. My girlfriend has no imagination. Well, not when it comes to names. She’s got lots of it when it comes to sex.

She saved the harness for last. By that time, I was ready again. I was willing to try to suck it but she said no, it was just a piece of plastic. She’d get nothing from it and to make me suck it would just be some kind of power trip. She said that it would be different when I had a boyfriend.

Which is crazy. Why would I have a boyfriend? If last night proved anything, it proved I’m a lesbian. I never thought I was one of them before last night. Sure, I’ll admit that I’ve been attracted to Patricia from the start, but I was never attracted to any other girls. There’s just something different about my girlfriend, Patricia Conner.

She had locked that double ended thing in the harness and then put the shorter, wider end into her vagina. She tightened all the straps and then had me sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. The long end was at just the right height. I wasn’t sure it would fit but Patty said not to worry. Neither of us needed any of those lubes, though the strawberry one isn’t bad.

I leaned forward and we kissed, rubbing our breasts against each other for several minutes before she finally moved closer and started to fuck me with the dildo.

I reach down and move a lose strand of hair from her face, my beautiful, sleeping girlfriend’s face. That’s right, we fucked, long and hard. I didn’t have to do a lot but Patty was working at it. I know it felt wonderful to me and she said she liked it too.

We finally fell asleep after midnight, holding each other. When I woke up, her head was resting on my breast. I’m still feeling a bit frisky. Where is that harness? Patty dropped all that stuff in the bathroom, said she was going to wash it all this morning.

I carefully slip out of bed, letting her head rest on a pillow. Walking down the hall to the bathroom, naked, I feel light as a feather. The harness is on top of the pile, being the last one we used. It looks pretty clean already but she was very adamant about cleaning before use. A little soap and water should take care of it.

It took bit of adjusting to get right, but once everything is tightened down, the fit is quite good. I can feel it bounce in front of me as I return to the bedroom. It really looked weird when I stopped and checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. I slid my hand up and down it a few times, enjoying the motion it transferred to the part lodged firmly in my pussy. What does it feel like for a guy? To have this big thing bouncing around in front of them. I guess all guys aren’t that big.

When I get back to bed, Patty’s still sleeping. I was hoping she would be, I want this to be a surprise. Moving slowly, I turn the sheet down, revealing her amazing body. How could you not love her boobs? And that cute little bottom? You just want to pick her up and hug her!

I spread her legs just a bit to give me some room. I don’t remember everything she did to me last night, a lot of it is part of an orgasmic blur, but I recall some of it. I hunch down over her pussy and spread the flesh with my fingers, then I begin to lick, suck and nibble, slowly at first but I pick up the pace when Patty starts to murmur in her sleep. Frankly, I’m surprised she hasn’t woken up by now. Our fucking must have tuckered her out.

I keep going until I see her head turn and eyes flutter. Quickly moving up over her body, I get the dildo positioned just barely into her vagina. I have to arch my back to keep us face to face. She yawns, stretching her arms, then smiles when she sees my face. I drop my head down and we kiss.

“Good morning my gorgeous sleepy head” I say. “Ready for your Sunday surprise?”

“What Sunday surpr …” I push my hips forward a little bit. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing?”

“The same thing you did for me last night.” I push forward again. “Remember?”

“I remember! I remember! You don’t have …”

“But I want to. You were so wonderful last night, I just wanted to return the favor.” I pull back and push forward again. “It’s only fair, right?”

“Aahh aaahhhh, fair, yes, fair, but you don’t have to go to all that trouble, eeeepp!”

I pull back and push in harder. Patty was really working last night and I should be willing to do it just as hard for her. “It’s no trouble. I’ve already got the equipment on.”

“I’m aware … of that.”

“It’s so strange how the motion at one end.” Thrust. “Affects the other end.”

“Mmmmmmmm yeah mmmm … isn’t it ooooohhh.”

I can’t bend down far enough to get my mouth on her breasts but I can hold myself up with one arm and use the other hand to tickle and pinch her nipples. Patty spent a lot of time playing with my nipples. When I touch hers, she grabs my wrist, hard, but I keep going and soon her hand falls away.

By now, I think I’m all the way in. Pulling almost all the way out, I slam back in. Patty gasps, just like I did. I do it again. And again.

“Huuhhh … Gretch … en … you … don’t … need … aaahhh! … no … no …” I pick up speed, still fondling her breast with my free hand. “Gretchen … yoouuuu … no … no … please!”

I stop. Am I hurting her? “Please what, Patty?”

I look down at her, her face is flush and she’s breathing hard in sharp gasps. And there’s that smell again. She has a strange look on her face. Maybe I am hurting her. I bend lower so we are eye to eye.

“Patty, please what?”

She bites her lower lip, chewing on it for a second or two.

“Please … don’t stop” she says quietly.

I kiss her and she responds … and how.

“Of course I won’t stop, silly.”

I return to pounding away with the strap on. Patty stops talking, just gasping and moaning and the occasional giggle. Most of the time, she’s got that bright beautiful smile of hers.

We keep going for several minutes before my arm starts hurting. It’s bearing all my weight. I need to change positions.

“Patty?”

“Huh?” she gasps.

“Can we change positions? My arm’s starting to hurt a bit.”

“Fine, whatever you want … just don’t stop.”

“I was thinking, if I stood next to the bed and you got on your knees …”

She quickly hops up from her back and rolls onto her hands and knees. “Like this?”

I slide off the bed and step up behind her, the dildo at exactly the right point. Taking her hips in my hands, I slip the tip in with one smooth motion. I think Patty’s as wet as I was. She actually wriggles her hips and pushes back against me, causing the other end to press into me. As I slide all the way in, we both groan at the same time. She looks back at me over her shoulder, smiling and wiggling her hips again. I giggle, then do several short, sharp thrusts. Patty crosses her eyes, making me giggle a second time.

I go back to the long strokes but mix in some short, faster ones. Patty’s head is hanging down, breathing in and out regularly. Sliding my hands up from her hips, I caress the sides of her stomach, slowly moving up to and past her ribs, finally resting on her shoulders. From here, I can really get some good leverage, pulling her back towards me as I push forward, though she’s already pushing back on her own, lightly grunting each time.

We keep fucking in this position for several minutes. At least twice, Patty stops moving on her own but her body trembles while she keeps repeating, “oh-oh-oh God. Oh-oh God!” I can see her boobs swing around when she grinds her butt left and right. I drop down so that my hands are on the bed next to hers, my stomach resting on her back, then I reach up underneath her with my right hand and grab her breast, I’m not sure which one. She immediately buries her head in a pillow and screams, shaking all over again. She starts to slump down but I hold her up, never stopping with the strap on.

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

I don’t think I’ve ever felt smaller and less in control before, with Gretchen’s body practically engulfing me, rhythmically impaling me with that piece of plastic.

That marvelous, magical, unrelenting, glorious piece of plastic!

I should have stopped her right at the start, but now … I can’t remember why I would ever want her to quit.

I’d used the vibrators and dildos before, quite a lot, and never hesitated to push them as far as I could. I particularly liked the inflated round pillow with the vibrator mounted vertically in the center. I rode that one hard. But it’s completely different when you’re in charge, when you’re in control, when you’re alone.

Right now … I am being fucked! Fucked like I used to fuck women, only Gretchen doesn’t stop. She’s got the energy of youth, of flourishing muscles plus a never ending erection. I’ve already experienced three orgasms and she doesn’t show any sign of stopping.

What else could any woman want?

Now that she’s found my boobs, it’s only getting better. Her sweating skin slipping past mine, her hot breath tickling my neck, her driving hips slapping my bottom, her fingers milking my distended nipples and, most of all, the wonderful dildo tying us together, the avalanche of sensations nearly overwhelming me. I’m almost immobile but I can squeeze the dildo with my pelvic muscles, which I do as hard as I can, which only increases the feed back that Gretchen gets. Every time I clamp down, she grunts with effort and pleasure but doesn’t slow down a bit.

The tension in my pussy is building again. The first two orgasms surprised me, coming before I was ready for them. The third one didn’t sneak up on me but Gretch startled me when she fell down against my back, grabbing my breast, breaking my concentration. This time, I’m gonna hold out as long as I can, let the feelings grow and multiply until I can’t hold them back any more.

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

I don’t know what Patty is doing, but it’s driving me crazy! Every time I push forward, she drops her back and raises her butt. It feels like she’s shoving back but she doesn’t move. Whatever it is, it makes the end in me move in just the right way. I can keep this up as long as she can.

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

It’s growing, building, intensifying, but also flowering … spreading. I clench my eyes shut and try to tamp the sensations down, but can only slow the progress. It may not be much longer.

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

Pushing myself back upright so I can get a better angle, I grab Patty’s hips with both hands, pushing the dildo in as far as possible, which pushes back into me the same way. She drops to her elbows, sticking her bottom up even more … just where I want it. She spreads her legs wider too, letting me push in just that little bit further. Suddenly, Patty begins to laugh.

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

When Gretchen changes position, it frees me up to move. By dropping to my elbows, I change the angle of the dildo as it plows down my vagina. The feelings are so wonderful, so unbelievably thrilling that I start to laugh. It’s just a giggle at first and I try to stifle it. I know how I would have reacted if a woman I was fucking laughed at me but I can’t help it. Soon, I’m laughing between gasps and moans. Unable to hold it back any longer, my orgasm breaks, running through my body. At the last second, before I completely lose control, I reach out with my right hand, flail around until I find a pillow, drag it to me, bury my face in it and scream.

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

Patty’s trembling in my hands, her hips shaking. The dildo is buried deep within her and everything is being transmitted straight to me. Just as quickly, I start to shake. It’s like my orgasms from last night, but different too. Either way, it’s all good. As the feeling fades, I slump down, laying on Patty’s back. We stay that way for a few seconds, then her legs slowly spread, dropping her bottom down until she’s flat on the bed.

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

As the post sex orgasmic high fades away, one thought pushes its way to the front of my mind.

Oh man, was this a mistake or what?

I should never have given in last night and I certainly shouldn’t have let her screw me this morning, though, I know exactly why I did it.

It’s my gosh darn pattern.

Two days ago, I faced almost certain death and then pulled one right out of my ass and escaped. That’s not the first time it’s happened in my career but practically every time it has, I end up doing something stupid shortly thereafter. Sometimes it’s drinking, other times it was fighting or gambling, though, more often than not, it’s been sex.

I think it’s some kinda subconscious celebration of life, that I’d dodged a giant bullet between the eyes and needed to celebrate somehow. Until now, I’d never recognized the pattern, but laying here, Gretchen’s warm body pressed against mine, her breasts resting against my shoulders and the dildo lodged deeply, firmly and ever more uncomfortably in my pussy, it all seems so obvious. Mercifully, that kind of behavior fit my undercover identities in the past, only adding to the authenticity. This time …

Gretchen slowly starts to stir above me and I encourage her to move by gradually pushing my upper body off the bed. She clambers back, finally pulling the dildo out as she does, causing residual waves of pleasure to wash over me.

It was fun … of course it was fun, it’s always fun! But was it smart? I’ll have to see how much damage I did.

Rolling onto my side, I look up into her grinning, glowing face as she slides next to me, dropping a possessive arm across my hip, pressing the still wet but now cold plastic appendage against my stomach. I’m filled with conflicting feelings. One part of me wants to melt against her in a post coital cuddle; another part wants to get out of bed, heck, out of the house as quickly as possible. The end result is I do nothing, just stay there as her left hand, which had been resting a little too firmly on my hip, slowly slides up the side of my body until she reaches my breasts, which she begins to gently knead, playing with my nipples, restarting the flow of sensations that I too willingly gave into last night and this morning.

“I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I first saw you naked in the shower after gym” she whispers.

“What’s that?” I whisper back.

“Touch you’re amazing breasts! They feel so firm but so … soft. How is that possible? And your nipples. I just want to …” She drops her head towards the nearest one, mouth open, tongue flicking out.

Oh no! Not again! Not now!

I push forward into her, rolling her on her back, the dildo now obscenely pointing up in the air. Opting for the cuddle puts any further sex on hold, for now. I lay against the side of her body as the hand that had been tantalizing my breast was now cupped behind my head, fingers lazily playing with my hair in a disturbingly familiar manner. The familiarity wasn’t what I had felt before but what I’d done before.

I’d done to dozens of women what Gretchen was doing to me, right now! She was taking the male role and I was taking the female role! Again, the conflicting feelings arise, part of me trying to think of the fastest way to escape and the other part looking longingly at the tower of plastic rising from Gretchen’s crotch and thinking of all the wonderful, delicious things I could do to it if it were flesh and blood.

Has Mom been playing with the settings of the Balancer? I know she wasn’t happy about what we were doing last night but unannounced changes to my settings had been taboo for some time. Practically speaking, there hasn’t been much difference between Twenty Five Blue and Twenty Five Pink for months. I’m only aware of the setting if it’s at the extreme and I was only at Pink Fifty that one time. It still makes me shudder to think about it.

“What are we going to tell our parents?”

Gretchen’s question brings my attention back to the current situation.

“Tell them about what?”

“That we’re lesbian lovers.”

OH CRAP! There’s the damage.

“Gretchen,” I say, quietly and calmly, “you aren’t a lesbian.”

“Of course I am. I had sex with a woman and I liked it. Didn’t you like it?”

“Yes. I liked it. A lot, a whole lot. It was amazing sex.”

She pulls my head closer to hers as she moves hers down and kisses me. She surprised me but I didn’t resist, not even when our tongues intertwine. She pulls back and smiles broadly.

“It was amazing for me too! Besides, you said that you’d been with other girls before. We’re both lesbians.”

“How many other girls have you been with, Gretchen?”

“None, but there’s always the first time. I’m just lucky it was with you.”

Flattering.

“Okay, how many other girls have you been attracted to?”

“Huh?”

“How many other girls have you looked at and said to yourself, ‘Boy, I’d really like to sleep with that one’?”

She doesn’t answer me, just frowns.

“Come on, I won’t feel hurt or anything, how many?”

She clenches her jaw, grinding her teeth slightly.

“None. But there’s nobody else like you!”

That’s certainly true. I wonder if she’s subconsciously picking up on my “inner male”.

“You got me there, but that’s not the point. If you were gay, there would have been some signs by now. Even if the girl wasn’t me, you’d have had a crush on some girl, maybe even a celebrity, by now. Besides, I saw how you checked out guy’s asses when we were at the Mall earlier. You were practically drooling.”

Her hand shoots up, covering her mouth.

“I’m sorry! It was instinctive! I didn’t mean to upset you!”

“It’s cool. I wasn’t hurt. And you’re right … it was instinctive. Sorry Gretchen, you’re as straight as a yard stick.”

“Then what about you?”

Yeah, what about me?

“Well … I might be bi-sexual.” At least while I’m in this body, darn hormones. “Too early to tell.”

“Maybe I’m bi-sexual too.”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“So, if I’m not bi-sexual and I’m not gay, what was all last night and this morning about?”

Good question.

“Sometimes, girls … experiment. We’re more … mature, emotionally, than guys our age, more open to … new experiences. So, if the right two girls …” or five or six, “… meet and the timing’s good, this kinda thing can happen. There’s nothing wrong about it, happens all the time.”

“Sister Carmela would probably say it’s wrong.”

“True, but she’d say masturbating is wrong too. I don’t see that going away any time soon, do you?”

Gretchen laughs. “So, we tell our parents … what?”

“My mom already knows and we don’t say anything to your father.”

“Cool.” Her left hand slides over my hip, tenderly stroking my bottom. “What about us?”

I don’t stop her, letting her continue longer than I should.

“We’ll always have Paris.”

“What? Ohhh wait. That’s from … wait … ‘Casablanca’, right? Patty, I’m serious, what about you and me?”

“We’re still best friends, right?” I reply.

“The beeesssttt” she purrs.

“Then I’ll go to your house some weekends and you’ll come to mine other weekends.”

“I’d rather come to your house every weekend.” She kisses my forehead. “And every weekday.” She kisses my left cheek. “And after lunch.” The right cheek. “And after every class.” She leans in to kiss me full on the lips but I meet her halfway, hungry for her touch.

Eventually, I bring my hands up to the sides of her head and gently pull us apart.

“I’d like that too, Gretchen, but we can’t let your father get suspicious. Best we keep it half and half, for now at least.”

She gives me a quick peck on the nose.

“You’re right. You’re always right. Why are you always right? What do we do now?”

“I’d say we both need showers and then a good breakfast to recharge. I make tremendous French Toast.”

“How about showering together?”

“Not this time.”

“Afraid of what might happen?”

Darn tooting.

“We can save that for future visits.”

“After further … experimentation?”

“We’ll see.” She looks hurt, her big eyes sad and begging. “Okay. Probably.” She smiles hopefully. Why am I such a soft touch? “Fine, Yes.”

Gretchen jumps up out of bed, clapping her hands, the dildo bouncing all around in a very distracting and disturbing manner.

“Thank you! Thank you! Now, help me get this thing off. I don’t know how boys manage it.”

I hope Mom left us enough hot water.

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

Both Henry and Lou arrived right on time. Gretchen gave Mom a big hug and me a long lingering hug before eventually letting go, tears in both our eyes. She held my hand until the very last moment as the door shut, then waved madly at both of us through first the side and then the rear window until the car was out of sight as Mom and I stood, side by side, her arm round my waist, both returning her wave. We turn to walk back to the house, Mom’s arm still around my waist.

“That went well” I said.

“For you, certainly.”

“For you too. Gretchen really pitched in with the house cleaning today. She was the original white tornado.”

“She was that. I am willing to admit that I was completely wrong about her.”

“Really? So, you think she’s a nice person?”

“Very nice, surprisingly nice. Smart, hard working, funny, and, despite all odds, moral. I must give credit to the Catholic school system that they could take a girl with her … background and produce a child as outstanding as her.”

“You don’t give any credit to her father?”

“None.”

“Is it possible that she’s just putting on an act, to make you like her?”

“I could see right through something like that. I’m a professional. Besides, she’s exactly as you described her and you’ve known her for months. Is she fooling you also?”

“No … no, I don’t think so. It’s a shame we’re going to utterly destroy her.”

Mom stops in her tracks as I continue walking, her arm slipping away from my waist.

“WHAT?!” she cries.

I turn back to face her.

“What we’re doing here, you and I, going after Hobbes. If we succeed, it’ll destroy Gretchen’s life.”

“Certainly, it will cause changes in her life, she’ll need to find some place to live but I’m sure her family will …”

“There’s no other family, her father is it. Only child of only children.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate, but the State Welfare Agency will find her a place to stay. They do that kind of thing for the children of convicted criminals all the time. It’s all Hobbes’ fault. He should have considered that before getting in the drug dealing business.”

“You don’t understand. I’m not talking about the what, I’m talking about the how.”

“Come again?”

“It’s the nature of undercover work. Betrayal. You have a young, friendless girl, who, after years of emotional depravation, finally, finally seems to get what she’s been desperate to have all her life, a friend and a chance to live at least part of the time in what she thinks is a normal, loving home. Then, in one fell swoop, the entire world she has known is ripped away by the very people she thought she knew and trusted. She’ll know that she was deluded and double-crossed, the instrument of her father’s destruction and that the only reason her alleged friend had anything to do with her was to use her to get to her father. The entire thing will obliterate her.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little much?” she asks, uncertainly.

“No, not at all. I’ve seen it before, many times in fact, and always my fault. This time, it’s our fault, yours and mine. It’ll hit her like the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

“Surely, that’s a gross exaggeration.”

“Afraid not. Where do you think my nightmares come from? I’ve left a trail of shattered lives after every one of my assignments but the past damage is nothing compared to what will happen to Gretchen. I mean, come on, we knowingly targeted a young, emotionally immature and vulnerable girl, lied to and deceived her on the most basic level and we’ll use that phony relationship to take her life away, leaving her nowhere to go and no one to turn to. We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kill herself within the week after Hobbes is arrested.”

“You KNEW this and you still had SEX with her?!”

“You KNEW this and you still treated her like a daughter?”

“I knew nothing of the sort!”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were the professional here. Did I make some kind of mistake in describing Gretchen before we showed up?”

“No … it was correct, as far as I …”

“And did I inaccurately describe our basic plan?”

She hesitated before answering me.

“You … you’re mostly correct.”

“Well then, Ms. Expert, you tell me what happens to girls like Gretchen when you befriend them, get them to like you, even love you, you embrace them, bring them into your family, give them a glimpse of their dreams and then ruthlessly rip it all away, revealing the entire exercise to be a cruel scam. What happens to girls like Gretchen?”

Mom grabs the iron railing and slumps down, sitting on the concrete block steps outside the kitchen door.

“What have we done?” she gasps, beginning to cry

I slowly take a seat next to her.

“Exactly what we started out to do. I told you up front that undercover work was a dirty business and you had to be prepared to do what was necessary. I wasn’t talking just about what ugly things we might be forced to do but the consequences of those ugly things. Gretchen is collateral damage … and there’s not a darn thing we can do about it … not if we follow the original plan.”

“But I didn’t know this might happen!”

“There’s no might about it, Mom. When the time comes, Gretchen’s life becomes an endless nightmare of our creation.”

She drops her head and sobs

“I … I … I … can’t … do something … like … I’m … not responsible for … not to an … an innocent girl … like …”

I pat her arm.

“Don’t worry. You’ll never forget what you did, it’ll haunt you till the day you die, particularly if she kills herself. I know all about that one. If we’re lucky, it’ll be a lifetime of therapy seeking self worth and abusive relationships with men. Or maybe prostitution.”

She groans quietly.

“I just wanted justice for my family, for my daughter.”

“I guess there’s a certain ‘eye for an eye’ quality to this.”

She raises her head, looking at me.

“How can you just sit there and accept this? She’s your FRIEND for God’s sake!”

“Hey! I didn’t say I was happy about it! Just because I saw this coming from day one and you didn’t doesn’t make it my fault alone. I didn’t create this by myself and I can’t fix it by myself.”

“Fix it? I thought you said there wasn’t a darn thing we could do about it.”

“IF we follow the original plan. Change the plan and we might be able to save Gretchen.”

“And still get Hobbes?”

“We can put him out of the drug business.”

“How do we do this?”

“Lipscomb won’t like it. Oh, I forgot to mention … Lipscomb nearly got both of us killed last Friday.”

“WHAT?! HOW?!”

“Don’t worry, I bought us some time. It actually may work out a lot better this way … gotta seize those opportunities when they present themselves.”

Mom’s starting to reel from information overload.

“I don’t understand, what has been going on?”

“I’ll explain later. What I need to know is if you’re willing to consider other options, options that won’t shatter Gretchen’s existence. Are you?”

She seems to have recovered a little from the bombs I’ve been dropping on her. Hoped she would.

“As a reasonable human being, what else can I say? Of course I will. What’s the first step?”

“I need to get Gretchen some more friends.”

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

It was at supper that it finally dawned on me.

Sister Rita has been in a particularly good mood all week. Not that she is normally in a bad mood. When we play good cop/bad cop on a student I’m always the bad cop, it’s a role that fits my natural temperament, just as the good cop fits hers. Acknowledging her natural inclinations, Rita has been even more upbeat than usual though.

“Sister Rita, you seem to be in a good mood tonight.”

“Am I, Sister Carmela?”

“I’ve noticed it too” chimed in Sister Elizabeth.

“It must be the basketball team.”

“My goodness, Sister Rita, I would think that group would cause exactly the opposite effect. I think you barely smiled twice last year during the season.”

“I really wasn’t aware of that, Sister Carmela. It must have been our record.”

“One and twenty two will do that to a person” snickered Sister Elizabeth.

Sister Rita just responds with a knowing smile, at first.

“I think we’ll do better than that this year, much better in fact.”

“Rita, I certainly hope your optimism is rewarded some day but, our basketball team has never amounted to a hill of beans.”

Her knowing smile grows larger. “Sister Carmela … I am barely able to suppress the temptation to make a wager with you. Do you remember the announcement I made over the PA last week, where I requested volunteers to join the program?”

“It was more like begged” chided Sister Elizabeth. “You only had nine girls total from four classes. We couldn’t even field a freshman team.”

“Well, my request was answered. Two girls came forward Monday and joined the team.”

“At least you can scrimmage now” I said. “Which two girls?”

“That was the astonishing thing. Guess.”

“Sister, we don’t have time to run through the entire …”

“Fine, don’t guess. Hobbes and Conner.”

“Gretchen Hobbes and Patricia Conner?” She just nods, still smiling. “How did they …”

“Ms. Conner just said they wanted to help out. As for Ms. Hobbes being allowed to play, Conner just said that Hobbes’ father owed her a favor.”

“That doesn’t sound good. How competent are they?”

“That’s why I didn’t want to say anything earlier. I thought we should get a few practices under our belt before passing judgment.”

“And?”

“Ever heard of the pick and roll?”

“Vaguely. It’s some kind of play, isn’t it?”

“Yes, a two man play. Hobbes and Conner can’t be stopped. I put four girls on them and they still score, practically every time. Hobbes is a demon on the boards, goes after every loose ball like it had her name on it. And Conner … pure greased lightning. I have never seen anyone dribble faster with more control. She’s like a waterbug, darting here and there. If you get open, she’ll hit you with a pass in seconds. More than one girl has been hit with the ball because they weren’t paying attention. A basketball to the face is a hard lesson but they’re learning quickly. Do you know, Conner was barking commands to everyone by the middle of her first practice … and everyone was following them!”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Me neither” added Sister Elizabeth. “She’s a nice girl and all, but there’s something just a little bit frightening about her. Others have noticed it too.”

“Let us hope that others are smart enough to not gossip about such things, Sister Elizabeth.”

“Certainly, Sister Carmela.”

Not that Elizabeth isn’t absolutely right about Conner.

“That may explain it” said Sister Rita, “but whatever it is, St. Ann’s has a basketball team to be proud of. We may even win a game in the Catholic Christmas Tourney this year, as long as we don’t draw St. Agnes in the first round.”

“Of course.”

“That goes without saying.”

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

Usually it’s Lipscomb who calls a meeting but this time Jessica made the first contact. I’m never going to turn down an opportunity to give Patricia an exam.

She and Jessica arrived first and they were not in a good mood. Thankfully, I wasn’t the reason for that. Patricia was quite cooperative and we quickly moved through a series of tests. My initial analysis indicates that all the technology is still working exactly as designed. Her physical health is excellent, reflexes are off the chart, muscle tone very impressive. According to both of them, she has been working out and joined the school’s basketball team.

I’m not sure if that is a good idea. While I’d like to see how she performs, it would probably be better if Patricia kept a lower profile. As far as the progression of the integration of the two parts of higher brain, I will need to perform a more in-depth review of the data, however, there is nothing obviously worse than it was at the time of the prior exam.

Jessica is always nervous both before and during Patricia’s exams, though Patricia has almost always been calm and obliging. Today is no different. Jessica visibly relaxes after I give them my preliminary results. Just then, Lipscomb arrives.

The temperament of the room quickly changes. I’d noticed that Patricia had grown increasingly uncomfortable around him over the last few months, even to the point of avoiding him, but Jessica seemed consistently neutral in his presence. That was not the case this time.

Lipscomb stepped forward, unbuttoning his suit coat and pulling out a chair, preparing to sit down.

“I’m certainly glad to see that you are both …”

Jessica leapt up from her chair, viciously backhanding Lipsomb across the face, sending him backwards. He landed on his ass then sprawled across the floor on his back. He reached out with his right hand, touching his face where Jessica had struck him.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ABOUT?!” he sputtered.

As he struggled to get up, Patricia came around the table, placed her foot on his chest and pushed him back to the ground.

“Stay down” she growled.

There was anger in his eyes but he did what she said. Jessica wasn’t done with him. She bent down at the waist, pointing her finger in his face.

“I supported you! I told Patricia she should give you the information! You promised to keep it safe! We’re all lucky to be alive, you BASTARD!”

“I had nothing to do with it!” Lipscomb protested. “My boss, Tyson, he told me it was my job if I didn’t give him the info. I had no idea what he planned, none at all! I was as shocked as you were when I found out what had happened. I was out of the loop, I tell you. The first I heard of it was the morning TV news.”

“And yet, you still didn’t try to warn us, even then you … piece of crap” hissed Jessica.

“It was too late.”

“How did you know it was too late? Patricia walked right into Hobbes’ house after 3:30. I didn’t leave work until 5:15. If you found out in the morning, there was still plenty of time to do something.”

“Not if we were going to follow protocols. I’d have had to leave you a sign at the diner at lunch, then you’d have had to …”

“OUR COVER WAS BLOWN! FUCK PROTOCALS! You just left us to swing in the wind!”

“Clearly your cover wasn’t blown, otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.”

“No thanks to you! Patricia saved all our lives.”

“How?”

“Like we’re ever going to tell you anything ever again” Jessica scornfully spat.

“Wait a minute! This wasn’t my fault! I was betrayed just as much as you were! Tyson promised he wouldn’t do anything to put you at risk! He never gave me a heads up of any kind. I was blindsided!”

All this time, Patricia had remained silent, letting Jessica take the lead, but now she squatted down next to Lipscomb.

“Mom’s upset about all this because she believed you. She’s feeling a bit let down right now. I, on the other hand, expected something like this might happen. You think Tyson betrayed you? Take it up with him. It was your job to protect us from your end. No screw ups, no surprises. You say you were out of the loop? Now you are. We’ll call you when we’re ready to finish this job. You don’t call us. It may be weeks, it may be months, doesn’t matter. When we’re ready, we’ll drop the dime. Until then, you just keep paying the bills.”

Patricia had spoken quite firmly and calmly. Lipscomb had pushed himself up on his elbows as she had talked. He wasn’t happy.

“Just who do you think you are? This is my operation and we will do as I …”

Patricia stood up, intentionally stepping on Lipscomb’s hand as she did.

“I’m sorry, did I leave the impression that this was a negotiation? It isn’t. This is the way it’s gonna be. Either that, or I walk into that room, Matthews puts Peter Harris back in his old body and we all go home … Your choice. Right now.”

She still had her foot on his hand. Now, she pressed harder on it. Lipscomb winced as the pressure increased. Eventually, he nodded his head vigorously. She lifted her foot from his hand.

“I’ll take that as an unforced and voluntary free will ‘yes’. Get off the floor.”

Lipscomb slowly stood up, rubbing his hand. He was glaring at Jessica and Patricia, Jessica was glaring back. Patricia was ignoring him.

“Two things before we leave, Lipscomb. I do have a plan, it’s already in place, I just need a certain set of circumstances to implement it. When those circumstances happen, I’ll pull the trigger. Second, you should soon be inundated with tips about where you can find enormous stashes of drugs. You can take all the credit you want for it. Just make sure you figure out a way to successfully raid those places. The success of our operation depends on it. Apparently, your boss Tyson is a clever man. I’d let him handle it if I were you. Ready to leave, Mom?”

Jessica picked up her purse from the table.

“Yes, let’s go before I do something I’ll regret. We’ll be in touch, Thomas.”

They both walk out while Lipscomb dusts himself off. Once he finishes, I offer him a glass of water.

“Has something happened?” I ask.

Lipscomb’s reply really isn’t worth repeating.

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

Matthews had a cold compress, which I held to my cheek as I drove back to the Federal building. After I parked the car, I slipped it into my coat pocket and hurried to my office. Lunch hour hadn’t passed yet, so I was ahead of the returning crowd, managing to reach my office without encountering anyone I knew, avoiding the need to explain my swollen face.

Once I got back to my office, I closed the door and reapplied the compress. It stung initially but started feeling better immediately. I sat it on my desk and started searching through the drawers, looking for a bottle of Advil that I was certain I had left here. My head was down below the desk top as I rummaged through the bottom drawer when I heard my door open. I looked up. It was Tyson.

“Daniel, I just wanted to … whoooaaa, what happened to you?” he asked, grinning like a fool.

“Nothing, just an accident.”

He stepped closer, turning his head to get a better look.

“So, who accidentally hit you? I can see the finger marks from here. Must have been a woman, men generally don’t slap.”

“It was an accident.”

He shrugged. “If you say so, just as long as it wasn’t someone in the office. It wasn’t, was it?”

“No.”

He sighs in relief. “Good. I just dropped by to arrange to meet your team. We need to make sure they get as much credit as safely possible for their work. It may not be public recognition, circumstances being what they are, but their information made the largest group of seizures in US history possible and this office will not let that go unrewarded.”

“Uhhh, that may not be possible right now.”

“Why not?”

“They … decided to stay in.”

“What?!”

“I warned them, told them what you were planning but they decided to ride it out. I couldn’t talk them out of it.”

“That’s suicidal!”

“I know, I know but it seems they were right. You need to get ready for some more tips about other caches, big ones.”

“As big as the last group?”

“Maybe, maybe bigger.”

“MY GOD! How is that possible?”

“I’m … I’m afraid I can’t tell you, not yet at least.”

“I understand. Secrecy is security. I can’t even imagine how to use the information. We were blind lucky last time, just a fortuitous set of circumstances.”

“You’ll think of something Walter, you’re a clever guy.”

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

I was scheduled to meet with Hobbes at 11:00 this morning. We are supposed to talk about the timing of the tips to the Feds about our competitor’s merchandise storage. It was harder to get that information than I first thought it would be. Some I already knew but we want to be thorough. The more inventory they lose, the more valuable mine is and the less I will need to corner the various markets. Hobbes and I decided to expand Conner’s original idea and add Europe and the Far East. It will cause further disruptions and reduce the available supplies that could quickly be redirected to the US.

Our reputation has already taken a big hit. That was the primary reason I had such a hard time getting the information I wanted. Three months ago, people were falling all over themselves to ingratiate themselves with me. They all wanted to be associated with number one, maybe not publicly if you worked for the other side, but they all wanted in, one way or another.

Now, I am being treated as the poor relative, begging with hat in hand. Luckily, I have records of the prior contacts. Anyone working for the Potosi or Tijuana cartels can’t afford to have their entreaties to Hobbes known by their current employers. That, and a little cash, got me the rest of the information I needed.

I knock on Hobbes’ door, opening it as soon as the bolts withdraw.

“Come in Enrique, have a seat. Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thank you. I’ve had all the coffee I can drink these last two weeks.”

“Nothing stronger, I hope?”

“No … nothing stronger. Don’t worry, we both know I would never sample the product. Neither of us are as foolish as our American customers.”

“It is good to know you are keeping your head in the right place. What news?”

“We are ready to begin, and the sooner, the better. Some people need to be shown who is boss. If we delay any longer, somebody may think it is time to take us on directly.”

“I’m certain both Carrillo and Beltran are planning to do exactly that. I agree, it is time to give them other things to think about. As for timing, which of our competitors is going to benefit the most from our troubles?”

An astute question. “I would say Tijuana. They’re in a better position to replace us on the West coast.”

“Patricia suggested we initially target who ever could hurt us most.”

Conner. Again. Always Conner.

“When did she suggest this, X-ray?”

“Last week, when she asked if Gretchen could join the school basketball team. I tell you Enrique, if she were a boy, I would insist she marry Gretchen. To have a mind like hers in the family, it would be such an asset.”

“X-ray … I don’t wish to minimize Conner’s contribution to our plans but she …”

“She created this plan, Enrique.”

“She came up with a general scheme; I put the details in place. I provided the information to make it work. Who is to say we wouldn’t have decided to do exactly the same thing on our own, without any help from your daughter’s young friend?”

“Did you have any idea remotely similar to hers before she suggested it?”

“No, but I had very little time to consider our options.”

“Neither did I, but she created this ‘scheme’ in less than one hour, without any detailed knowledge of my business.”

“It was our idea to expand to other countries.”

“And how long did it take us to think of that? Three days! I don’t blame you, Enrique. Patricia Conner is a natural business genius. She is Mozart and we are Salieri. It is a simple as that.”

I refuse to bow to the alleged genius of a teenage girl! Clearly, her ideas have merit plus a certain ruthlessness … which I certainly can appreciate … but I would have eventually reached the same conclusions as she did, I just needed the time. We were all in shock. She had no pressure of any kind. With such an advantage, it’s no surprise she thought of a solution mere seconds before I would have done exactly the same! However, Hobbes is not prepared to listen to any criticism of his current infatuation.

“Enrique … I know that this isn’t the appropriate time, but when we are passed our current difficulties, I plan to … diversify the business.”

“Another suggestion of Ms. Conner’s?”

“No, not directly, but, in talking with her, she has made me realize that I have other options than the ones I have been pursuing all my adult life. Other famous men started out similarly to me and they ended up leaving great legacies, buildings named after them, even colleges. I am still a young man; there are other things I could do.”

“What are you saying, X-ray?”

“I started this business to make money, not because I particularly liked selling drugs. It was just a way to quick profits. There is nothing to say that I can’t be just as successful in other businesses.”

Oh, she has really gotten to him, the fool! What is he going to do? Become a dry cleaner, open a restaurant, sell fruit from a wagon? We are drug dealers, it is what we do! And we do it well, better than anyone before us or anyone after us once we are long dead.

“When do you plan to make these changes, Raymond?”

“Certainly not until I have regained all I have lost. I may decide to leave the business but no one will toss me out. I decide my own fate. Once I am back on top, then I will do as I please. With Patricia’s help, that may be much sooner than everyone expects.”

I agree. Once I am back on top, changes will need to be made … perhaps even sooner than that.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

I had snuck down from my office after school to watch today’s practice. I was standing just outside the door so as to not cause any distraction.

The girls are running some kind of passing drill, running up and down the court, passing the ball, not dribbling, until a girl shoots a lay up, then they go right back up the court, doing the same thing. The next group of five girls repeats the drill.

Over and over again, running and passing. If a player drops the ball, the entire group goes back and starts over again. It’s tiring just to watch them. All the girls are breathing hard, leaning forward, grasping the edges of their shorts when they aren’t in the drill.

All except Conner.

She participates in each and every round, taking no breaks. She plays defense, running around, trying to steal the ball or at least get a hand on it, which she does about every fourth trip. When she does, she stops the action and points out what the player should have done, either the passer or the girl who was the target, sometimes demonstrating herself. Sister Rita is under one basket providing token defense and there is a volunteer coach, Mrs. Willis I think, doing the same at the other end. This continues for at least fifteen minutes before Rita blows her whistle, bringing all the girls to the center of the court.

“All right girls! Good practice today, very good! I want you all to split up, first five to the left, second five to the right. Once you have made six consecutive free throws, you can hit the showers.”

A general “Aaaawwwww” of disappointment echoes around the gym, but the girls do as they are told. Conner rips off six straight baskets but doesn’t leave, staying to help the next girl in line until she gets her six, rebounding and encouraging her all the time. Rita and Willis are at the other basket, doing the same.

Once the last girl hits her sixth straight free three, she trots off the floor, leaving the two coaches and Conner standing at mid court.

“This isn’t working, Sister” said Conner.

“Why not, the entire team’s free throw average is up twenty percent, not counting yours, of course.”

“I know, but the idea is to have them shoot while they’re tired, breathing hard. We need more baskets, ideally one per girl. Now, by the time the second girl gets her six straight, the rest of them have all caught their breath. We’re trying to replicate free throws at the end of the game, when they really count and are the hardest to hit.”

“We could have the other girls keep running laps” suggested Willis.

“It might work, but the way Debbie shoots, we’d have half the team collapse at the end of each day. Even cheap, portable baskets would do.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Conner” consoled Rita, “there’s simply no money in the athletic budget. If we do well this year, maybe next year, who knows.”

“I understand, Sister. I’ll think of something. All the girls will be at my house tonight. We’re doing an overnight before the game tomorrow morning. You’re invited, if you want to come.”

“Why are you doing that?”

“It’s a team building exercise, makes us more of a unit, we’re all sisters, that kinda thing. Helps bring the classes together too.”

“Why your house?”

“It was my idea and Mom was willing to put up with it. If it works, we’ll rotate around, a different girl each week. It won’t work for every game due to scheduling, but the girls want to give it a try.”

“Are you certain it won’t develop into an all night party and no one gets any sleep?”

“Not at my house, it won’t.”

“I’ll leave it up to you, Captain.”

“Thanks, Sister. See you at school tomorrow.”

Conner runs off to the locker room, Willis following her at a somewhat slower pace. Sister Rita walks around the gym, collecting the balls and putting them in a big, mesh bag she’s dragging behind her. I step into the gym, pick up a ball that is sitting next to the door and throw it towards Sister Rita. She immediately looks my way when she hears the ball bounce.

“Sister Carmela! You startled me.”

“Sorry, I just wanted to watch your practice for awhile, check out the team. I don’t remember seeing that particular drill in the past.”

“You didn’t. It’s something Ms. Conner suggested. It’s supposed to duplicate a fast break, getting the ball to the basket quickly.”

“I don’t recall seeing many fast breaks last year … or the year before … or the year before that.”

“That was then, this is now.”

“They seemed to have a problem getting past Ms. Conner.”

“Oh, that was a dramatic improvement. At first, nothing got past her. In all honesty, she’s backed off a bit to give the other girls a chance.”

“Is that the proper approach, limiting the difficulty of the task?”

“Trust me, it’s tough enough. They won’t see any tougher this year, St. Agnes included. And they have improved quite a lot. There’s hope that they’ll get better. Tomorrow’s game against Jeffersonville will be an interesting test. They have some tall girls so Hobbes will have to work hard.”

“I noticed she ran the floor well in that drill.”

“Plus she’s in good shape. I do need to rest her occasionally but, by and large, she could outrun most girls her height. That’s why we were practicing fast breaks, get Hobbes out and running, beating the other tall girls down the court. You should see the ball move when Conner’s on offense instead of defense, makes the hairs on your arm stand up.”

“I look forward to the game at Jeffersonville.”

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

No matter the logic, I find it difficult to give tips to the police. The only consolation is that it benefits me more than it does them.

How did Conner come up with this plan so quickly? It was as if she had advance notice. But, if she was a spy, coming back to the compound knowing that the raids had taken place would be extremely foolish. Unless she was after something else, something more important. What would be worth that great a risk? None of this makes any sense … which only concerns me more.

My only choice is to keep a close watch on her, at least until I can discover what she’s up to or I can put her to a better use … which reminds me.

I pick up my radio.

“Riley, where is Escaban?”

“Working the West side, Mr. Cardoza.”

“Send Jackson to relieve him and send Escaban to me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

While I wait for Escaban, I run through the list of people I could use to leak my accumulated information to the Miami Federal Prosecutor. It would probably be best to be more than one, it will seem more believable. Three will be just about right I would think. There’s a knock at my door.

“Come in, Tony.”

The door opens and Escaban slips in, quickly checking out the room as he does. He does that every time, which is a point in his favor. I can’t afford sloppy associates.

“You call me, Mr. Cardoza?”

“Yes, Tony. What progress on finding someone to take care of our Conner situation?”

“There’s a guy who’d like to move up in the organization. He figures that you owing him a favor will help.”

“We’ll see about that. Do you think he’s reliable?”

“Yeah, reliable enough.”

“Is he capable?”

“He’s got people. How good do they need to be? She’s a little girl.”

“She’s more than that. If you can’t recognize it, you’re of no value to me.”

“Fine, she’s smarter than your average girl, maybe more athletic too, but come on, against an armed adult? Not a chance.”

“To be safe, have your man’s man find a friend, maybe two.”

“THREE guys for one girl? Are you serious?”

“I want her sliced and diced. A knife is more personal than a gun, more intimate. One can be a look out. I want this to be done right, no mistakes. An extra man just gives a greater margin for error.”

“Or another man to squeal should they be caught.”

“That’s a consideration, but if you think they are incompetent enough to be caught, we shouldn’t use them at all, don’t you think?”

“Just thinking about all the possibilities. When do you want this done?”

“Not yet. There is still more to learn from her. Just have your man find some people and be ready when called.”

“Okay.” He turns to leave, but stops. “Did you know that Hobbes was going to his daughter’s game tonight?”

More of Conner’s insidious influence.

“No, I was not aware of it. How do you know?”

“Jackson mentioned it when he relieved me, told me to hurry back ‘cause he was one of the guards going to the game.”

Every where I turn, this cursed girl undermines every thing I have done in the last twenty years!

“I’ll speak to Hobbes, you go back to your post.”

“Yes, sir.”

It only takes a few minutes to walk over to the main house. There are ten guards, including most of the senior men, gathered outside with three cars lined up in the driveway by the front door. They are all smiling and joking, like this is some kind of outing.

When I reach Hobbes’ office, he is just stepping out the door.

“What is all this about, Raymond?”

He looks sheepish, like a young boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Ahhhh Enrique … I was hoping to leave without you knowing about it.”

“I know everything that happens in this house, that is why you pay me.”

“You’re right, of course. I just do not see the harm in going to see my own daughter’s basketball game. It has been years since there has been an attempt on my life. I’m taking the best men I have. If what I’ve been told is right, we may outnumber the other fans. The risk is minimal.”

“But there is a risk. Why take the chance for something as unimportant as a high school girls game?”

“Because it is my daughter, Enrique. If you had children, you’d understand. Besides, there is a certain amount of risk in everything we do. What is the use of living a life without enjoying it? I have been kept prisoner in this house for too long!”

“Is that what I am, your jailer? Is that how you think of me?”

“NO! Of course not! It was just something that Patricia said. I know that you are a loyal friend who has my best interest at heart but sometimes …”

“Sometimes what?”

“You can be over protective. What is the use of having all that I have if it causes me to live hidden away from all that I find enjoyable. There is only so much of life that can exist inside these four walls, Enrique. If I have to live like this for the rest of my life … well, maybe some changes need to be made.”

I can see Conner’s fingerprints all over this change in attitude. I had him afraid of his own shadow and now he wants to prowl the streets. With ten guards in tow but, before Conner, the thought would never have occurred to him.

“X-ray, it is your life. You must live it your way, but, it is because of my advice in the past that you have a life to live. Heed my warnings, please. Stay safe at home. If you want to see the game, send one of the men to videotape it.”

“Enrique, no one uses videotape anymore. It is all digital today.”

“I don’t care! They can record it however you want, you can watch wherever you want, however you want, in the safety of your own home.”

He reaches out, patting me on my shoulder with his right hand.

“My old friend, I know you mean well, but I have made up my mind. I am going to the game. Don’t wait up.”

With that, he brushes past me and out the door. Seconds later, I hear all the cars start and pull away from the house, heading for the front gate.

Perhaps I should have Conner’s death recorded, digital or otherwise.

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

Patricia is clearly upset. All the girls were, but Patricia more so. She’s sitting in the passenger side of the front seat, pushed in as deep as possible, arms crossed, teeth grinding, staring straight ahead. It’s just her and I left now, we’ve already dropped Cassie and Lynne off.

“That fourth foul was completely bogus!” she spat.

“I know, but you can’t really expect to get away with reaching between a girl’s legs from behind to steal a ball.”

“It was a clean steal!”

“I know, but most refs have never seen it done before. The knee jerk reaction is to call a foul.”

“Jerk is right. We should have won that game.”

“Honey, I know, but was that really the purpose of all this? I thought the sleep over was a big success. Everyone enjoyed themselves and Gretchen got along well with the entire team.”

“Everybody’s happier when they win. Some victories will make this work better.”

“And give your ego a big boost.”

“Hey! I’m holding back out there! I’m playing it straight, just your average point guard.”

“Three for six from behind the three point line, and your three misses went straight to Gretchen for easy put backs. Are you really that accurate?”

“You want the truth? It’s that hummingbird thing all over again. I can go where I want, when I want and I don’t think anyone can stop me. Shooting is amazingly simple. I told Gretchen it was all about the math and it really is. I can practically see the path of the ball before I shoot. I’ve got perfect control until it leaves my hand. It would have been great to have these capabilities back when I was in high school.”

“You’d have been a star.”

“Ya got that right, Mom.”

“So what’s to prevent you from becoming a star now?”

“You know we can’t afford that, it’d just complicate things.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Set up other people, hit enough shots to keep em honest.” She shakes her head and sighs. “If we’d just hit our darn free throws at the end, we’d have won!”

“I know, honey.”

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

I’m still upset when I get to school on Saturday morning for practice. Gretchen’s waiting for me at the gym door, smiling. Maybe it’d because I’m going to her house after practice for the weekend. At least at her house, there won’t be any repeat of what happened at mine.

“Hey, Gretch.”

“Hey, Patty.”

“Gosh, this stinks.”

She opens the door and we walk into the locker room.

“What stinks?”

“Three points. Three lousy points! We had a ten point lead in the second half for God’s sake!”

“You know how long it’s been since St. Ann’s lost by only three points?”

“No.”

“Like … forever. The only game we won last year was by forfeit. The closest we came was something like fifteen, thirteen, maybe twelve points, and that’s only because they put their scrubs in.”

I look around the room as the girls change into practice gear. They’re all happy, upbeat, practically celebrating. I hadn’t hung around after the game yesterday, too pissed off.

Terri walks up to me, twisting her hair into a ponytail.

“Some game last night, captain.”

I drop my bag on the nearest bench.

“What the heck is this all about? We LOST last night.”

“I know,” replied Terri. “Last year, the same team beat us by twenty five and they were mostly Juniors and Sophomores. I don’t know how we kept it so close.”

There’s a general nodding of heads around the room. I better put an end to this now.

“Guys, we had a ten point lead in the fourth quarter. You should never give up a ten point lead.”

“That was when you got your fourth foul” said Waymire.

“I don’t care who got what foul, we don’t give up ten point leads. You keep playing hard, no matter what the lead, no matter who’s on the floor. If you get ahead of a team, you put your foot on their throat and squeeze the life out of them. You don’t let them back into a game! We are not going to give up a ten point lead ever again. Does everybody understand that?!”

“We’re not used to having any leads, of any kind” said Burks.

“Well, BeeBee, you better get used to it, because it won’t be our last. And when we get a lead we’re gonna keep it, no matter who’s on the court. You can always play defense, defense is just effort, working harder than the other guy. We can defend against anybody.”

“Except St. Agnes” mumbled Rodgers.

“Except NOBODY, Lynne. NOBODY! We work harder than they do, we can shut them down, we can shut anybody down. Play hard, move your feet, get into position, don’t foul …”

Gretchen coughs several times then holds up four fingers. She’s a real B word sometimes.

“Fine, yes, I took too many stupid chances, though that fourth foul was totally bogus! However, as it has been pointed out to me … repeatedly, I shouldn’t expect to get that call, even if I don’t foul, so, in the future, nothing crazy.”

By now, all the girls, in various stages of dress, have drawn near to me.

“From here on out, no moral victories. We’re here to win games and that’s what we’re gonna do. We play hard, we play smart, we’re gonna win.” I slowly scan the room, making sure to look each girl in the eyes. “Everybody got that?” There’s a general unenthusiastic nodding of heads. “Good, then let’s get out there and get started.

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

When I get out of practice, Mom’s parked in the lot, waiting for me. Usually, she’s got a book to read but not today. Today, she’s listening to something on the radio. I open the door, startling her.

“What’s up?”

“Ssshhh, listen to this.”

She reaches out, turning up the volume as I slide in next to her.

“… nearly the same quantities as those seized in the record raids earlier this month. In a brief statement, Walter Tyson, Chief Federal Prosecutor for this District had this to say.

‘The days of easy smuggling across the United States’ borders are over. You bring illegal drugs into the US; we will find them, seize them and prosecute you.’

Mr. Tyson declined to answer any questions at this time, including whether or not more raids were planned.

Kim Kardashian is in town today to promote her line of marital aids. She is appearing at … ”

Mom flipped off the radio.

“Hey! I was interested in that!”

“Don’t be crude. Was that your handiwork?”

I scratch my nose.

“Probably. It should just be the beginning. I sure hope this works.”

“You aren’t certain?!”

“No, how could I be? There’s a lot that could go wrong. The economics are sound, it’s the execution that’s dicey. We’re relying on a number of other people to do their respective jobs. There’s no guarantee they can or will. Logically, it should all go as planned, but people aren’t always logical … or predictable. But, so far, so good.”

“Guess all we can do is wait and see.”

“Yep.”

“How was practice?”

“Good, very good. They all got the message. Now it’s just a matter of me not letting them forget it.”

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

Hobbes picked up the remote and muted the television. We had been listening to the most recent news program about the latest string of drug seizures, the ones we had provided the police with information about. Hobbes had a tight smile on his face.

“It is a strange feeling, Enrique. Helping the authorities is not something I am yet used to.”

“I know what you mean, X-ray.”

“The more important thing is what is the effect? What are prices on the street doing?”

“They’ve reacted faster than gasoline prices. The costs to the sellers hasn’t risen at all yet and prices have doubled, purely on speculation.”

“The speculation is correct, how high will they go?”

“Who knows? If we are successful, possibly a ten fold increase. We are entering unknown territory.”

“And a little girl shall lead us.”

“Raymond, I still object to your slavish devotion to Conner’s general …”

“Ahhh Enrique, credit where credit is due. I do not mean to diminish your contributions to the plan, the devil is always in the details after all, but we must not deny the fact that Patricia Conner is the author of our salvation.”

“Potential salvation.”

“So far, yes, only a potential salvation, but the trends are improving. I have communicated with the managers of all our manufacturing facilities in the last two days. They have all assured me that production can be increased.”

“They may be telling you what the think you want to hear.”

“They all know that I will hold them to their promises, so it is not in their interest to lie to me. We can refill our pipeline quickly, the problem is, where do we put it once we get it across the border?”

“There has been no progress in finding the source of the leak. You have had me busy with … other tasks.”

Hobbes waves his hand, dismissively. “I’m not worried about it, for now. All of our warehouses were not raided so, we can assume the authorities do not know about those they did not raid.”

“Not a safe assumption.”

“Then what are we to do? Success depends upon restocking before our competitors can. We can not rely on simply knocking them down, we must rebuild!”

“Are you certain that we are not being setup, to put all our efforts and remaining resources into re-supplying and then we get raided again, finishing us off, once and for all?”

“And who is the mastermind behind this devious plan? Patricia Conner?”

“You said it yourself, she is a very smart girl.”

“Enrique, listen to yourself! She doesn’t know the first thing about the details of our operations.”

“That we know of.”

“So now she must prove a negative to make you happy? How can she prove what she doesn’t know? And how does she benefit from the collapse of my business? If she hadn’t stepped up, we would have collapsed anyway.”

“That’s not true! I’m sure we could have done something to …”

“What? What would you have suggested we do, Enrique? You have had weeks to come up with an alternative, please, tell me what your brilliant plan is.”

“I would first discover the identity of our informant.”

“And then do what, ask the police to return our merchandise? Yes, the informant is a problem, one I expect you to concentrate upon once my business is saved, but saving that business is my first priority. How would you do that, Enrique?”

He has me there. Everything I have been able to think of is a variation on Conner’s suggestions, something Hobbes will gleefully point out to me. He is so enraptured by this girl, he can not, or will not, see the danger we are in. I can’t answer his question.

“No plan Enrique? None? Don’t blame yourself, I couldn’t come up with one either. I am not a fool, Enrique, no matter what you might think. There are risks here, large ones, but they are calculated risks. Besides, what other choices do we have?” He slaps me on the back several times while ushering me to the door. “You keep on knocking our competitors down while I concentrate on building us back up. God willing, we will come out of these troubles better than before.”

Severance Pay (Chapters 49 through 54 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Audience Rating:

Adult Oriented (r21/a)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Girls play in the Catholic Holiday Tourney with spectacular but dangerous results. Raymond Hobbes hosts a Christmas Party over Cardozas strenuous objections. Escaban chooses his hit team. Patricia and Gretchen negotiate the terms of the New Years Dance. Themes and Elements listed apply to entire story, Rating to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for editorial assistance.

CHAPTER FORTY NINE

It was nearly halftime and St. Ann’s were up fifteen. Gretchen had eighteen points, six rebounds and three blocks, she was an absolute monster out there, at least to the untrained eye.

Patricia had put her in perfect position for every point and half her rebounds. She even provided the defensive pressure that forced bad shots that Gretchen then blocked. Gretchen is good, but Patricia is the engine that drives this team. She spreads the ball around too, not simply setting Gretchen up every time. Terri Hughes has ten points, Bailey Brooks, I think they call her BeeBee, has nine. Patricia just has five, but there is no doubt she’s the ringmaster.

Right now, they’re playing a zone defense. They always play some variation of the zone, 2-3, 1-3-1, box and one, depending on the strength of the other team. They don’t have a lot of girls on the team so they play zone to save energy and fouls. It’s understandable but a little too passive for my taste. In this case, it’s the box and one, letting Patricia chase and harass St. Mary’s leading scorer, their point guard.

She stole the ball three of their first five possessions and the poor girl has been playing defensively ever since. She spends more time watching Patricia than she does looking for her teammates, which is easy to understand because Patricia has the quickest hands I have ever seen in my life.

She cut out the crazy steal attempts in their second game, she didn’t get in foul trouble and they beat Sunnyside by nineteen, the largest margin of victory for a St. Ann’s basketball team in twenty six years. If they don’t let up, they’ll beat St. Mary’s by more than that. Patricia doesn’t tolerate any of the girls letting up. Every time one of them doesn’t hustle, she talks with the girl. She doesn’t point or scream but pulls her aside and pumps her up, stoking the fire.

When the buzzer goes off at the end of the half, all the girls run by my floor level seat, a look of determination on each face … except for Patricia, who smiles and winks at me, lightly slapping my half-raised hand as she runs by, quickly followed by Sister Rita.

“Good half, Sister!” I shout.

She waves her hand as she pushes the locker room door open. “Thank you, Ms. Conner” she shouts back, her closed fist with an upright extended thumb being the last thing I see before the door slams shut behind her.

Looking around, I’m filled with a wave of nostalgia, memories of my days as a player flooding back. Some of the best years of my young life. I played for a public high school with over five thousand students, in a gym at least four times larger than this one, but the sounds and the smells are identical. Shoes squeaking on the gym floor, laughing children, fresh popcorn.

This is the first game of the Twenty Second Annual Catholic Holiday Tourney. St. Ann verses St. Mary is the warm up act for St. Agnes and Blessed Sacrament. St. Agnes is a large Catholic school, over two thousand boys and girls enrolled. They’ve been a dominant athletic school for decades. This Holiday tourney has just been a kind of scrimmage for them. They’re currently ranked number four in the state. This year, though, Blessed Sacrament may give them a run for their money with their senior dominated team.

The gym is barely one third full, the crowd waiting to arrive for the second game. However, one small section is packed. Hobbes and at least fifteen of his men are sitting at mid-court, slightly above floor level. They have every available refreshment, Coke, popcorn, pretzels, hot dogs, you name it. He notices me looking his way and waves, smiling. I paste a big, fake smile on my face and return his wave, then immediately walk rapidly to the bathrooms, hoping to avoid another invitation to join him.

So far, I’ve been able to dodge him, but, as the season goes on, there will likely be no way to avoid the man. The first game, he was there with ten men, the last game with twelve, this one fifteen. The surprising thing is, they all seem to enjoy themselves. They shout and yell the entire game, giving the refs hell if they disagree with a call. If the refs knew what kind of man was sitting at mid-court and that his daughter was playing, it might affect their calls, it certainly would mine if I were in their shoes. It is hardly an ideal situation, but they do seem to help get our few fans more involved in the games.

Once out of the bathroom, I linger near the entrance, trying to hide from Hobbes, waiting for the second half to begin. There are two men seated on the small set of bleachers under the basket, each with a shot chart and other papers. They are either obsessive fans or coaches. I ease my way through the crowd until I’m near enough to listen in on their conversation.

“… really got them playing as a unit. Can’t be anything their coach has done, she’s never been able to do it before now.”

“It’s that damn little point guard of theirs. That is one mean little bitch. She’s a junior. Where the hell did they get her?”

“Don’t know, but I think she’s the one Martha Zendahas mentioned.”

“Zendahas, the lady from the YWCA?”

“Yeah. She told me there was this really short girl going to St. Ann’s who was some kinda super athlete. Must be her.”

“What else does she play?”

“Apparently everything.”

“That isn’t good. The one problem we have right now is bringing the ball up against pressure. We may have to get her out of the game.”

“You aren’t really worried about St. Ann, are you? They’re St. Ann, for God’s sake, St. I’ll-play-a-zone-no-matter-what Ann.”

“No, I’m not really worried, not as long as we got Ridgeway. Hell, it’ll probably do us good in the long run to face a quick kid. Bring on the midget!”

They both laugh … long, loud, raucous, laughter. These coaches clearly have no respect for our girls.

We’ll just have to see about that.

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

Patricia insisted on staying and watching the second game after St. Ann won, as did most of the rest of the team, including Gretchen.

It probably wasn’t the best idea.

St. Agnes had a full squad of fifteen girls, all of them athletes, but one girl really stood out … Aelia Ridgeway. Six four, not skinny but not fat either, and, unlike many girls, she can jump! Not dunk it jump, at least not yet. She’s not particularly fast or quick but she has good footwork, knows how to get in position near the basket and is big enough to defend it. Gretchen has played against men but this girl knows what she’s doing.

She’s not the only good player but she’s tops in this tourney. She’s already accepted a scholarship to the University of Connecticut and they only take the best!

Blessed Sacrament was supposed to give them a good game, but it wasn’t close. They doubled the score on them, sixty four to thirty two. St. Agnes kept the starters in most of the game, actually shooting threes at the end instead of just running out the clock. Ridgeway was a real beast in the middle, she ended up with a triple double, thirty one points, fourteen rebounds and eleven blocks. The blocks may have been the most impressive. She let the girl shoot before she jumped up after it and she kept her distance, not fouling anyone, though the refs let her get away with quite a lot of shoving to get and keep good position.

Patricia just watched intently, Gretchen on one side and Terri Hughes on the other. Patricia would point something out and the other two would nod their heads. At different times, she would call to another player, who would come over and they’d talk about something, making gestures or scribbling on a note pad.

As the game went on, our girls seemed to become more dispirited. Patricia tried to keep their enthusiasm up but it didn’t seem that they were buying it. The girls drifted away until, at the end, it was just Gretchen and Patricia, plotting and planning.

On the drive home, I just had to ask.

“So, how do you plan to win tomorrow night?”

“Win? We’ll be lucky not to be blown out.”

“What was all that discussion about? All those pointers?”

“Oh, we may be able to give them some trouble, they can’t handle the ball very well, but once the get it to Ridgeway, there’s not much you can do about it. I’ve got a couple of ideas that should work for awhile, particularly if they’re slow to adjust. If we make a fast start, we can worry them a bit, but they’ve got too many good players, they’ll eventually wear us down. Their third string is probably better than our first.”

“Including you?”

“No, of course not. Gretchen either, though Ridgeway is better than her, but only because of more experience. If Gretchen had played these last three years, she could make it interesting. I told the girls no more moral victories but I hadn’t seen St. Agnes play yet. A moral victory may not be so bad tomorrow.”

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

Ever since he started coming to my games, Father has been a different person. He’s more cheerful, more upbeat, more anxious to look for reasons to get out of the house. He is actually making plans to fly to Rio for Carnival next year. The guards were lining up to volunteer for that job.

He was also really interested in what was going on in my life, not just polite questions but genuinely interested. It freaked me out! What the hell could I tell him? I couldn’t say anything about me and Patty, not yet certainly. He asked about school but my answers were boring. Even I nodded off a couple of times. Basketball though … that excited him.

He had one of the guys sit up high and video each game. Father would have sent him to practice if he could have gotten away with it. After every game, he would sit with me and watch it, sometimes in slow motion to get a good look at a particular play. What was weird, though I never noticed it during the game, was that every time Patty missed a shot, the ball came right to me and I had a lay up. You’d think at least one time the ball would have bounced deep or something but no … straight to me, every single time. Weird.

Father also had me sit with him and watch other basketball games. Colleges are just getting started and the pros are just out of preseason. There’s a lot of pre-Christmas tourneys and we watch as many as we can. Father spends most of the time pointing out things I should do when I play. He means well, but I’m just not that good.

I can barely handle the ball, though I’m getting better. Sister Rita has me doing some drills that Patty found in a book and they’re helping a lot. I hit barely seventy percent of my free throws. Patty’s working with me on that. She’s only missed two all year and both times, the ball came right to me. Again. Super weird.

The best things I do are run the pick and roll, run fast breaks, and play defense. Blocking shots is fun too! Even better, all the girls on the team are nice. We hang together at school during lunch and between classes, just like regular girls. They’re still nice to me when Patty isn’t around. Girls who aren’t on the team are also talking to me. I never dreamed that school could be like this, that my life would be like this.

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

RIO?! CARNIVAL?! Is he MAD?!

“I thought I’d get a suite of rooms, take a top floor, maybe the floor below too, just to be safe. I went to Carnival when I was in college. Very enjoyable.”

“Raymond … this is madness. Carnival is a security nightmare. It’s barely restrained pandemonium.”

“That’s what was so enjoyable. To a young man, it made quite an impression.”

“There is no guarantee that we will have all our problems under control by that time.”

“If we don’t, I’ll cancel. Simple as that. Enrique, I am tired of being trapped in this house. There is an entire world out there, a world that I once enjoyed with enthusiasm.”

“The follies of youth are best left to the past.”

“They were not follies. I would do them all again if given the choice. The trips to Gretchen’s games have reminded me of what my life used to be like, the places I used to go, the things I used to do. There is no reason I can’t do them again or do new things. I want to host a Christmas party for Gretchen’s team.”

Where? HERE?! In THIS compound?

“I hope you plan on renting a reception hall somewhere.”

“No, in my home. I spoke with Raul, he was enthusiastic! We have more than enough room.”

“And what about a dozen girls running through the house? How do we protect against that?”

“There’s only nine other girls, plus their parents, if they want to come, maybe boyfriends. These girls are not children, they are all well behaved young ladies. We’ve had large dinner parties before.”

“With people we knew, people we had checked out in advance. Christmas is only a week away. There is no way to complete the security checks by then, not with everything else I am doing.”

“Just put extra men in the vulnerable areas and run the bug checks after the party. And the party’s on the twenty third, you can’t expect people to come on Christmas day, that’s strictly a family day.”

I know where all this openness is coming from, this overwhelming desire for normalcy. As soon as I have gotten past the current problems, I will deal with her.

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

The girls are warming up. It’s St. Agnes’ gym so the crowd is seventy percent theirs. Patricia never shoots well in warm ups but that act will only work for a few more games. Eventually, there’s going to be enough video out there that opposing teams will know what she’s capable of.

That’s not true. They’ll know what she’s willing to reveal of her capabilities. I have to admit that I’d love to see a game where she lets off the chains and hits the gas but I’m afraid it might bring too much attention to us. Still, it would be fun to see.

St. Agnes seems loose, very loose. Too loose. They don’t respect St. Ann’s, why should they? So we’ve won a couple of games. Historically, that means nothing. Our girls know that too. I see a number of them nervously glancing towards St. Agnes as they shoot around, paying particular attention to number twenty five, Aelia Ridgeway. Patricia keeps bringing their attention back to what they’re supposed to be doing but it’s not a good sign.

As the teams line up for the tip off, St. Ann’s seems to have their game faces on. Patricia’s moving around, slapping hands and butts. Ridgeway is at least two inches taller than Gretchen and easily gets the tip, Gretchen not even trying, falling back into a 3-2 zone, Patricia in the middle. It seems to be a passive zone, just shifting as St. Agnes passes the ball back and forth, left to right.

Ridgeway flashes to the lane just below the free throw line, Gretchen going with her. St. Agnes’ guard passes the ball to her over Patricia’s head, which Ridgeway easily catches, starting to dribble to make her move.

Patricia darts back and cleanly steals the ball, shouting “GO!”. Bailey Burks and Cassie Moore immediately break towards the other end of the court, leaving the St. Agnes guards just standing there. Patricia throws a mid-court pass to Cassie, who sends a bounce pass to Bailey for a lay up.

The next possession for St. Agnes is almost an identical repeat, except Cassie gets the lay up. The next possession, Patricia doesn’t bother to shout, Cassie and Bailey are already running as the pass goes to Ridgeway, who freezes as soon as she catches the ball, waiting for Patricia to drop down. It doesn’t matter, Patricia snatches the ball from her hands and the fast break is on.

The fourth possession ended up with one of the guards taking an outside shot, which missed and was rebounded by Terri Hughes after Gretchen neatly blocked out Ridgeway. Patricia blew by the girl guarding her, penetrating all the way to the basket, drawing several of St. Agnes’ players to her before passing the ball out to Bailey, who hit a three point shot. Not surprisingly, St. Agnes called a time out.

Our girls hit the sideline excited and high-fiving, all except Patricia. She quickly huddled with Sister Rita, talking for about twenty seconds before turning to talk with the rest of the girls.

When St. Agnes brought the ball up court the next time, they faced the same passive zone. Ridgeway moved to the middle but continued to the right wing, Gretchen on her the entire way. After catching the ball, she attempted to drive back into the lane. She only dribbled twice before Patricia stole the ball again, though this time she wasn’t able to pass the ball to either of our guards because St. Agnes had quickly dropped back with them. However, with their team scattered all over the floor, Terri was able to get free on a delayed fast break, with Patricia hitting her for a lay up.

It was clear what the plan was. They weren’t going to deny Ridgeway the ball but they weren’t letting her put it on the floor. Patricia and Gretchen were double teaming her despite the appearance of the zone. They weren’t going to let Ridgeway beat them.

The teams traded baskets for the rest of the first quarter with the occasional defensive stop for both teams. Ridgeway got a couple of baskets on rebounds but, other than that, Gretchen and Patricia pretty much stopped her. Unfortunately, once St. Agnes stopped fixating on Ridgeway, the other girls were able to score, both inside and out. They were bigger and stronger than our girls, though I think we’re faster. Gretchen was certainly faster than Ridgeway, enabling her to score several times by beating her down the court. Patricia hit the one shot she took but concentrated on moving the ball around and getting shots for the other girls, either by driving and dishing or quick passes whenever one of them would get open. We stayed with some variation of the zone the entire quarter.

We got the ball to open the second quarter, Gretchen being replaced by Linda Hatke. It looked like we might score but Cassie lost the ball along the baseline. There was a big scramble, with some of the girls heading back on defense and others fighting to recover the ball. One of St. Agnes’ girls came up with it and started to drive down the middle of the court. Patricia was back peddling ahead of her, shouting to the other girls, pointing out who they should be guarding.

Suddenly, Ridgeway, who was about fifteen feet ahead of Patricia, stopped at mid-court and set a pick. The other girls were too busy finding their men to warn Patricia. Just as Patricia was about to make contact, Ridgeway lowered her shoulder and raised her forearm, then sprang upright, hitting Patricia hard in the back of the head, knocking her completely off her feet, her forehead bouncing off the floor when her head struck the hardwood! The entire crowd gasped, some of them applauding, but all fell silent when Patricia didn’t move.

It took me a moment to overcome my initial shock at the dirty play to realize that Patricia might be seriously hurt. Springing from my seat, I was the first person to reach her disjointed, sprawled body. Ridgeway was standing off to the side, a look of satisfaction on her face. I’d have punched her out right then and there if there weren’t more important things to deal with.

CHAPTER FIFTY

My head is buzzing, I can actually feel it vibrating. I’m lying on my back and it’s dark. I try to open my eyes but something’s covering them. It’s cool and damp. I reach up with my right hand and pull it away, touching my wet forehead with my left hand, making contact with a painful swollen lump above my left eye. Looking up, I see the dull, gray ceiling of the locker room. Mom’s face moves into my line of vision.

“Patricia? Baby? How do you feel?”

I blink several times, twist my jaw left and right, then start to sit up.

“I’m fine … I think.”

“Careful! Be careful, honey!”

I slowly continue to sit up, everything feels normal except for the spot on my forehead above my left eye and the vibrations in my head, which seem to be fading away quickly.

“I’m okay, Mom. What happened?”

“You were blind-sided, that’s what happened.”

That’s Gretchen! I turn to look for where the voice came from. She’s sitting on a bench nearby while I’m sitting on an elevated training table. Mom’s standing next to me.

“Where’s everybody else?”

“The games still going on” said Mom.

“Then what are you doing here?” I ask Gretchen.

“She was ejected” answered Mom.

“EJECTED?! YOU? Why?”

“She left the bench when you were hurt.”

“I wasn’t the only one” Gretchen grumped.

“You were the only player, sweetie. Everybody else was … uh …”

“Who else?” I ask.

“Father. The guards. Your Mom. Sister Rita. Sister Carmela. A whole bunch of people” Gretchen answered.

“It was a bit of a …” started Mom.

“Riot” finished Gretchen.

“That’s an overstatement, but it did take the ref awhile to get the court cleared.”

“Your Mom was pretty upset, we all were. Father was mostly angry, so were the guys.”

“Who did it? Who hit me?”

“Ridgeway. She set a pick, then hit you in the back of the head with her forearm, knocking you off your feet. Your head hit the court” Mom explained.

“The sound was gross” added Gretchen.

“Did she get tossed?”

“Who?” Gretchen asked.

“Ridgeway, who else!”

“No, the stupid ref didn’t even call a foul. I thought Henry was going to shot him on the spot.”

Nice to have well armed friends. Just then, the rest of the team came in the locker room.

“Hey! She’s awake!” shouted Terri and the team swarmed me, gathering around the table, asking questions. Sister Rita entered the room along with Sister Carmela, Sister Rita hustling the team back into the locker room area.

“How are you, Miss Conner?”

“Fine, Sister Carmela. I hear you rushed the court.”

“Simply concerned about the health of one of my student’s, nothing more.”

“Either way, thanks.”

“If you need to take a day or two off to recover, I’ll make sure your assignments get to your home.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m playing the second half.”

“Miss Conner, you were unconscious for several minutes. The paramedics were prepared to transport you to the hospital before your mother insisted you be brought back here … and I still question the wisdom of that decision.”

Of course! Mom couldn’t let any regular doctor’s near me, imagine what my head x-ray would look like.

“I have a call into Patricia’s personal physician” said Mom. “He should be here shortly. Patricia has some unique … conditions and it would be best that she be treated by someone who knows …”

There was a knock at the locker room door, a pause, and then it was pushed open. A female paramedic stepped in.

“There’s a man here who claims to be the girl’s doctor.”

“Thomas Matthews?” asked Mom.

“Yeah.”

“It’s him, please let him in.”

She stepped aside and Matthews hurried in, averting his eyes from where the other girls were sitting. He had a large case in his right hand.

“I was told what happened and have spoken with the paramedics. I think I can determine fairly quickly what the damage is, if any.” He sat the case on the table next to me, flipped open the lid and removed a helmet that was similar to the one from the machine at his office. It was attached to a laptop computer. “This is the first chance I’ve had to try out the portable version. An exiting opportunity!”

He carefully slipped it on my head and made several adjustments, gradually tightening it until it was a snug fit. I caught Mom’s attention and slightly nodded towards Sister Carmela. She nodded back.

“Sister, if you would please excuse us. This is a personal matter. I’m sure you understand.”

Sister Carmela had been skeptically observing everything and clearly did not want to leave but she didn’t really have a choice. She reluctantly left the training area, joining Sister Rita and the team in the locker room.

“Patricia, what did you feel when you regained consciousness?” asked Matthews.

“I felt my head vibrating, like a million bees buzzing, though a lot quieter. Sometimes the vibrations were synchronized, sometimes not. It didn’t last long, started fading away almost as soon as I was awake.”

He looked surprised. “You actually felt it? That is unusual. The damage might have been more extensive than I anticipated. We shall see.” He turned the computer away from me so that I couldn’t see the screen and began to type. I couldn’t feel anything from the helmet, but I never did at the office either. While I sat on the table, Mom reached out with her right hand, taking my hand in hers, squeezing it gently. I squeeze back as Matthews scans the results, mumbling to himself. Mom can’t contain herself.

“Well Thomas … is she okay?”

He doesn’t respond, just continues to scan and mumble.

“Thomas?”

He looks up. “Yes?”

“Is Patricia alright?”

“It would seem that she is … repaired, or mostly repaired. Initially, there was some damage and the nanites kept her unconscious so that her body could concentrate it’s energies on repairs. Doctors often keep patients with brain injuries in induced comas to speed recovery. There was no difference here, just at a much faster rate.”

“Patricia had brain damage?”

“Yes, but not that much. Any concussion by definition is brain damage; it’s just a matter of degree.”

“So, how much brain damage was there?” asked Mom.

“Nothing the nanites can’t handle.”

“Are you saying there is still unrepaired damage?”

“Yes, but it is mostly clean up work. That is why she is awake now.”

“So the buzzing I felt was …”

“The nanites, yes, exactly. Amazing when you think about it.” He unstraps and removes the helmet, stowing it and the computer in the case, closing the lid.

“Can I play?” I ask.

“Basketball?”

“Yes.”

“Today?”

“Yeeessss!”

“I don’t see why not.”

I jump off the table, hurrying to where the team is, Matthews shouting “you’re welcome” behind me. The girls are all sitting on the benches, heads mostly down, a couple sipping from paper cups, Sisters Rita and Carmela whispering in the corner.

“What’s the score?” I ask.

“Twenty five, Forty three” answered Terri.

“Who’s ahead?”

She looks up at me, disgust clear on her face. “Who do you think? They are!”

“What happened? We were up by … twelve, right?”

“Things kinda fell apart when you and Gretchen went out. I don’t think they were counting on a twofer with that cheap shot.”

“So, it really was a cheap shot?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“Oh yeah, it was a cheap shot. That Ridgeway …” she glanced at the nuns, who weren’t paying attention “… BITCH tried to hurt you. She was pretty proud about it, the whole …” checked the nuns again, “… damn team was patting her back and bumping fists.”

“I saw one of the coaches rub the top of her head” chimed in Hatke, “they were both smiling.”

“Got it.”

The whole thing made me angry, angrier than it should. That kind of stuff happens, it’s all part of the game, but the knowledge that they had gone out of their way to try to hurt me just … ticked me off! How dare they! Who did they think they were? Who did she think she was?! What gave them the right?!! I stride over to the Sisters.

“Sister Rita, we’re going to have to change our defense if we’re going to win this game.”

They both look down at me, then at each other, then back to me. Sister Rita goes first.

“Patricia … I appreciate your confidence and competitive nature, but I can’t let you play, not after what happened today.”

“Why not? My doctor says I can play.”

They look at each other again.

“I’ll check” said Sister Carmela, who heads back to the training area.

“As I was saying, we need a new defense.”

“And a new offense.”

“Offense won’t be a problem; I just need stops and turnovers. They picked the wrong girl to screw with.”

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

The girls charge out of the locker room, lead by Patricia. She had assured me that she was fine and, with what Thomas had said, I didn’t have much of a case, beyond a mother’s concern. I had tried to convince her that her health was more important than a game but the longer we talked, the more adamant she became … and the angrier. I can understand the anger, I was upset about it too. If it had been me who had been attacked, I’m sure I would also feel something like that, but Patricia had always seemed to have a better handle on her anger, better than me, truth be told. I certainly hope Thomas is right.

When our fans realize Patricia is on the court, they give the girls a standing ovation, Hobbes and his men being very vocal. They really do like Patricia. I can see why she has been so successful in the past. Anyone who can make the enemy feel that way about you could accomplish a lot.

Each team is running lay up drills to warm up. Anytime one of St. Agnes girls get near Patricia, they say something. I can’t hear what they say but Patricia doesn’t respond, she just smiles … but it’s not a pleasant smile. It’s the kind of smile you see on the faces of a family as the Thanksgiving turkey is set on the table in front of them, a hungry, anticipatory smile, relishing the thought of what is about to happen.

St. Agnes gets the ball to open the third quarter. St. Ann’s doesn’t fall back to a zone but puts all their players in the front court, randomly spaced. When St. Agnes inbounds the ball, all the girls rush towards the player with the ball, screaming. The St. Agnes player panics, loosing control of the ball. Cassie is the first to reach it, burning a pass straight to Patricia who is set up outside the three point line. She immediately shoots, the ball bouncing around the rim, then falling through. Fifteen point lead.

This time, St. Ann’s sets up in a full court press, leaving the inbounding girl unguarded. Patricia is patrolling the middle of the front court. Once the player gets the pass, Cassie and Bailey quickly close on her, forcing a lazy bounce pass to an apparently open teammate but Patricia easily intercepts the ball, backs out behind the three point line and fires. Twelve point lead.

The third time, our girls set up in a zone press. St. Agnes is clearly confused. They hadn’t anticipated this or anything like it. They inbound to a guard who quickly passes it to Ridgeway, who is near mid-court. She attempts to hand the ball to a passing teammate but Patricia beats her to the mark, takes the ball and dribbles towards the three point line, Ridgeway in hot pursuit. When she reaches the line, she hesitates, allowing Ridgeway to catch up, then leaps sideways, kicking her legs out slightly. Just before Ridgeway runs into her outstretched leg, Patricia shoots, hitting the basket and getting fouled in the process. Once she hits the free throw, it’s a four point play, an eight point lead and a time out called by St. Agnes, their coaches having seen enough.

Our girls hurry to the huddle, new life and vigor in their bodies, smiling and clapping, congratulating themselves but not Patricia. She sits down on the bench, a towel over her shoulders, listening while Sister Rita talks. She’s the last one to leave the bench at the end of the timeout.

This time, St. Agnes clearly has a plan. A quick in bounds pass to a guard, who just as quickly throws a high pass to Ridgeway, who turns and passes to one of two forwards who are breaking for the basket, clear of any of our defenders. Our girls had been caught off guard and the ball never got anywhere near Patricia. The lead is back to ten.

Terri inbounds to Patricia, who is promptly double teamed. St. Agnes is trying to force her to give up the ball but she won’t do it. The two girls try to apply pressure but they can’t keep up with her, Patricia constantly changes direction, eventually causing one girl to fall down and the other to trip over her fallen teammate, Patricia then shoots more than ten feet behind the line. Nothing but net. Seven point lead.

We put Linda Hatke on Ridgeway when she sets up at mid-court this time but Linda is barely five eleven, above average height for a girl but she can’t challenge Ridgeway. We don’t let the St. Agnes forwards break clear but they do get the ball across the time line. They pull the ball out and start passing it around, primarily keeping it away from whoever Patricia is guarding. When she cheats towards whoever has the ball, her man breaks towards the basket, forcing her back to prevent an easy score. The rest of our team tries to stay with their respective men but someone eventually gets open and scores. Lead back to nine and only two minutes left in the quarter.

We call timeout and the girls huddle up, with Lynne Rodgers coming in for Terri. Lynne is a sophomore who doesn’t play much, she’s a little too short and skinny to play Forward.

Out of the timeout, St. Agnes presses but once Patricia gets the ball, the rest of the team runs to the other end, forcing most of the St. Agnes girls to follow them, leaving Patricia to be double teamed again. This time, neither girl falls down but they barely slow Patricia, who breaks clear after a few seconds of ankle breaking cuts and crossover moves, hitting her fifth consecutive three point shot. The lead is down to six with a minute forty five to play in the quarter.

St. Agnes beats the press again and pulls the ball back as before, moving it around, taking up as much clock as possible. As soon as the girl Rodgers is guarding gets the ball, she fouls her while trying to steal it.

The St. Agnes player hits both of her free throws and this time, Patricia faces a triple team as she brings the ball up court. St. Agnes is desperate to get the ball out of her hands but Patricia ignores obviously open teammates, forcing her way across the time line with an assortment pack of moves, one time passing the ball to herself through a defender’s legs. It takes more than thirty seconds but she eventually shoots from almost twenty eight feet out, banking it in from the side.

St. Ann’s is only applying token pressure now so St. Agnes gets the ball quickly across the timeline and starts to move the ball around, waiting to take the last shot of the quarter, however Rodgers fouls her man immediately when she gets the ball.

So that’s the plan! We’re willing to trade two points for three points. Lynne Rodgers is the designated fouler. If they won’t let the ball anywhere near Patricia, then we’ll foul whoever does get the ball, give them whatever they can get from the line then let Patricia score three points, gaining one, two or even three points in the exchange. It’s ugly, but it works, as long as you have enough bodies. Unfortunately, several of our girls picked up a number of frustration fouls in the first half so we can only do this for so long.

St. Agnes hits both free throws, the last one with forty five seconds left in the quarter. As Patricia brings the ball up court, she is facing four defenders, with only Ridgeway covering the rest of our team. She manages to get across the timeline before ten seconds by sheer force of will, keeping the defenders off balance with lightening fast changes, but, eventually, she passes to Bailey, who is open in the corner. She shoots but misses, the ball bouncing long, with both Ridgeway and Patricia chasing after it.

This time, Ridgeway wins the race, but just barely. She gets the ball in both hands, then viciously swings around, squatting low but elbows high, Patricia pulling her head back just in time to avoid being hit square in the jaw. The two girls stare at each other for a moment both of them knowing exactly what just happened. Ridgeway was going for the knockout blow and if it had been anyone other than Patricia with her hummingbird reflexes, she would have succeeded. Before either of them can do anything, the horn blows and a ref runs between them, signaling the end of the quarter. Eight minutes left and seven points down.

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

As soon as I plop down on the bench, someone hands me a drink, which I down in one, long swig. I’m more tired than I should be, the nanites must have used up a lot of my energy reserves. If I had half a brain, I’d quit right now. This is only a game, it doesn’t actually mean anything! It’s got nothing to do with the assignment, with Gretchen’s future, my future, nothing.

Then why did it take every ounce of my self control to keep from punching that big goon out ten seconds ago? I wanted to kill her, actually kill her, and I could have done it too. Even made it look like an unfortunate accident. If that horn hadn’t blown …

Sister Rita’s saying something, pumping up the team. Eight minutes to go, game of our lives, honor of the school, blah, blah, blah. All I know is … that bitch is going down.

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

We get the ball to open the fourth quarter. Patricia is again the last one to leave the bench. She looks determined but tired. I wish I knew what was so important about this game. I reach into my purse and locate the remote control to the Balancer. I could change the setting to the upper Pink range, make her more willing to listen to me, to obey me. It would violate our agreement, but it would be for her own good, wouldn’t it?

Cassie passes the ball to Patricia to begin play. She dribbles to the right, followed by her four shadows. Suddenly, she passes the ball back to Cassie, surprising the defenders. Two of them move towards Cassie while the other two freeze, allowing Patricia to run past them down court, breaking clear. Cassie hits her with an arching pass, leaving only Ridgeway to guard four players.

As Patricia drives right at her, Ridgeway slides back towards the basket, turning towards her left. Both of them are ignoring all the other players, this is one on one. Just as Patricia draws close, she pulls up to make a move but stumbles, falling towards Ridgeway. As she falls, Patricia reaches out with her right hand, flipping the ball softly upward, arching near the basket. Ridgeway could block this one in her sleep.

With Patricia sprawled on the court at her feet, Ridgeway jumps as high as she can, swatting the ball out of bounds with a triumphant shout that can be heard throughout the gym, a shout that she extends as she drops back to the court, Patricia twisting away to avoid being stepped on. She almost gets completely clear, except for her right foot, which lingers for just a fraction of a second until Ridgeway’s left foot lands on it, then she jerks it away.

What was a shout of victory becomes a scream of anguish as Ridgeway rolls her ankle, bending it more than ninety degrees, all her weight, all her downward momentum, concentrated on that single, fragile joint. All the tape in the world, all the braces, could not prevent the stretching and tearing of her ligaments. She crumples to the floor, landing on her side, grasping at the rapidly swelling joint, gasping for air, shrieking, cursing and crying, all at the same time.

Every person in the gym who had every twisted an ankle in their life grimaced in unison at the memory of the excruciating agony, their ankles aching with sympathetic pain.

As the St. Agnes coaches and players scramble to Ridgeway’s aid, Patricia slowly stands up and walks away, not even looking back towards the girl writhing on the floor. Walking by our fans in the bleachers, she looks up towards Hobbes and his men. They are all standing, stone faced, but with tight smiles as they watch Patricia pass by. She pauses and nods her head ever so slightly towards them. They respond in kind, a demonstration of respect.

They all know exactly what she did. Hell, a third of the gym knows what she did, but no one could prove it was anything but an unfortunate accident. One of those things that can happen to any player at any time. St. Agnes’s coaches don’t even bother to argue with the ref about not calling a foul.

Patricia sat heavily on the bench as several teammates and an assistant coach help carry Ridgeway back to their locker room. Patricia didn’t even look up as they passed in front of our bench. Several of our girls came up to Patricia, resting their hands on her shoulders, telling her it wasn’t her fault, that it was an accident. She thanked them for their sympathetic gestures. It was almost believable. I managed to catch her eye and hold it for several seconds. She finally smiled ever so slightly and shrugged her shoulders, palms up in a “shit happens” gesture.

Right.

After the delay to cart Ridgeway off the court and to wipe up the sweat from the floor, we took the ball out under our own basket. Still down by seven, Patricia passes to Teresa Gaeta, who gives the ball right back. Patricia takes it out beyond the three point line, turns and faces a still shell shocked team, a team who had just seen their best player, and possibly their season, lugged off the court. She fires a bounce pass with back spin to Terrie Hughes, who had back cut her defender, the ball hitting her perfectly in stride for an easy lay up. Five points down.

We set up in a half court trap, Patricia in the middle but St. Agnes is ready for it, taking the ball down the sideline, avoiding the trap. They cross court a pass, high enough that Patricia has no chanced at it, The St. Agnes guard shooting a three as quickly as the ball reaches her hand. It was good, for an eight point lead.

We trade baskets over the next few possessions but ours are all threes, two by Patricia and one by Bailey Burns, our crowd shouting “BeeBee!” when ever Burn’s scores, reducing the lead to five. With St. Agnes having the ball, they pass it in to Ridgeway’s replacement, a tall girl but she lacks Ridgeway’s skills and confidence. Patricia drops down, knocking the ball away from her, setting off a mad scramble of bodies diving to the floor, struggling to get their hands on the ball. St. Agnes eventually recovers it but Patricia comes out of the scrum with a cut on her right cheek, just below her eye. It’s bleeding badly, so she has to come out of the game. I quickly make my way to the bench as our trainer works on it. The other girls make room for me and I sit down next to Patricia.

“What happened?”

“What’s it look like? I got cut by number fifteen out there!” She points at Ridgeway’s replacement.

“Was it an accident?”

“Of course not! They want me out of the game! Hurry up Sister, I need to get back out there!”

One of their girls hits a three, to the resounding cheers of the St. Agnes fans.

“If you will sit still, Patricia, I’ll do what I can” answered the Sister. I believe her name is Charity, she might have some training as a nurse.

“Are you sure getting back out there is a good idea?” I ask.

Patricia glares at me. “Fifteen punched my in the face, cutting me with the metal clasp on that elastic wrap around her hand. She said it was from the entire team. I won’t let them get away with this, not now, not ever!”

“Patricia … this isn’t like you, you’re acting like some kind of over emotional …”

“Teen age girl? Isn’t that what I am? What else should I be acting like?”

“I don’t know, but if you don’t settle down … I’ll be forced to …” I reach into my purse.

“Don’t you DARE, Mother” she hisses. “If you do, I will never forgive you. NE-VER. Do you understand me?” She stares at me, as angry as I have ever seen her, Sister Charity finishing treating the cut. As she steps away, it leaves just Patricia and me, me fingering the remote control in my purse. I slowly pull my empty hand out. Patricia relaxes.

“Thank you.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

St. Agnes scores again, pushing their lead to ten points. The girl was fouled by Hatke, so they get a chance to make it eleven.

“I hope so too” says Patricia as she jumps up off the bench and reports to the scoring table, putting herself back in the game. The ref quickly inspects Sister Charity’s repair job then lets Patricia back on the floor, to the muffled groans and a few boos from The St. Agnes fans, who are quickly drowned out by the cheers and shouts of our fans, again led by Hobbes and his men.

You really must admire their enthusiasm.

St. Agnes hits the free throw, and falls back to mid court, not pressuring Patricia, but as soon as she crosses the time line, they foul her. It was intentional but not terribly so Patricia just gets two shots, which she hits. Apparently, St. Agnes isn’t going to let her rain threes on them anymore. There’s only three minutes left and they’ve got plenty of fouls to spare.

St. Ann’s sets up in a zone, the first time in the second half, but then try to trap the ball. St. Agnes moves it too quickly for our girls to get to it and they hit number fifteen for a lay up, pushing the lead back to eleven but it only burned twelve seconds off the clock.

Patricia brings the ball up and there are three girls spread out along the time line. They’re going to foul her as soon as she crosses the line. She stops just short of the line, dribbling as the ref counts down the ten seconds. At the last second, she passes to BeeBee and sprints to the left corner. BeeBee makes a cross court bounce pass back to Patricia, who shoots as two St. Agnes girls desperately grab her. Too late. She hits the three and gets a free throw, which she nails. A seven point lead with two and a half minutes left.

We try to trap the ball again, St. Agnes still moving it quickly from player to player, not bothering to even look at the basket. The problem with that is they can’t keep the ball away from Patricia. Eventually, the player that she’s guarding gets the ball along the baseline and Patricia immediately steals it. Terri was already at mid court, several feet ahead of the nearest St. Agnes player. They all head for the basket and Patricia hits Terri with a pinpoint pass, who hits a lay up and is fouled.

Our girls huddle up at the top of the key around Terri but St. Agnes calls time out, apparently trying to ice her. All the girls head to their respective benches. Our crowd is screaming and yelling, with a lot of base tones. I can’t hear what is being said in the huddle but both Patricia and Sister Rita are talking while the other girls intently listen. The St. Agnes coaches are also loudly talking to their players, being quite emphatic at times.

The ref blows her whistle and the girls return to the court, setting up along the lane, Patricia again being the last one off the bench. The ref hands Terri the ball, she spins it in her hand, dribbles twice, sets and smoothly shoots, hitting it cleanly. She thrusts her hand in the air, holds it there for a fraction of a second, turns and sprints down court.

St. Agnes brings the ball up slowly, using as much clock as possible. When they cross the timeline, there’s just fifty three seconds left and we’re four down. St. Agnes spreads the court, trying to limit the double team opportunities. Patricia takes the ballhandler, not pressing her hard but staying close, shooting her left hand out towards the ball repeatedly, worrying the St. Agnes player. When she passes to the player on her right, Patricia doesn’t contest it, backing off slightly, leaving her open for a return pass. However, when the return pass comes, Patricia dives for it, deflecting the ball up in the air, setting off a desperate scramble for the ball.

It’s actually kicked a couple of times before Suzie King dives, grabs it and quickly calls time out with forty three seconds left. All the girls gather round Sister Rita, except for Patricia who sits on the bench, head hanging down. She looks completely out of gas. When the huddle breaks, Cassie has to actually help Patricia stand.

St. Agnes again sets up at the timeline, this time with only two players, trying to limit Patricia’s options. As she approaches the line, the clock ticking down, she pauses at the top of the center circle, then fires a bomb from half court, swishing it! Our fans go completely crazy, screaming, high fiving and bumping fists, our girls jumping and clapping as they run back to play defense.

St. Agnes calls their last time out, sending the players back to the benches. St. Agnes substitutes three new players, all smaller than the one’s they replace, though number fifteen stays in. I’m guessing they expect St. Ann’s to quickly foul and give up two points at the foul line so they can get a chance to tie it with a three from Patricia. The new players are probably better free throw shooters but they aren’t warmed up and haven’t played much in the game yet.

When they pass the ball in, St. Agnes has a one point lead, thirty three seconds left on the clock. We don’t foul immediately, which surprises them. Bailey closes on the girl with the ball, the ref starting the five second count. The girl has to do something or it’s a turnover, so she passes it to the girl on the right sideline. Twenty nine seconds. Terri does the same. Our fans are screaming for her to foul but she doesn’t, instead playing good defense.

The player Patricia’s guarding runs around, starting on the left sideline, down to and along the baseline, trying to get to the ball. Linda Hatke switches off her girl, number fifteen, doubling on the ball, the girl trying to dribble out of the double team. Twenty three seconds. Patricia’s player tries to use fifteen to set a pick, but Patricia jumps it, beating her to the front, forcing her to change directions, clogging the middle.

With the exception of number fifteen, we actually have a height advantage, well number fifteen and Patricia. St. Agnes is having trouble getting clear of our defense but time is quickly running out. Fouling makes sense, but we refuse to do it. Some of our fans are getting angry. With sixteen seconds to go, the girl with the ball decides to drive towards the basket, primarily because it was the only way open. As she got close, the ball bounces off Hatke’s foot, bouncing high and heading out of bounds. At the last second, Patricia goes for it, stretching all out, getting her right hand behind it, twisting in midair, throwing the ball as hard as she can back in bounds, square into the face of number fifteen, the ball rebounding deep out of bounds into St. Agnes’s bench.

Number fifteen drops to the court like a rag doll. Patricia lands flat on her back, sliding on the gym floor, leaving a sheen of sweat. The bench players and coaches all jump up, screaming for a foul call but it was no different than trying to bounce the ball of a leg or an arm to keep possession. There’s no rule against smacking someone in the face with the ball. St. Agnes’s assistant coaches struggle to keep their players from rushing the court while the head coach hovers over number fifteen as the paramedics work on her.

They have her sitting up in seconds, bloody gauze pressed against her nose. The refs send the players to their benches while the medical people keep checking number fifteen out. She seems woozy, her nose likely broken. The St. Agnes fans applaud wildly when she stands up, with a little assistance, and walks back to the locker room, our fans politely joining in. Once the sweat and blood is wiped off the court, the refs are ready to resume the game.

It’s St. Ann’s ball, one point down, nine seconds left, inbounding right in front of St. Agnes’s bench. They can’t afford to foul anyone, particularly Patricia, who is likely going to get the ball. They could try to deny her the ball, but she’s clearly quicker than any of their players. They’re just going to have to play straight up defense, hope to slow her down.

The ref’s call the players back out onto the floor. Bailey and Patricia come over to take the ball out, St. Agnes setting up at three quarter court in what looks like a zone press. The fans and bench are in full throated roar as the ref hands the ball to Bailey, who passes it to Patricia and runs down court.

Patricia stands there, dribbling as the clock ticks. Eight seconds, seven seconds. She starts to walk the wrong way, toward the baseline, while glaring at the St. Agnes coaches and players, her eyes shifting from face to face, looking each one in the eyes as she dribbles by them. Six seconds, five seconds. The crowd quiets down, not understanding what they’re seeing.

I’ve got a very bad feeling about this. Very, very bad.

She keeps dribbling, heading toward the ref standing just out of bounds on the corner of the court. Four seconds, three seconds. Just two steps from going out of bounds, Patricia reaches out, the ball in her right hand. She heaves the ball over her shoulder, high and deep, towards our basket. She continues off the floor, jogging toward the locker room, opening the door just as the ball plummets from the sky like a laser guided meteor, hitting the rim dead center, ripping through the net with such force that it’s turned inside out.

I hear the locker room door clang shut before the gym explodes.

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

Hobbes had insisted.

There was a pizza place near St. Agnes’s gym. A lot of the fans hung around after the game, waiting for the team to shower and change. Mostly friends and families of the players, some students from school and the nuns but also some fans from the other schools who stayed after the consolation game to root against St. Agnes.

Hobbes said that food and drinks for the night were on him, so almost two hundred people descended on this neighborhood place that was within an hour of shutting down for the night.

It was their biggest day of the year. A couple of people with experience in the business actually volunteered to help get the pizzas and sandwiches out to the crowd.

Everyone was in an insanely good mood, celebrating the victory. And they were all over me. I couldn’t go anywhere in the building without twenty people wanting to relive the final shot … and that includes the bathroom.

Right after the game, while we were still in the locker room, Mom pulled me away from the pandemonium and demanded to know what I had been thinking when I had taken those shots. All I could tell her was that I was mad, angry at being attacked, angry that Ridgeway had tried to do it a second time, that her coaches probably approved it and her teammates supported it.

“Wrecking her ankle wasn’t good enough for you?”

I couldn’t keep from smiling just a little. “You saw that?”

“Everyone saw that!”

“The ref’s must not have because they didn’t throw me out.”

Mom smiled just a little too. “That’s because it was so well done. How did you even think of doing that?”

“When I played football, I was the master of the leg whip. The other linemen were usually bigger than me, so when I’d go down, I’d take em with me. Got pretty good at it. They don’t call a foul if you’re splayed on the ground.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Maybe next time she’ll think twice before she tries to decapitate some one.”

“It’ll probably be a long time before she gets another chance. What about the other girl?”

“You mean the one who punched me in the face?”

“Nuff said. That was well done too, by the way.”

“Thanks. Look … I don’t really know WHY I acted like I did. I mean, everything was fine until the cheap stuff started. When I woke up in the locker room … I just wanted to make them PAY! We were going to win that game or I was going to die trying. Then she came at me again and I just … snapped. All bets were off. That other girl was just secondary damage, though she started it.”

“I understand, honey … but those shots! The half court one was bad enough but that last one?! Did you even think about how that looked?”

“I know, I know. I just wanted them all to understand that I’d just been playing with them the whole time, that I could score whenever and however I wanted and there wasn’t a darn thing they could do to stop me.”

“I think that message was delivered, loud and clear, but you can’t hide anymore, everyone knows what you can do.”

“Not everything.”

“Enough to attract attention. A lot of attention.”

“Okay, short term, maybe. I’ll just say I was hot that night, couldn’t miss. It happens. I remember this pro player, Quinn Buckner, averaged like three or four points a game, scored fifty one one night. Never got more than ten in a game the rest of his career. It happens.”

“How many hit a full court, over the shoulder, no look, last second shot for a two point victory?”

I screwed up. We both know it.

“How many people actually saw it? Were there even five hundred people there?”

“More like eight hundred.”

“Fine, eight hundred. They’ll talk about it, tell their friends, word will spread, the story will get wilder as it spreads, it always does, but there wasn’t any television coverage, no concrete proof of what happened. It’ll blow over … in time.”

“I hope you’re right, Patricia.”

The celebration had been going on for almost three quarters of an hour when a couple of televisions suspended from the ceiling of the restaurant turned on and a video started playing. It was the game. The picture switched off after a few seconds, then it was back, replaying the last shot.

The crowd roared.

Oooohhh CRAP!

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

All the cars drove up the driveway, horns honking and lights flashing. Switching to the front door camera, I saw the men carrying Gretchen up to the porch in their hands over their heads. Those not carrying were applauding. All were shouting, including Hobbes. From their appearances and behavior, some of the men had a few too many drinks. I had better get out there to make sure the celebration didn’t attract unneeded attention.

By the time I had reached the main house, everyone was inside, Gretchen still being paraded around in the air, laughing loudly.

“I take it that things went well?” I shout.

The celebration stops, though all the men are still smiling broadly. They gently drop Gretchen onto her feet, as Hobbes makes his way through the crowd towards me.

“You should have been there, Enrique! There has never been a game like it in the entire history of basketball!”

“I’m sure that you are exaggerating, Raymond …”

“Oh, he’s not Mr. Cardoza” said Henry, waving a video camera in his right hand. “I got the whole thing here. Jackson says he’s putting it up on YouTube. Patricia Conner ain’t human. If this don’t prove it, nothing will! That little girl got knocked out, came back and hit three point shots like a God damn machine! That last shot? Never been one like it, EVER! She practically beat that cheating bunch of bastards all by herself.”

Clearly, Henry was at least tipsy, probably spiffed, but not blotto.

“Wait just a second, Henry” said Hobbes, who was also in his cups. “Patricia was unbelievable, but she wouldn’t have had to work so hard if Gretchen hadn’t been ejected.”

Most of the men nodded and murmured enthusiastically in agreement, and I don’t think they were sucking up.

“You’re right, you’re absolutely fucking right, Mr. Hobbes” said Henry. “With Gretchen out there, they’d have won, going away. But without her … she really stuck in the knife and twisted it on that last shot. Fucking amazin’.”

“Agreed Henry … fucking amazin’.”

Nothing is going to be accomplished tonight, though I need to review that video. Sports bore me but there could be some new information buried in there somewhere. Right now, it is best to break this up.

“I’m so happy that everything worked out in the end, for everybody. However, it is quite late and tomorrow is a busy day … for all of us. I would suggest that we call it a night and all of those who have had too much to drink should stay in the bunkhouse tonight. No need to spoil such a wonderful evening with a DUI arrest. What do you say … Mr. Hobbes?”

“An excellent idea, Enrique! Have the maids make up how ever many beds we need. We must watch the video together, particularly the first quarter when Gretchen outplayed their star.”

Joy.

“I look forward to it, Raymond. Now, every one to bed. I’ll make sure the security is covered for the night.”

Hobbes slaps me on the shoulder. “Good man, Enrique Cardoza. I can always rely on you.” He then puts his arm around Gretchen’s shoulder and she helps him up the steps. Looking around at the condition of the rest of the men as they slowly walk away, it’s good that no one has an interest in attacking us. This group couldn’t turn back a Girl Scout troop tonight. I pull Escaban aside before he leaves.

“What happened out there, Tony?”

“Just what they said, Mr. Cardoza. Patricia Conner was totally awesome tonight.”

“What is this ‘shot’ they all speak of?”

He chuckles. “No shit, it was amazing. She stalked by the other team’s bench, as time was running out, staring them down, completely ignoring what was happening on the court. She kept going, headed right out of bounds and at the very last second, she throws the ball over her shoulder, never even looking at the basket before or after the shot. She runs off the court and the shot goes in. It really was a million to one shot, maybe a billion to one, but she never looked. The fans go nuts, flooding the floor. Hobbes has everybody go to this pizza place, pays for the whole thing. Needless to say, there was a lot of beer drunk … drank? Whatever. Now, we’re back here. Oh, that shit about Conner being a machine, not human? Forget it. She bleeds, I saw it with my own eyes. And she did get knocked out, out cold, for like ten minutes, at least. She’s no machine but she is the toughest, meanest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“How do you account for her accuracy in shooting the basketball?”

“That last one? No idea. The rest, she just got hot. Sometimes a player gets in a groove, everything they throw up goes in. I’ve seen it before. It’s impressive when it happens but it’s not a miracle or anything.”

As I thought, nothing extraordinary, though I will review the video … with Hobbes, if it can’t be avoided.

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

I was back in Wisconsin. At least that’s were I think I am. I’m younger, smaller and, for some reason, it feels familiar, like home, though not a happy one. As I move from room to room, I’m on the alert for my father, the man who repeatedly raped me.

It’s a small house but well kept, neat and clean, like my father likes it. How do I know that?

Walking down a short hallway, I pause at the first closed door, starting to reach for the door knob but stop, my hand hovering near the knob before I slowly pull it back. Things have happened in this room, things I don’t want to remember. I move down the hall to the next room.

It feels safer. I open it and peer in. Clearly a girl’s room. Bright pastels, frilly curtains, stuffed animals … two beds. I carefully close the door and lean on it.

A sister. I have a sister. A younger sister.

“Jenny Jo!”

Someone called my name. They were in the kitchen. It wasn’t Daddy, thank God. When I get there, the only other person is a small woman, not a lot taller than me, working at the sink. At least now I know where I get my height.

“Yes, Momma?”

“You need to get changed, your father will be home soon and he wants you to go to the lake with him tonight.”

Not Again! I can’t do that again! Suddenly, another girl runs into the kitchen.

“Why does Jenny Jo get to go to the lake? I love fishing, she hates it! Why can’t I go?”

“Hush Penny. You’re father will take you when you get older. Right now, he’s taking Jenny Jo. Go get ready, girl.”

Penny frowns at me, whips around, her twin pony tails flying behind her and skips away.

He’ll do it to her too. When she gets old enough, he’ll do the same thing to her. He’ll rape his daughter. He’ll rape my sister. My baby sister. She’s got … how old is she? How old am I?

“Momma? I don’t want to go with Daddy tonight. He … he … does things … to me. I can’t go with him to the lake.”

She dries her hands on the apron she’s wearing, then quickly reaches out, grabbing my left wrist and twisting it.

“OOWW! MOMMA!”

She pulls me closer, still twisting.

“Hush Girl! Your daddy works hard, putting food on our table, keeping a roof over your ungrateful head, buying you those fancy clothes and pretty underwear. It’s the least that you can do to show a little appreciation now and then!”

She let’s go, pushing me away. She knows! I suspected that she knew but … she knows and she won’t stop him! She won’t help me!

“Momma, what about Penny?”

“What about her?”

“Will Daddy … will he …”

She turns back to the sink. “Sooner or later. Your father likes young girls, not too young though. You’ll get older and he’ll lose interest. Then it’ll be Penny’s turn to show some appreciation. You go get ready, and hurry. He don’t like to be kept waiting.”

I turn away and walk to my room, rubbing my aching wrist, past Penny, who’s curled up in a chair, reading a book. I stop to look at her for a few seconds, then move on to our room. To get ready to be raped tonight.

Suddenly, it’s dark. Things have shifted, changed, the way things do in dreams. I’m still in my room, but so is Penny, asleep in her bed. There’s a stuffed duffle bag on my bed and a half filled back pack. I’m finishing loading the back pack with my clothes when Penny coughs lightly a couple of times, then sits up rubbing her eyes.

“What are you doing, Jenny?”

“I’m leaving, Peanut. I can’t stay here any longer.”

“You’re running away?”

“Yes.”

She starts to cry. “I’ll do better, Jenny. I’ll leave your stuff alone, I promise I will. I’ll make my bed too, you won’t have to do it for me no more. Please, don’t leave me!”

“I’m not running away from you, Peanut.”

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

I stop stuffing my clothes in the back pack and sit next to Penny on her bed, hugging her and kissing her forehead.

“I love you, Peanut. You’re my stupid baby sister and I’ll love you till the day I die. I just can’t stay here anymore. Daddy … Daddy and I are fighting again. Momma won’t help me with him, so I gotta go. It’s nothing you’ve done and it’s a problem you can’t solve. It’s not your fault. No matter what Daddy or Momma tell you, it’s not your fault! You understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You’re a wonderful sister and don’t you forget it!”

We sit there, on her bed, hugging each other. I can feel my resolve to run draining away with each second I hold her. I shouldn’t leave her in the hands of these monsters but she should be safe for a few years. By then, I’ll have found a place to live and a way to make some money and then I’ll come get her before Daddy gets a chance to hurt her the way he hurt me.

“Where you gonna go?” she whispers.

“Not sure. Probably South. Can’t go much further North, can I?” She giggles a little. I could always make her laugh. “I hear Florida is nice. Warm weather, beaches, oranges just hanging from trees.”

“Will I ever see you again, Jenny?”

I hug her tighter. “I promise, you’ll see me again. It may be a year or two, maybe longer, but I’ll be back. And when I get back, no one will ever hurt either one of us, not ever again. I promise.”

She snuggled against me, like the promise was all she needed to hear, like it would sustain her against all the hard times to come. It was probably just my hopeful imagination.

I reluctantly let go and quietly move back to my bed to finish packing. I need to get out now before I lose my nerve. If Daddy found me before I get away … the thought of that speeds my hands as I stuff in the last few things, zip it shut and sling the pack over my shoulder. Carefully opening my window, I quietly lower the duffle bag to the ground, then climb out, dropping the last foot. I pause, waiting to hear if I’ve been discovered but there’re only the sounds of insects in the night.

Penny runs to the window, her hands reaching for mine. I take them, squeezing.

“You didn’t hear me go, you didn’t talk to me. When you woke up in the morning, I was gone, right?”

She nods her head, too emotional to speak. She’ll be able to pull it off, she’s a pretty good little liar, got me in trouble a lot of times.

I let go of her hands, pick up the duffle bag and creep towards the road in front of the house. It’s only a half mile to the highway. I take a few steps before I turn back to look at Penny, still at the window, hands still outstretched towards me.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

And then I’m gone.

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

Practically the entire school is waiting for me when I pull up on my bike. I have to run a gauntlet of cheering girls to get to the front door, where Gretchen, Terri, Bailey and Cassie are standing.

“How’s your head, El Capitan?” shouts Terri over the other girls.

“Better.”

It really is, so’s the cut on my face and the spot over my left eye. The forehead was a little black and blue but make up took care of that, hope Sister Carmella’s in a forgiving mood. I left the cut alone, didn’t even bother to bandage it. The nanites may be doing more than just repairing my brain. We make our way through the crowds slowly, everyone saying how great the game was and what they thought when the shot went in. If everyone who said they were at the game was actually there, we would have had the same number of fans as St. Agnes. They’ve seen that video somewhere, which isn’t good. I’m happy to get my first class started so I can have some peace and quiet.

In both the first and second period classes, the teachers opened the class with their own recollection of last night’s events. There’s not going to be a lot of teaching taking place around here today. Third period starts pretty normally, other than Ms. Truax shaking my hand, so it may be a sign of a partial return to normalcy. Sister Rita comes for me about half way through the third period.

“How are you feeling this morning, Patricia?” she asks as we walk side by side to the main office.

“I’m okay … didn’t get much sleep last night, had some weird dreams.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’ve recovered. I don’t mind admitting that the entire episode frightened me. I’ve never had one of my girls knocked unconscious before. If you had been seriously injured … that may have been the end of the program here at St. Ann’s.

“Accidents happen anywhere, any time, Sister.”

“We both know that wasn’t an accident. I hope Sister Carmela has words with the principle of St. Agnes.”

“Then they’d have to talk about a certain sprained ankle. It might be best to just suggest a future truce on that kind of behavior.”

She opens the office door for me. “You could be right about that. It’s good to see that your even temper and judgment has returned. Sister Carmela told me to send you right in.”

Did everybody think I was out of my mind at that game? They may have been right and I think I know why. When I open the door, Sister Carmela was on the phone.

“I will speak with her about it … no promises you understand … Yes, I will return your call, though that may take awhile … there have been quite a few. Goodbye.”

I start to say something but Sister Carmela raises her hand.

“Excuse me Ms. Conner.” She picked up the phone again and pushed the intercom button. “Please hold all calls Ms. Jenkins … either update the prior message slip or attach them … I will, thank you.” She hangs up. “Ms. Jenkins wishes me to tell you that your last shot was bitchin’.”

“Bitchin’? She wasn’t at the game. How did she see it?”

“Which raises the issue as to why I asked Sister Rita to bring you here. You may notice the assorted stacks of messages on my desk.”

I look at her desktop. There are five stacks of phone message blanks on her desk. I hope people haven’t been calling about what I did to Ridgeway and that other girl.

“I have now.”

“There were several videos taken during the game that have been uploaded to YouTube and similar services, including one that is practically the entire game. A few have gone, I believe the term is ‘viral’. The first stack are messages from the local print media, the second the local television stations, the third national print media and the forth the national networks.”

“What’s the fifth stack?”

“Letterman, Leno, Kimmel, and so on.”

MY GOD!

“What do they want?”

“To talk with you, Patricia. That’s not quite accurate. Letterman wants you to repeat that blind, over the shoulder shot in the street outside their theater.”

“How many people have seen those videos?”

She turns to her keyboard, takes her mouse and makes a few clicks.

“Between four hundred fifty thousand and eight hundred ten thousand, depending on which video.”

“How many are posted?”

“Seven, so far. Most appear to be taken with mobile phones but one, the long one, is with a video camera. There’s one that’s a compilation of all your shots, including the last, naturally. It runs only about thirty seconds but is quite impressive.”

What now? What can I possibly do about all this? I think Sister Carmela can read the distress on my face because she comes around from behind her desk, sitting in the chair next to me.

“You’re upset about all this, aren’t you Patricia?”

She’d never called me by my first name before.

“Yeah. I didn’t want all this. I kinda lost control in that game, did some things I probably shouldn’t have. I was just so angry about what they did to me, I wanted to beat them so badly … I …”

“Took off the restraints?”

What does she know? What does she suspect?

She pats my hand. “I have been watching you very closely ever since you came to St. Ann’s. I can usually figure out any girl fairly quickly, but you have been a complete conundrum. The moment I think I have a bead on you, you do something surprising, not illogical but surprising. When you play ball, you spend most of your time setting up all the other girls, particularly Gretchen Hobbes. She seems to be your pet project. Were you aware that practically every shot you miss goes directly to Gretchen? Of course you’re aware of it; your control is that good. I suspected you had capabilities you were hiding under the proverbial bushel basket but I had no idea it was anything like what you did against St. Agnes. It is the same with your scholastic skills. You could be outstanding, beyond outstanding, but you consciously hold back. You know exactly what you are doing. What I can’t figure out is why.”

“I was in control until last night.”

“I would blame your head injury for that.”

She’s closer to the truth than she could ever suspect.

“I was hoping this whole thing would blow over but now, with all those messages … all those videos … I don’t know what to do Sister.”

“What do you want to happen?”

“For it all to disappear.”

“You aren’t interested in the fame and notoriety?”

“Not at all.”

“I haven’t noticed a shy streak in you, Patricia. Can you explain why you don’t want something that most girls in your position would sell their soul for?”

“No, Sister, I can’t explain it.”

“‘Can’t’ as in I don’t know or ‘can’t’ as in it is not wise to explain it?”

I don’t answer her, which is an answer.

“I see,” she says, nodding her head. “I would suggest that I call back all those people and politely decline their request for more information. You’re free to talk or not talk; you owe them no obligation of any kind. You are not a professional athlete or a public person.”

“How will they react?”

“Some will be more aggressive, likely our local media, they may show up outside our gates or future games, the rest will just move on to the next hot story. There are plenty of people clamoring for attention. Your initial plan to let it all blow over will likely ultimately work, it just may take longer than you originally thought.”

“Why are you helping me, Sister?”

“Because you are one of my girls. It is my job to help every one of my girls become the best person they can before they graduate. Sometimes that entails pushing the girl, sometimes praising, sometimes punishing, and sometimes protecting. Right now, you need protecting, so I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you, Sister Carmela … I appreciate it more than you can know.”

“Perhaps some day, you can explain it to me, all of it.”

“I’d like that, Sister.”

“Let me know if anyone bothers you, Ms. Conner. You best get back to class.”

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

Things were normal at work this morning, but, as the day progressed, more and more people came in to my office to ask questions about St. Ann’s game, and how Patricia did. No one from the office has ever met her, though I do have some photos of us on the walls, just to make a good show for our cover. Teresa from accounting said that there were some videos from the game on the internet and that news was spreading like wildfire. Mr. James, the big boss himself, dropped by and asked if Patricia was feeling well, if she had recovered from everything. I lied of course, said she was fine, no problems. I couldn’t say that more memories had been dredged up from the life of the poor girl whose body Patricia currently inhabited.

At least she didn’t wake up screaming like she did the last time but it may have been more disturbing. The last time, she didn’t have any problem telling me exactly what had happened. This time, she didn’t even mention the dreams at first, but I could tell that something was troubling her, something big.

There’s no way to really prove that these are actual memories of actual events. They could still be dreams based on random thoughts of this Jenny Jo, though Patricia is convinced of the truthfulness of the dreams. I guess it is possible that, with research, you could find the town, the house, the people … the younger sister, but then what? Call the police? Call child protective services? There’s no proof of anything and Patricia could never testify in court about what she ‘saw’. Right now, we have a more important job, one that is dangerous enough without adding complications like a little sister. Patricia agrees but it’s obvious that she’s concerned about the situation.

All we can do for the present is wait and see.

On the way home, I turn on one of the local all sports radio stations to hear what they may be saying about the game, if anything.

“…the news and weather at the top of the hour. This is Tommy MacDonald along with Dave Cheeseman for hour two of the Mac and Cheese show. For those just tuning in, we’ve been talking mostly about a local story today, a bit of an Internet sensation.”

“I’ll say, Tommy! More than a million hits! For those who haven’t seen it yet, we’ve got links on our website, www.wspt.com. You’ve REALLY got to see it! I know, it’s a high school girl’s basketball game. A lot of you guys out there are thinking, no jump, no speed, no good. I hear ya’ but this local gal … she is just raining three’s.”

“Davey, my man, she is dropping BOMBS on the other team!”

“True that, Tommy.”

“We’re talking way beyond NBA threes. There were two four point plays. How long’s it been since you’ve seen ONE four point play?”

“It’s been awhile Tommy, and all this AFTER she got knocked out of the game by one of the cheapest shots you’ve ever seen.”

“Makes my head hurt to even watch it, Davey. This girl is like five foot nothing …”

“If she’s lucky. If she’s five foot, I’m six ten.”

“Which you ain’t. She hit one from beyond mid court and it wasn’t a buzzer beater! She saved the best for last and I swear to GOD, you have got to see it on YouTube for yourself. There has never been a shot like it before!”

“To heck with the shot, it’s what she did before the shot … she practically got in the faces of every single player on that team, plus the coaches and then she stuck the dagger in their guts. She knew EXACTLY what she was doing!”

“No doubt. I never seen even Michael Jordan do something like that. We’ll be taking calls after this break.”

“I think Larry Bird did something like that against the Knicks.”

“Don’t be an idiot Cheese! I’d remember it if Bird or anybody else …”

I switch the radio off. Patricia is now part of popular culture. I can just hear Daniel freaking out about it.

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

Thankfully, we don’t have another game until after the Christmas beak. Most of the other schools play straight through but our Athletic Director, who happens to also be our Principal, feels that family comes first over the holidays. This means there will be NFL playoff games and BCS Bowl games before St. Ann’s plays again, knocking me off the sport pages and sport talk radio. If I keep my cool and play my normal game, that’ll go a long way to spiking this story.

Mom thinks it’d be better if I didn’t play at all but I disagree. Me not playing just raises a bunch of questions. If I don’t hit circus shots the next game, the St. Agnes game looks more like a fluke and just gets flukier with each succeeding unremarkable game. In a month, this should all be over. Not forgotten, but over.

But for right now, I’d love to get Lipscomb off my back.

All he does is restate the obvious complaints and questions. This is taking too long. What possessed me to make a public spectacle of myself? Why am I playing basketball? Do I even have a plan? Am I just wasting his time and money to relive my youth? Do I want to return to the life of Peter Harris?

I tell him, it takes as long as it takes, though I know it may come to a head soon. Sooner than I’d like. As for the questions, I can clearly and concisely answer every one of them, just not to him.

All except the last question. That I can’t answer, not that I’d admit it to him.

I know that I can’t go back to living the way I did, isolated, afraid, alone. A whole new world of possibilities has been opened before me but I know that I’ll never have a chance to explore them all. I may not be brave enough to do so if I had the chance. Matthews is unclear as to how much I’ll retain when I return to my old body, probably because he doesn’t know himself. It’s been a grand experiment, a successful one as far as I’m concerned but we’re a long way from a safe landing. Lot’s could go wrong, with me, with the plan, with darn near anything.

Business as usual for me. God … I love it.

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

“I appreciate you coming with me, Mom.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I? I would have been the only parent not there.”

“That’s not quite true. Some of the girls and their families are on vacation, looking for snow for Christmas.”

“Have you ever seen snow, Patricia?”

“Real snow, in person?”

“Yes, real snow.”

“Sort of. I was on a flight from Los Angeles to Miami that had a stop over in Denver. It was snowing as we changed planes. I stood in front of a big window, watching the snow swirl around in the runway lights. It was really beautiful, though I never got a chance to touch it. We were in Denver for just a half hour and never left the terminal, but still, it was real snow.”

I settle back into my car seat, relishing the memory of my single encounter with one of the symbols of the holiday season. Of course, Jenny Jo saw a lot of snow.

She hated it.

Since the last head injury, I’m getting more frequent flashes of memories and images, things I can’t account for. I’m assuming they’re related to Jenny Jo, though Mom insists there’s no way to be sure. She’s right, but my gut says they are, and my gut’s rarely wrong.

We pull up to Hobbes’ front gate, getting in line behind two other cars. There’s a couple extra guys at the gate but they’re all wearing red Santa hats. It looks like they’re checking driver’s licenses against a guest list but being as friendly as they can. When we work our way to the front, Henry and Lou approach our car. I roll down my window.

“Hey guys, nice hats.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Patty. Nice to see you again, Ms. Conner” said Henry. Mom reaches for her purse and starts looking for her wallet. “That’s not necessary, Ms. Conner. We know you … and we certainly know your daughter.”

“I am kinda unforgettable, aren’t I? So, what’s the story with the hats? Lose a bet?”

“Nah. We actually got the long straw. Everybody else got stuck with green elf hats … with ears.”

“NO WAY! Sidney in an elf hat!”

“No doubt, it’s a sight to see. Ms. Conner, you can go on, follow the driveway to the house. Parking is on the right. There will be someone to direct you. We’ll see you later.” They both stepped aside as the gate swung open. I waved as we drove in, they smiled and subtly waved back, the gate quietly shutting behind us.

“You really hate this, don’t you?”

“Hate is a strong word, honey … yes. Does it show?”

“A little. You need to relax, at least a bit. You’re about to choke that steering wheel to death.”

She flexes her fingers while gripping the wheel with her thumbs.

“I’m sorry. This is a mistake, I can’t do this. I’ll stay a while and then claim I’m sick. You can stay the night or someone can bring you home.”

“Just mix with the other parents. You can gossip with the other women about what a terrible person Hobbes is and how he makes his money.”

“Don’t be sexist.”

“Hey! I’m a woman too, ya know? I can say things like that now.”

“No. You can’t. Where do I go now?”

We’ve reached the house. A guard wearing an elf hat with attached oversized, pointy ears is swinging his hand across his body, right to left.

Henry’s right, the Santa hats are better.

“Over there” I say, pointing at the guy. “There’s some parking spots around the side, near the kitchen. They must be sending everyone that way.”

We follow his directions and are picked up by another guard at the next corner, who sends us where I thought they would. Just as we get out of the car, an electric buggy, like a big golf cart with extra seats, pulls up behind us. It’s decorated with tinsel and Christmas lights.

“Can I give you ladies a lift?”

“Yes, thank you” answered Mom. “Which of the … staff are you?”

“Gomez, ma’am. Thomas Gomez. How’s the head, Patty?”

“Fine, no problems at all. Where’s your hat?”

He reaches down next to him and picks an elf hat off the seat.

“I only wear it when I gotta.”

“Who’s bright idea were they?”

“Guess.”

“Not Gretchen’s?”

“Got it on your first try. She wants us to sing Christmas Carols too.”

“No.”

“Yeah. You ever heard Lou sing? Sucks, but he doesn’t know it, thinks he’s Pavarotti or something.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“We’d all appreciate it. Though, I gotta admit,” he slips his hat on and adjust the ears, “the hat is warm.”

Mom and I get in the shuttle, as does Debbie Waymire and her parents, they pulled in seconds behind us. Gomez puts it in reverse, a little buzzer sounds as he initially backs up then he throws a switch and we pull away, dodging a second trolley decorated like ours, returning to the parking lot.

“How many people are here?” I ask Gomez.

“I think almost everyone. The nuns were the first.”

Mom looks surprised. “Sister Carmela’s here?!”

“Yes, ma’am, drove them to the front door myself. We don’t get a lot of religious folk here.”

“I can imagine.”

I nudge her in the ribs. “There ya go Mom, now you got peeps to hang with.”

“You might be right about that” she replies, as we pull up to the front door. “Thank you for the lift, Mr. Gomez.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Connor. Remember Patty … Christmas carols.”

“Got it. I can’t promise anything.”

“You’ll be doing everybody a BIG favor, believe me.”

We all get out and walk up the steps to the front door, the Waymire’s a little slack jawed and wide eyed.

Sidney’s manning the door. Him in the elf hat’s everything I thought it’d be. I start to say something but he just puts up a big hand.

“I’ve heard it all already, I don’t need to hear …” he glances at my mom “… anything from you, Patty. Even got grief from the nuns.”

“Guess you’ve been punished enough, I mean … nuns.”

“Damn straight. Merry Christmas, Ms. Conner.”

Mom’s got a smile fixed on her face but is struggling to keep from laughing. If we stay out on the front porch much longer, she’s gonna break.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Sidney. I hear we’re the last to arrive. We better hurry in, don’t want to hold up the festivities.”

He reaches down, grabs the door handle and opens the door. “No ma’am, can’t let that happen. Enjoy yourselves, folks.”

We hurry in, Mom keeping it together until the door shuts, then breaking out in a giggling fit. She manages to quickly pull herself together.

“Sorry. Sorry … but that hat!”

“I know!” said Ms. Waymire. “That poor man!”

Gretchen comes running up, grabbing my arm and Debbie’s hand. “Thanks for coming, guys! Come meet my Father … okay, you already know him, Patty, I know that … but everybody else … except your mother, she’s already met him … and there was the pizza party too, but …”

She’s starting to babble. “Chill, Gretch. We’re here. Catch your breath.”

She takes a big breath, then exhales, smiling. “Freaking out, I know. This is just so great though! I’ve never had a party before, not for my friends.”

“That’s cool” said Debbie. She looks around. The foyer appears to have been worked over by a couple dozen elves. Thirty plus foot tree, completely decked out in lights, ornaments and tinsel. Evergreen swags entwine both staircases. Large holiday candelabra on the piano. Poinsettias on most every flat surface.

Hobbes is standing next to the tree, shaking hands and schmoozing with the other parents, smiling and laughing, clearly in his element. He turns his head towards us and we catch his eye. His smile grows larger and he waves at us, beckoning for us to come join him. Gretchen starts to pull us towards him but I resist.

“Before we go over there, I need to talk with you about tonight’s musical entertainment.”

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

It was perfect.

The whole evening, from the decorations to Raul’s wonderful meal to Patty’s surprise offer to play the piano couldn’t have gone better. I had originally talked father into having the guards sing Christmas songs. I’d heard some of them singing before and they weren’t bad. When Patty said she’d play for us, I had to tell them they’d been replaced. The all seemed relieved, except for Lou. In the end, the girls and their parents joined in to sing holiday songs while Patty played, which was probably better.

Sister Carmela and Sister Rita mixed with the parents, which surprised me. You don’t really think of nuns as regular people, I mean, they’re nuns. You can’t see a nun going to a party, getting’ down. Too weird. They laughed, they ate, they had a good time.

Even Patty’s mother seemed to enjoy herself, at least a little bit. I didn’t expect her to come, she’s not particularly fond of Father but she showed up anyway. She mostly hung around with the Sisters and a few other parents. She did take one of the tours of the house and spent a lot of time in the gardens. One time Father asked me where she was and I asked him to leave her alone. I think it upset him a little but he had so many other things to do that he forgot about it. I hope.

His gift to the team went over great! Every girl and coach got a customized warm up outfit, even the Sisters. We’re gonna look awesome at the next game! All the girls were trying on the jackets. He even managed to get one that fit Patty without her needing to make changes, which just doesn’t happen. She was impressed.

But the best was yet to come! As people started to get ready to leave, I made up an excuse to get her to come with me to Father’s office. When we got there, he was waiting for us.

“Patty, I haven’t had a chance to tell you how wonderful your music was tonight! It left me in a trance! I knew you played but … totally stunned, that’s all I can say.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hobbes.”

“Unfortunately, I need to make this quick as our guests are preparing to leave. We can work out the details in the future. I just wanted you to know that, when you go to college, I am paying all your expenses. Tuition, room, board, books, fees, everything. No matter where you get accepted, it doesn’t matter. And if, by some unfortunate chance, you apply to some school you wish to attend and they don’t accept you … leave that to me also.”

I can tell she’s surprised. “Isn’t that great, Patty? We can go to school together, wherever we want. We can be roommates and everything. It’ll be wonderful!”

“Yeah … yeah, it’ll be great, but I don’t know if my mom will accept the money. She’s always been pretty adamant about paying our own way.”

“But you’re on scholarship at St. Ann’s, it’s practically the same thing.”

“Gretchen, my mom won’t see it that way.”

“As I said, we can work on the details” said Father. “If it needs to be a scholarship, that can be arranged, anything can be arranged.”

“You don’t know my mother very well, Mr. Hobbes.”

“It’s not for lack of effort, Patty. If you’ll excuse me, I have guests to deal with.”

“Sure, just one last thing. I’d like Gretchen to go to the YWCA’s New Years Eve party with me. My mom’s chaperoning, she’ll be perfectly safe, I promise. I know the people who run it and they don’t tolerate any funny business.”

“Plleeezzzz Father?”

He hesitates, looking back and forth between Patty and I.

“And if I say yes?”

“As you said, we can work out the details later.”

He smiles at that. “You are very good, Patricia Conner. Yes, she can go. Now, I must go.”

As he hurries from the office, Patty spreads her arms, raising them slightly, palms up.

“TA-DA!”

Like I said … perfect.

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

The staff is still cleaning up after last nights festivities. Hobbes told everyone that they could wait until morning but I had my men begin a security scan as soon as the last guest left.

That was the first one. I had a completely different group repeat the entire process this morning to make sure nothing was overlooked. The combined groups will do it again this evening, to be triple certain.

None of the guards reported breaches of any kind. Apparently, all the guests followed Hobbes’ instructions to the letter and did not wander into secure areas. Everything went exactly as planned, no problems of any kind.

Unfortunate.

When I arrived at Hobbes office, his door was open. Even though there were no outsiders present in the house, him leaving his door open was another sign of his increasingly lax attitude.

“Raymond, what is this? Anyone could simply walk in here. They could see anything.”

“There is nothing to see and no one to see it, Enrique. Did your people find any problems?”

It suddenly occurred to me that I should have faked finding a bug of some kind, it would have strengthened my hand. Too late now. I sit down opposite him.

“No, nothing … yet.”

“They won’t find any. These were just normal, average parents and their daughters.”

“As far as we know.”

“Relax, Enrique. It was an enjoyable evening and I was the perfect host.” He returned to reading a report on his desk but quickly put it down. “Years, Enrique.”

“Years?”

“Yes, years. It has been years since I hosted a simple party where the only reason to do so was to enjoy the company of other people. For years, everything we did was for the business. Getting the right people here, demonstrating why it was in their best interest to cooperate with us, negotiating a price for that cooperation … always business.”

“And look what you have because of that business, Raymond.”

“Yes, but look what it has cost me as well. Not just money, but freedom.”

“Money can buy freedom.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps some kinds of freedom, but not the kind that truly matters, not the kind that last nights guests have, that Patty Conner has.”

That GIRL again! I knew that she was at the bottom of this new, disturbing attitude. She has worn my patience away to nearly nothing!

“No one can have everything, Raymond. We all make trade offs. You can not have money and power and be a shephard on the hillside.”

“Yes, but once you have the money and the power, you can retire to a ranch and be a shephard, if that is what you want to do.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No, of course not! It was you who started talking about shephards. I hate sheep! I’ve just been thinking about options and choices, that’s all.”

“And what have you decided?”

“Nothing … yet.”

“Well, please let me know when you do. For now, I have work to finish.”

“Before you go, I have decided to let Gretchen attend a New Years Eve party with Patty Conner. It’s at a local YWCA.”

“I see. That should require at least … six to eight guards, I would think.”

“No guards, Enrique.”

“Are you certain? There could be over a hundred people there. Anything might happen.”

“I trust my daughter and I trust Conner. I will not condemn Gretchen to the same life I have led.”

I stand up. “As you wish, Raymond. It is against my advice but she is not my child. I sincerely hope you do not regret this choice.”

I close the door as I leave Hobbes’ office. He may not worry about security but one of us needs to. Hurrying through the main room, I see Escaban coming out of the kitchen, some kind of pastry in his hand.

“Escaban!” I shout.

His head jerks my way. I signal with my hand for him to come over to me. He rapidly walks towards me, dropping whatever he had in his hand into a trash can as he passes it.

“What do you need, Mr. Cardoza?”

“Are your friends ready?”

“My friends? Ooohh, you mean … yeah, my friends. I think so, haven’t heard from them lately.”

“Well, find out, immediately. The time has come. They have a party to attend. A bright and better new year for all of us.”

Well … most of us.

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

“Do you think it’s still there, Patty?”

“Probably. Either that or one like it.”

“I don’t want one like it, I want that one.”

“It’ll be there. You got money this time?”

Gretchen quickly reaches into her purse and whips out a plastic card. “Better, a gift card … a thousand dollar gift card!”

Patricia grabs her hand, covering the gift card. “Put that away!” she hisses. “Don’t know who might be listening.”

The girls are several steps ahead of me. Too embarrassed to be seen with an oldie I guess. We’re all headed back to “Sofia’s” to see if they still have that red dress Gretchen fell in love with in stock. I hope to God they do because it’s been all she could talk about since Patricia and I picked her up this Saturday morning.

We got an early start but the crowds are already out and about. Gretchen notices.

“This is more crowded than the last time we were here” she says, a touch of concern in her voice.

“It’s the after Christmas sales” answered Patricia. “All kinds of stuff goes on sale, particularly holiday clothes. We could get a deal.”

“I don’t care about a deal. I’ve got a thous …” she stops and rapidly looks around as we walk, “enough money.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to spend it all in one place on one thing. Do you have to give the card back to your dad?”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Then anything you can save is money to the good. You never know when a little cash of your own will come in handy.”

“Do you have a cash stash?”

Patricia looks back at me and smiles. “I plead the fifth” she says.

“The fifth?” asks Gretchen.

“The Fifth Amendment?” Patricia responds.

Gretchen doesn’t react.

“The Bill of Rights?”

Still nothing.

“Come on Gretch! Government class!”

“Sorry.”

Just then, we turn the corner and “Sofia’s” comes into view. There are a lot of people already there.

A lot of people.

“NUTS!” grunts Patricia. “Lets go Gretch!”

The girls take off at a dead sprint, leaving me in their dust. Patricia dives into the crowd, leaving Gretchen on the fringe. By the time I reach her, she’s hopping up and down on her toes, trying to get a glimpse of Patricia. I grab her arm and pull her after me as I bob and weave through the other customers, heading for where we last saw the dress.

The elevated mannequin is dressed in a different outfit.

“Its … Gone!” Gretchen wails.

“Not necessarily,” I reassure her. “Displays change all the time. We need to check the racks.”

“MOM! OVER HERE!” Patricia shouts. We turn to try and find where Patricia called from. Neither of us sees anything at first but Gretchen finally spots her hand waving above a group of girls.

“Over there, Ms. Conner!”

I take her hand again. “Back into the Valley of Death.”

“What?”

“Stay close.”

Gretchen yelps as I pull her behind me when I plunge back into the horde of shoppers, forcing my way to where Patricia signaled from. We have to weave back and forth a couple of times before I find an opening and manage to work our way to Patricia.

“Found it!” she triumphantly shouts. She pulls it off the rack and hands it to Gretchen, who holds it up against her body, eyes bright, smiling broadly. It was then I noticed it.

The hem was torn, badly. When Gretchen turned towards Patricia, she saw it too.

“Don’t worry, I can fix it.”

“Fix what? Ohhhhh mmmmyyy Gaaawwddd! Is there another one!” Gretchen’s starting to panic.

Patricia grimaces. “Sorry, not in your size. It looks worse than it is. We’ll get you some shoes and head back home. I’ll take care of it.”

“Really? You sure? Is there enough time?”

“Absolutely! When I’m done, it’ll fit you like a custom made glove. Plus, we should get a heck of a deal! Fifty percent off my butt, how about ninety percent?!”

“Awesome! Patty … I don’t know what I’d do without you …I’m sooo lucky you’re my girlfriend.”

Gretchen hugs her, the dress crushed between them. The hug lasts longer than I’m comfortable with.

“We better check out, girls. There’s a lot to get done today.”

I tap Gretchen on the shoulder. She doesn’t respond right away but a few seconds later, she releases Patricia and straightens up.

“You’re right, Ms. Conner. Thanks for all your help too. I’ll go find a clerk.”

As she slowly works her way toward the checkout area, I take a better look at the damaged dress.

“You certain about this, Patricia?”

She twists the dress around until the torn area is in her hands. She sighs. “It could be worse. I’ll think of something.”

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

It’s my old neighborhood but I still hate coming back. I’d thought this was all left behind when I was hired by Hobbes. Moving up the food chain. Stopping back here’s a reminder that, even if you move up the food chain, you can still be eaten by someone below you.

Driving slowly down the street, I can see the younger kids checking out my car, a 2012 Mustang. I recognize the looks in their eyes. It isn’t envy, it’s opportunity. They’re thinking “if this fool will just stop, that ride’s MINE!”

I thought the same thing when I was their age, did it a couple of times too. The first guy I killed was an idiot who fought back. What was he thinking? I had a shotgun and he had nothin’. Moron.

Neighborhood’s even more run down than I remember it. Boarded up windows and doors, broken down cars, drunks passed out on bus benches. Where’s the pride? Guess I’ve spent too much time away.

I finally see the address I’m looking for, a big three story Victorian. Both houses on either side have burned down. Purely accidental, I’m sure. There’s several big guys, milling around on the sidewalk out front. All the parking spaces on the street are open. No local is dumb enough to park there. If you look carefully, there’s a guy in each upper story window, likely an AK 47 sitting right next to him.

As I pull to a stop right in front, four of the street guards move towards me, hands on hips or the small of their backs, reaching for heat. I stay in my seat until one of them taps my side window. I power it down.

“Watchu doin’ here, Man? You lost or sumpin’?”

I keep both hands on the steering wheel. “Here on business, came to see Raphael.”

“You don’t just SEE Raphael, chump!”

“Just tell him that Tony Escaban is here.”

“Who the hell is Tonee Escaban?”

I cock my head to the side, looking up at my interrogator with one arched eye. “Just tell him, Einstein.” I power the window up as he scowls at me.

Street muscle. The dumbest level of a gang.

He fiddles with a small radio on his hip then brings it to his mouth and says something. In a few seconds, the look of anger on his face softens but doesn’t totally disappear. He signals with his hand for me to come out. I swing the door open and step onto the sidewalk, slamming the door shut behind me. I push the button on the fob and the security system gives a useless beep, causing several of the street muscle to laugh. We all know they could strip this car to it’s wheel liners in fifteen minutes. Now’s the time to let them know they won’t.

“When I’m done with Raphael, if there’s a single scratch on my ride, I will track down every one of you, burn down your momma’s house and rape your sister before killing you. You got me?”

“And he’d do it too” said a voice from the porch. We all look that way to see a grinning Raphael, leaning on a porch column. “Why you scaring my men, Tony?”

“I’m not scaring anybody … just givin’ some friendly advice, that’s all.” I walk up the steps and we shake hands, Raphael clapping me on the back as he guides me inside. Things are a lot neater and cleaner inside, but they’d almost have to be.

“Why you come snooping round my door, Tony Escaban? My numbers not right?”

“Numbers are fine, as far as I know, not my department anyway. I’m here about our … special job.”

“Oh yeah! That. Come into my office and get comfortable.”

He continues to lead me, arm over my shoulder. I let my right arm drift back to were my gun is stashed in my belt, just to be safe. When we reach his office door, he pushes it open.

There’s a half naked girl in there, snorting coke off the desk top. She stops, looking up at us, her nose still near the next line.

“I tried to wait for you, Babe, but you were gone so long.”

“Try thirty seconds, you whore.” She stands up. “Get the fuck out of here, I got business with someone.” The girl looks longingly down at the remaining lines of coke. “You heard me, BITCH! MOVE!”

She gathers a couple of pieces of discarded clothing and scampers for the door. Raphael gives her a resounding slap on the ass before shutting the door behind her with a thud. He smiles at me, pointing toward the chair opposite his. I start to sit down as he speaks.

“Whores … what can you do with ‘em?”

“Plenty … but not usually during the day.”

“You got a rule against morning fucking?”

“No, not as long as business gets taken care of first.”

“What you expect, showing up here all unannounced and everything. You’re lucky she was just sucking me off.”

“Whatever, man. I got a job to offer and you said you had three of the best to take it. I need to meet them, cause the job is on. Now.”

“Today?”

“Next couple of days. I need to talk with them, make sure they know what’s at stake.”

He picks up a radio off his desk. “Okay.” He clicks it on. “Send Julio, Billy B and Teak in here.” He returns the radio to his desk. While we wait, I look around the room.

“When was the last time you had this place swept for bugs.”

“BUGS! What kind of place do you think I run! Just cause the neighborhood is going to hell doesn’t mean I live in a flea infested whole in the sand!”

“Electronic BUGS, idiot. How long?”

“Uhhhh probably … never. What’s the big deal?”

“Mr. Hobbes just wants to cover all the bases. That’s one of them.”

“Nice to know how the successful live.”

“And that’s why he’s successful … he sweats the details.”

Or at least pays someone like Cardoza to sweat them for him. There’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Raphael shouts.

The door opens and three typical bangers stroll in, full of ego and swagger, striking tough guy poses. Not a good start.

“I hope these three are smarter than the geniuses outside.”

“Don’t worry, they’re just for show and stopping bullets. Billy B. here can …”

“No names! Let’s keep the information to the minimum.”

“Fine, whatever man. Anyway, these guys are good. What exactly is this job?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“The fuck I don’t! These are my boys. MY boys. I don’t give a damn who you work for, my boys only work when I know what’s happening. I protect my people!”

It’s all a show. Raphael would toss his brother off a bridge if there was something in it for him, and it wouldn’t have to be much. These three are cannon fodder, just like the street apes out front, but I’ll play along.

“Listen Raphael … this isn’t going to be a quiet job, it’s gonna make a big bang, big enough to bring down lots of heat, maybe hot enough to burn this place down. That’s the way we want it. If you don’t know shit about the job, the cops can’t touch you. We ain’t gonna sacrifice your boys. We need them to get away clean, that’s why I need guys with brains, not your average bangers.”

The three goons in front of me smile and nod. We’re bad. We’re smart.

Whatever.

Raphael scratches his chin. “You sure you’re gonna treat them right? Cause if you don’t, nothin’s gonna stop us from …”

“They’ll be as safe as they are good. We’ll give them what they need. It’s up to them to do the job right.”

Raphael stands up and slaps the biggest of the goons on the shoulder. “Then these are the men for you, none better in Dade County.”

“Good. Give me a few minutes alone with them.”

“You got it.”

Raphael leaves, slapping hands as he goes, shutting the door behind him. I just sit there, watching them for a few seconds, waiting for them to settle down. They’re still smiling, but at least they’re paying attention to me.

“I won’t pretend I didn’t hear your names, but I don’t want to know who’s who, got it?”

“Yeah, man” answered the smallest of the three. “We understand.”

He looks like a teenager, which is a good thing. His eyes are brighter and appears to be more alert than the other two. I reach into my pocket, pull out a smart phone and hand it to him.

“This is a burner phone. It gets trashed as soon as this job is done. Until then, this is how we communicate. I assume that Raphael told you who was hiring you?”

“Yeah, the big man, Raymond Hobbes.”

“Yes and no. Mr. Hobbes is aware of the general outlines, but the person making the decisions is Enrique Cardoza.”

“Why you telling us this, man?” asked the largest goon. “I thought this was all hush hush.”

“You’ll understand. The target is the first picture on the phone.”

The first goon turns the phone on, starts the picture app and brings up Conner’s photo.

“It’s a girl! You want us to take out a GIRL?!” He shows the picture to the other goons.

“You crazy, man! Don’t take no three of us to kill one girl” said goon two. He looks back at the picture. “That’s one fine looking bitch, though. Look at those tits! My oh my!”

“Then it should be easy for you, three strong, smart men such as yourselves against one little girl. Simple job.”

“Ya got that right” said goon two.

The last guy, goon three, hadn’t said anything yet but was looking intently at the picture. Now he spoke up, in a deep, slow voice.

“I think I’ve seen her before … I’m sure I have … like on the internet or somethin’”

Goon one turns to me. “Is she famous or somethin’? Are we gonna have to deal wit bodyguards? Is that why this is supposed to bring down all that heat you was talkin’ bout?”

I raise my hands. “Calm down, there’s no bodyguards or anything like that. She plays basketball and there was some stuff from one of her …”

Goon three lights up, excitedly pointing at the screen of the phone. “Yeah! Yeah! That was it! She’s that girl, ya know, that girl what hit that shot over her head, wit out looking, after dissin’ the other team!”

“Nooo” cried goon two. “Not her! She’s bad ass, man! Why someone want to hurt such a fine bad ass girl like that?”

Goon one starts to take control. “Chill guys. I’m sure Mr. Hobbes has his reasons. Ain’t none of our business. We’re just doing a job, nuttin’ personal, just business. Ain’t I right, Mr. …”

“Black. Call me Mr. Black. Yeah, you’re right, none of your business. If any of you don’t think you can do it, now’s the time to say something. No second thoughts after today.”

They all look back and forth between each other but no one says anything. Eventually, goon one takes the lead.

“We’re in … right bro’s?” The other two nod. “So, what’s next?”

“Mr. Cardoza wants this done with knives, the bloodier, the better. Hands, fingers, other parts cut off are okay. No guns, that’s one of the reasons for three people. The more people, the easier to control the situation.”

“But the more people, the better the chance someone will talk, right?” asks goon one. Smart kid.

“Right, three’s the compromise number. Big enough but not too big. The girl will be at the Fifth Street Y’s New Years Eve party. You should get your chance there.”

“I’ve been there before” said goon one. “Lot of people go to that. Their security’s just a bunch of teachers and parents but the cops ain’t far away. We aint gonna have a lot of time.”

“Just grab her and go. A little extra damage is acceptable, two, three other people, don’t go nuts or anything but one girl is completely off limits. She’s picture two.”

Goon three still has the phone, so he brings up the next picture and they all gather round.

“Daaamnn!”

“My oh my oh my!”

“Stick a fork in that!”

I let them go on a few seconds, then drop the bomb.

“That’s Gretchen Hobbes. HOBBES! Get it?”

They all shut up instantly. They got it.

“That girl gets hurt and … I can’t even imagine how terrible it will be for you … and your families … and their families … and so on.”

It’s clear from the looks on their faces that they all understand. Might as well make sure they get the entire picture.

“Just so you know, this is pass/fail. Get it done right, no matter how, you’re golden. Get it wrong, no matter why, you’re fucked. Tryin’ hard don’t cut it. You get the job done or … there was this gang who was selling drugs for Mr. Hobbes, I ain’t sayin’ where, but they were sent to burn another gang’s stash house. Nothin’ too complex, just a drive by with four cars and a lot of AK’s. They did the job, shot up the place real good and got back to the crib without a problem. ‘Cept, next morning in the paper, they discovered they got the address wrong; right number, right street name, wrong direction, went North instead of South. Stupid but understandable. Killed a man and his daughter. The media raised holy hell. Mr. Hobbes took care of it though. Bought off whoever needed to be bought off, intimidated those he couldn’t buy, posted bond and got them out of jail and out of the country. You know where those guys are today?”

“Where?” asked goon three.

“Dead. Bodies scattered across the Atlantic Ocean, probably. Personally, I don’t think Mr. Hobbes shot each and everyone of the gang himself, not his style. Now, if Mr. Cardoza did it, shooting would have been the nicest thing done to them.”

I look all three of the goons squarely in the face. There’s no doubt in my mind that they believe me.

“The purpose of my little story is to show that we don’t like lose ends. You don’t want to be a lose end. If the opportunity doesn’t present itself at this dance, fine, we’ll try again some other place, some other time. However, if you decide to go for it … you better get it right.”

Goon one takes the phone back, switching to Conner’s picture, which he stares at for a few seconds.

“We limited to cutting her up?”

“What else you got in mind?”

“A girl like that, seems a waste.”

“A waste?”

“Seems like we should be able to have a little fun before we put her down.”

The little fucking pervert. “Knock yourself out, but remember that bedtime story I just told. You leave evidence behind that gets you caught, it’ll be the most expensive fun you ever had.”

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

When we got back to Patty’s house, she didn’t want me upstairs with her at first, said she needed to concentrate. Guess that means I’m distracting.

Nice!

Her mom offered to help me with my hair and makeup, trying out different looks for the dance. Patty said she taught her everything she knew and Patty’s really good.

Ms. Conner had this portable makeup mirror which she set up on the kitchen table. Before she took my new dress upstairs, Patty told her mom to think less than more.

“What does she mean by that, Ms. Conner?”

“She’s reminding me that the best work enhances the natural assts and minimizes the defects. In your case, there aren’t any defects and the assets don’t need much help. Go too far and things look worse, not better.”

“Really? Patty thinks that about me?”

“Gretchen, of course she does, because it’s true. You are an extraordinarily lovely girl.” She gets a little misty eyed. “You so remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Who’s that?”

She quickly rubs here eyes with the back of her hand. “Another young girl I used to know. Have a seat and let’s see what we can do to make all the other girls hate you.”

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

We tried several different looks. I liked them all but Ms. Conner wasn’t satisfied. Finally, she did one that was really nice. The make up never changed much, just slightly different lipstick colors and eye shadows. What was surprising was the mascara. My eyelashes have never seemed so full and long. The rest of the makeup didn’t seem to change my face that much. I kept asking her if it was enough but she said subtlety was the watchword.

She spent most of the time on my hair. The last style was high on the sides, held in place with a pair of silver plastic combs. The rest of my hair curled down my back. I’ve never looked so good before in my life. I slowly turn my head back and forth in front of the portable mirror, looking at the different reflections.

“Do you do this for Patty?”

She chuckles. “I used to, now she does it pretty much on her own, though she does occasionally ask my opinion.”

“I never got to do anything like this with my mother … sometimes …”

“Sometimes what, Gretchen?”

“Sometimes … I miss her so bad … it actually hurts, I mean physically hurts, right in the pit of my stomach … and my chest. Is that normal?”

“Yes, honey” she sighs, “very normal. There are days when I think I just can’t go on.”

“OH MY GOD! I completely forgot about your husband! … Patty’s dad! I’m so sorry! You guys are sooo normal. I’m so mega stupid! Please …” She reaches out, putting her hand on my shoulder.

“Shhhhh, calm down, sweetie. It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. Patricia and I … we’ve adapted, so have you, but you never completely get over it, it’d be unnatural if you did. There’s a little sadness in your life all the time.”

“Sometimes more than a little.”

“Very true, it comes and goes … but it helps to talk about it. Do you have anyone you talk to?”

“About this? No.”

“Not even your … father?”

“He’s not the kind of person you can talk to, not about this kind of thing. I used to talk to some of the nannies. There were a couple who helped a lot … but it’s been a long time.”

“You can talk to me, when ever you need to, Gretchen.”

“Really?”

“Yep, anytime you want.”

“Can you, like, … help me with my makeup and hair, you know, in the future?”

She smiles. “I’d like that a lot, Gretchen.”

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

I had to show Patty what I looked like before cleaning off my makeup. When I got upstairs, the door was partially open and I could hear the sewing machine running. I gently push it open.

Patty’s hunched over the machine, intently watching as the fabric feeds through it, quickly moving her hands and fingers. She stops, quietly groaning as she drops her head, slowly twisting her head and neck, back and forth, her eyes closed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing” she answers, her eyes still closed. “I’ve just been sitting here too long. I need a better chair.”

“Can I help?”

“No, I’m almost done.”

I walk up behind her, place my hands on her shoulders and squeeze.

“AAAHHhhhhh, yyeeesssss.”

I keep squeezing and massaging her shoulders, moving back and forth from her arms to her neck while Patty softly moans, and sighs. After a minute or so, she tips her head back, opens her eyes and looks up at me.

“Where did you learn to … WHOA! Stop the presses! Look at YOU!”

I step back as Patty spins her chair around and stands up, groaning.

“Darn chair. You look great! Mom really out did herself this time, though, she had good material to work with.”

“You’re mom told me what you said about me.”

“Heck, it’s no secret, I’ve been telling you that all along, though, honestly, it still surprises me how good you look. I’ve got the repairs made. It’s not exactly the way it was.”

“It’s not?”

“I’m sorry, the fabric was completely frayed, no way to mend it. I had nothing in stock that matched the dress, but I did have something that exactly matches the shoes, so I replaced a panel. The cut’s exactly the same. Once you try it on, I can adjust the bust and we’re done. Here,” she reaches down next to her chair, pulling the shoes from under a small mound of scraps, “Put these on and slip the dress on over your head. The bra won’t be the right one but it’ll be close enough for now.”

“Do I even need a bra?”

“Aren’t you the daring one? No, you don’t, not if you’re sure.”

“Will I look okay?”

“You’ll look fantastic, maybe too good, might have to bring Henry and Lou in to protect you.”

“You’ll be there, you can protect me.”

“Fox guarding the hen house.”

I unbutton my shirt and pull it off over my head.

“What?”

“Never mind. Put your clothes on the chair next to the bed.”

I toss my shirt on the chair, unbutton my jeans, slid them down and step out of them. After the jeans join the shirt on the chair, I step into the heels, having left my regular shoes down stairs. The heels are only three inches, but it’s still a bit of a head rush when I stand up. As Patty begins to gather the dress, I remove my bra, laying it on the mound of clothes on the chair.

“All right, Gretch, bend over and put your hands out over your head.”

I do as Patty says and she smoothly drops the dress over my head, my arms slipping past the narrow straps as I straighten up. My head pops into the open as the dress settles around me, feeling just as I remember it did.

“Turn around and let me zip the back.”

As Patty zips me up, the dress gets tighter and tighter across my chest, pinching my breasts.

“It’s too tight, isn’t it?” Patty asks.

“Yeah, a little.”

“I knew it, from the very first, I knew it. Put on a pair of heels and bingo. Don’t worry, I can fix it, there’s plenty of material to work with. Just stay right there … let me get my stool and stand up behind you … where the heck is my chalk … there it is! Now, relax, stand up straight. Don’t be tense, shake out your arms and shoulders.” I give my upper body a brief shake, letting my arms swing free. “That’s it! Good. Don’t suck in your gut, not unless you plan on not breathing at the dance. Good. Okay, hold still while I mark.”

I can feel pressure on my left side under my arm and then the same on the right. Patty forces her hand down my back a couple of inches and there’s more pressure down both sides.

“Turn around and face me, Gretch.”

I carefully spin in place, keeping my arms up slightly so as not to smear her chalk marks. Standing on the stool, we’re practically eye to eye. She pulls the fabric this way and that, all the time keeping her eyes on my breasts. Finally, she sticks a couple of fingers between them.

“That IS tight. I’ve got my marks, you can take it off.”

“Can I see it in the mirror first?”

“Sure, I forgot you hadn’t seen the whole thing yet.”

Patty steps down off the stool and I turn toward a group of three mirrors in the corner of the room. As I walk closer, my images start to appear. The front hem looks just the same as before, higher than the back, where the damage was. Patty’s put in a cream colored insert where the hem was torn. There are large, stylized red roses in the fabric, not quite the same color as my dress but the identical color of my shoes. The band comes around my right side in an ever narrowing ribbon until it stops, merging with a shoulder strap. Patty’s image appears from behind, standing next to me in all three mirrors.

“Do you like it?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Yeah, but do you LIKE it?”

“I … I … do. I really do. It takes a few seconds to get used to but I like it. It’s different but very nice.”

“You can be sure there won’t be another one like it at the dance.”

“That’s true, a designer original.”

“Sort off. Take it off and I’ll make the last alterations.”

“How long will they take?”

“No more than fifteen minutes, I hope.”

“Good, we can show your mother.” I turn my back to her. “A little help?”

“What would you do without me?” She reaches up and unzips me. I can breath again. I wriggle out of the dress and Patty goes back to work. I walk up behind her as she sits in the chair.

“You can get dressed … if you want.”

“If it’s only fifteen minutes, I’ll wait.”

She turns her head, looking straight into my breasts. She has to pull her head back to avoid rubbing her face in them.

“You sure about that?”

I push my chest forward a bit. “You bet.”

She turns back to the machine. “Suit yourself” she mumbles.

She starts working on a seam, cutting threads. I put my hands back on her shoulders and begin massaging again. Patty stops.

“What are you doing?”

“Your shoulders and neck still hurt, don’t they?”

“And back. Why are you doing that?”

“I want to help. I can’t sew like you can. I can’t do makeup and hair like you and your mom can. You won’t take my money. I feel like I should do something and I can do this. Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Oh yeah, but you don’t have to do it.”

“Are you telling me to stop?”

“No … no, I’m not.”

“Good.”

She goes back to work and I keep gently massaging her shoulders. She finishes one seam and begins cutting the other. I lean down next to her right ear.

“You know” I whisper, “this is the first time we’ve been alone since …”

“Since when?”

“You know, since you and I …”

“What?”

I lean in closer. “Since we … fucked.”

“Heeeyyy! We’ve been alone a lot since then.”

“At my house. We can’t do anything there.”

“Well, we can’t do anything here either. I gotta finish this dress.”

“Which will take you about ten minutes. After that, we’ve got nothin’ to do.”

“How about dinner? We have to help make dinner.”

I squeeze harder on her shoulders. “That’s three hours from now. We can have a lot of fun in three hours.”

“We’ll see, let me finish this.”

“Sure thing … baby.”

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

Patty had to adjust it twice. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was wasting time. The dress did look and fit better each time she made changes, so I guess it was all for my benefit. Can’t bitch about that, can I?

After the last fitting, we went down stairs to show Ms. Conner. She absolutely loved it! She hugged me several times, said I was the most beautiful girl she ever saw. I looked over at Patty but it didn’t look like she was upset or anything, what with her mother basically saying I was better looking than she was. Which isn’t true, we both know that. Ms. Conner was just being nice. She’s always nice to me.

“You want me to get your camera, Mom? You said you wanted pictures.”

“I’ll take them at the dance, honey. Better ambiance.”

“Better what?” I ask.

“Nicer background” answered Patty. “Nicer atmosphere. It’ll look like a party.”

“I get it. Plus, you’ll be in your dress too. Hey, I haven’t seen yours yet.”

Patty winks at me. “It’ll be a surprise. Let’s get you out of that dress.”

I grab her hand. “Just what I was thinking.” I head for the stairs, pulling her behind me.

“Wait … I just wanted to double check everything” she says as I lead her upstairs. She’s not fighting me and we both know that if she didn’t want to go upstairs, there’s nothing I could do to make her.

I let go of her hand when we reach her bedroom. Turning my back to her, I pull my hair aside, clearing the zipper on the back of my dress.

“Care to do the honors?”

“Look, Gretch … this may not be a good idea.”

I turn to look at her over my shoulder. “I thought you wanted to double check everything.”

“I do, I do.”

“Well, go ahead then.”

She doesn’t move right away, just looks up at me, rubbing her fingers together. After a few seconds, she steps up behind me, reaches up and slowly unzips me. I carefully slide the straps off my shoulders, pull the dress down, freeing my breasts. I turn to face Patty as I cautiously work the dress down my body, twisting and wriggling until it reaches the floor. I cautiously step clear, bend over, pick the dress up and hold it out to Patty.

She just stands there, her head slightly cocked to the side. “I thought you wanted to …”

“To what?” I ask, innocently.

“To …” She takes the dress from my hands. “Nothing, never mind. I’ll take this back to the sewing room and bring your clothes.”

“Take your time” I say as she walks out of the room, cradling the dress in her arms. I scamper to her dresser, dig out the sex toys and find the harness and the double ended vibrator. I rapidly drop my panties, quickly step into the harness, pulling it up and tightening the straps. After twisting and locking the vibrator in place, I squirt some lube on my end and slide it into my pussy, savoring the feeling as it fills me up.

God. I missed this.

I hurry over to Patty’s bed, climb up and strike a pose; laying on my side, head resting on my left hand, elbow on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle, still wearing the heels, my right hand grasping the base of the vibrator, gently jiggling it, making the head bounce around. I can hear Patty’s footsteps as she approaches the room.

“I think it’s good to go, Gretcheeennnn … whoooaaa.”

I smile at her. “Guess I did have something else in mind.”

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

This is nuts! What is she doing?! Well … I know what she’s doing. Anyone looking at Gretchen would know what she’s doing. But why now?

And why can’t I take my eyes of her and that bouncing plastic dick.

“Gretchen” I sigh, “this isn’t a good idea.”

“No, it’s a great idea! You know you want it, I can see it in your eyes. And I want to give it to you.”

She pops up onto her knees, legs spread, hands on hips, that darn fake dick swaying left and right.

“Come on, Patty. You said you liked it last time.”

More like screamed I loved it. Repeatedly. For a beginner, Gretchen has some nice moves.

“Okay, yeah, I liked it, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“Why not?”

“Because … the more we do it … the more you’re gonna’ think you’re a lesbian.”

“Two girls having sex together. I’d say we were both lesbians.”

“You’re not. Have you ever felt this way about any other girls. Even been remotely attracted to girls before you met me?”

“No, but it only takes one.”

“You’re wrong. It takes a lot more than one.”

“Maybe you just opened my eyes to a whole new world. Did you ever think about that?”

“What other girls turn you on?”

“I can’t tell you that! You’re my girlfriend. It’d be like … cheating or something. Besides, I don’t know that many other girls.”

“Oh no, there are lots of famous, beautiful women. Actresses, models, sports stars. Go on, tell me who else gets you hot besides me. I promise, I won’t be jealous.”

Gretchen just stays on the bed, slightly bouncing in place, the vibrator bobbing in all different directions. Distracting as heck. Her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Weeeellll … there’s that one model, the Sport’s Illustrated swimsuit girl … you know the one I mean.”

“Maybe. But the question is, do you know the one you mean? If you were so interested, you’d at least know her name.”

Gretchen steps off the bed. “Fine. There aren’t any others. Happy?”

Yeah, I am. “It’s not about me being happy. I just want you to realize what’s going on here.”

“Why are you fighting me about this, Patty? I don’t love anybody else, boy or girl. I love YOU! You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known before in my whole life! Don’t you love me?”

AWWWW CRAP! The “L” word! Now what? Better get this right the first time.

“Gretchen … I’m not your average person …”

“No kidding!”

“Well neither are you. For whatever reason, we found each other. And I’m glad we did. Really glad! But we’re just … kids. Neither of us knows what the future will bring. Yes, I’m happy to be with you, right now, and for the immediate future. But I don’t want you to just concentrate on me. I don’t think your gay. You need to at least try seeing guys … then you’ll know for sure.”

“You may not have noticed, but guys aren’t exactly lining up to date me.”

“Tomorrow, at the dance, they will. Trust me. I want you to promise me that you’ll … try some of them out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing serious. Talk with them, dance with them, be friendly, but no hanky panky. Your dad would kill me.”

“He might try, but my money’s on you. So, will you be dancing and talking with guys too?”

She’s smart … and quick. “Yeah, I might. I already know some of the guys who’ll be there. We’ve danced before, no biggie.”

“Any one in particular?”

“N-n-no one in particular, not at all. It’s just guys.”

She stares at me, like she doesn’t believe me. Smart girl.

“You haven’t answered my question yet. Do you love me?”

Why do women always fixate on the answer to that question?

“Yes … I love you, but that doesn’t mean we end up together. We might, we could, but it’s too early to know for sure. There’s a lot of complications here. Your dad, my mom, society.”

“Your mom’s cool with us.”

“Just because she’s not up here screaming doesn’t mean she’s cool about everything. She’s okay for now. I was thinking more like your dad and my mom don’t get along.”

“If we love each other, that doesn’t matter. Not what they think, not what society thinks.”

God! She is so darn young! Young and in love. I remember what that was like. Nothing else mattered, just the two of you. The rest of the world, the rest of our worries just faded away. It was bliss!

It also lasts about six months and then reality comes barging through the door, sits down, lights up a cigar and makes himself at home. End of fairy tale.

But right now … I can sense those old feelings beginning to stir. She is beautiful. So innocent, so honest, so intelligent, so sexy. She’s more than I deserve. More importantly, I’m not what she needs in her life, not now, not ever. She’s not ready to hear that, not now anyway … but maybe.

I slowly walk the few feet separating us, reach out and take the vibrator in my hand, gently sliding my hand up and down its length but also gripping hard enough to make it plunge in and out of Gretchen’s vagina. She just smiles and sighs.

“Tell you what” I quietly say. “You and I, we’ll have some fun, right now, if you promise to try and meet some nice guys at the dance tomorrow.” I lick her swollen nipple, then tenderly nip it with my teeth. “What do you say?”

“What if the guys aren’t nice?” she asks through clenched teeth.

I lick and nip her other nipple. “They’ll be nice, I promise.”

Her breathing is a little ragged. “So, you want to bribe me with sex to cheat on you … is that it?”

I twist the switch, turning on the vibrator at its lowest setting, still rhythmically probing Gretchen’s pussy. She softly moans and writhes slightly.

“Not cheat … baby, just keep an open mind. Is that asking too much?”

Her eyes are starting to lose focus. I’ve got her where I need her. “Is it too much?” I repeat.

“No … no … it’s not too much.”

“You promise then?”

“Sure, yeah, I promise.”

“Good. Why don’t you help me undress and then I can show you some new tricks.”

The spell broken, Gretchen roughly grabs at my clothes, trying to get them off me almost as fast as I’m trying to strip out of them. In seconds, we’re both naked, except for her heels. She looks damn sexy in them but she towers over me, like the usual foot and a half isn’t bad enough. Well, there’s an answer to that problem.

I push her back onto the bed, quickly climbing on top before she can react, Straddling her waist, the vibrator brushing against my tummy, I lean forward, placing a hand on either of her shoulders, holding her down. As I raise my hips to bring the tip of the vibrator in line with my pussy, I smile down at her.

“First new trick.”

I settle down on the vibrator, letting the tip enter just a few delicious inches before clamping down hard with my vaginal muscles, transferring as much motion as possible to the end nestled in Gretchen’s pussy, causing her to quietly grunt.

“Ohhh yeeaahh.”

I pull back up and repeat several times, getting the same response each cycle. Finally, I loosen my grip and let it slide almost all the way into my pussy before I clamp back down and drive it hard the last few inches.

“OOww GAWD!” she yelps as I quickly piston my hips, several sharp, short strokes of the vibrator. My grip is starting to slip so I let it slide all the way in until our crotches are firmly pressed against each other at which point I begin to rock back and forth, rubbing her vaginal lips with mine, first slowly and then gradually increasing the pace.

Slipping my right hand between us, I find the controls on the vibrator and increase the frequency.

Awwwww GAWD! That’s the stuff! The change causes me to pause, arms buckling slightly, impaled on the vibrator. Gretchen’s eyes are closed, her head slowly rolling left and right.

“Ooohh … Patty … Oohh … God!” she whispers when she exhales.

Having regained control of my legs, I alternate between bouncing up and down and rubbing back and forth but I move my hands from her shoulders to her breasts. As soon as I make contact with her nipples, Gretchen’s eyes fly open and she loudly gasps, unable to breath for a few seconds.

“My … Yeah … Oh Yeah … Ohh Yeaahh … pleeassee”

I’m getting close myself, the pressure quickly building. I’ve got the big end in me, more vibrating plastic per square inch. I’ve got to get her off before I do, otherwise, I may lose her. She starts to reach up to grab my boobs but I push her hand down. Not now, not this time, it’d be too much. I slide my right hand between our wet pussies, searching for her clit. When Gretchen shrilly moans and arches her back, I know I’ve found it.

I just need to hold on … a few seconds … longer … gawd, please hurry Gretch!

Suddenly, thankfully, she begins to shake, tremors running through her legs as she gasps and laughs and begs for more. I manage to fight off my orgasm for a few endless seconds before the walls come crashing down, my vision goes all white, black and sparkly and I collapse onto Gretchen’s sweaty, twitching body.

As I become aware of my surroundings and my breathing slows towards normal, I can feel Gretchen gently stroking my hair, which feels wonderful. What doesn’t feel wonderful are my legs, which are all scrunched together, bent increasingly painfully at the knees and ankles, plus the vibrator is at a sharp, uncomfortable angle in my pussy.

Thank God for endorphins or people would never have sex.

“Ooowww Gretch, I gotta’ move my legs, hold on just a sec … ooohhh yeah, that’s better. You okay?”

“Okay? That was … I don’t know what that was … what was that?”

“It’s hard to explain. It’s a variation on something I used to do.”

“With WHO?”

“Ahhhh, that’s hard to explain too. It was awhile ago.”

“We’re the same age, seventeen. How long ago could it have been?”

“Before I ever got to Miami, okay? What’s important, did you like it?”

“Hell yes! How can I top something like that?”

“I don’t know but we’ve got about an hour for you to try. Surprise me.”

Oh, she did. She really did.

Severance Pay (Chapters 55 through 60 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Gretchen and Patty attend the New Years Eve Dance where Patty has a disturbing realization. Cardoza's hit team strikes. Lipscomb begins Phase Two of his plan. Themes and Elements listed apply to entire story, Rating to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for editorial assistance.

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

“I’m sorry about all that. I didn’t know he planned on doing all that … stuff.”

My father, Mister Restraint.

Patty had to work real hard to get her mom to agree to come to my house to help us get ready for the dance. Actually, to help me. Patty doesn’t need any help but I didn’t want to ask her to help me too. At first, Ms. Conner said she’d be glad to help then my father said I couldn’t go over there to get ready. He wouldn’t say why. I knew this was going to be trouble but Patty said she’d handle it. It took her awhile and she wouldn’t tell me what she said … or had to promise … but her mom finally agreed.

They brought all their stuff to my house at 5:30 in the afternoon and went straight to my room. We had to get to the dance early because Ms. Conner was a volunteer and they all had to be there at least two hours before the dance started.

My hair and makeup didn’t take nearly as long as the last time because Ms. Conner already knew what she wanted to do. Patty said she made her dress because she couldn’t find anything in her size that didn’t make her look like a pre-teen. It was silver, soft, sparkly, hugged her curves down to her knees and had a slit just short of her hip.

Definitely not a pre-teen. As nice as my dress was, I felt a little jealous.

We packed everything up and headed downstairs to find Father waiting for us … with two fully equipped professional photographers.

“Ladies! Ladies! Come down!” he shouted, smiling broadly.

“Father, what is this?”

“How could I let my beautiful daughter and her lovely friend go to her first dance and not document it for posterity?”

We reach the bottom of the stairs and I walk over to him while Patty and her mom wait at the foot of the stairs.

“Father, please … don’t embarrass me.”

“Embarrass? Parents take pictures of their children all the time.”

I pull him aside, moving us away from everybody. “You didn’t,” I whisper. “You’ve never taken pictures of me before.”

“Actually, I did … before you’re mother died. I used to take quite a few pictures.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“I … I don’t know. Things changed. It didn’t seem to be as … important.”

“So, why not take them yourself now?”

“I gave away all my old equipment, besides, everything is digital today, all about computers and pixels. If you want the job done right, you hire an expert. These two come highly recommended.”

“By who?”

“Enrique.”

Of course. I look over at Patty and her mother. Ms. Conner is clearly upset. Patty is holding her hand as she glances at her watch. That’s it! Time!

“Father, we can’t stay for pictures. Ms. Conner needs to leave for the dance now. She’s working and has to be there early. There’s no time.”

Father also looks over at the Conners, then steps towards them.

“Are you certain? It won’t take long, I promise. It’s just that Gretchen is so lovely tonight, so much like her mother. I just wanted something to preserve this moment.”

Patty takes her mother’s arm and turns it to see her watch. They both check the time and then look at each other’s face for a few seconds, like they’re communicating telepathically. Finally, Ms. Conner closes her eyes and sighs.

“I suppose we can spare a few minutes, but only a few.”

So that’s how I find myself apologizing while we speed towards the YWCA, ten minutes late.

“I’m really sorry Ms. Conner. He never said anything to me about pictures. It was good of you to pose with us. I know you’re not fond of my father.”

“Gretchen … you have no idea … it’s not your fault, sweetie. I know you would have said something if you had known.”

“Besides,” added Patty, “they should be some good shots. I’d like copies. Maybe make a poster for my bedroom.”

“Like hell you will,” Ms. Conner snorted.

“Why not, Mom? We don’t have any real nice pictures of us, not recent ones anyway. You look good and so do I. It seemed that they took almost as many pictures of us as they did of Gretch and her dad.”

“They didn’t take that many of me but they did take quite a few of both you and Gretchen.”

“Got a case of the Green Eyed Monster there, Mom?”

Ms. Conner laughed. “In your dreams, Patricia Taylor Conner. Just a matter of quality over quantity.”

They kept riding each other all the way to the dance.

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

The photographers have provided me with several pictures of both Conner and Gretchen. Escaban can forward them to his men’s phone so that they can clearly identify the target. This is not the time for mistakes. Not only must the police not discover who killed Conner, but Hobbes must also never know the truth, at least until I can replace him. I pick up my radio.

“Tony Escaban, report.”

It took almost a minute for him to respond. “Yes, Mr. Cardoza.”

“You took too long to answer. Report to my office.”

“Yes, Sir.”

When he arrived, Escaban was panting. Good. This is serious business. Sliding my cell phone off my desk into my hand, I dial his number.

“I’m forwarding several photos for you to forward to your people at the dance. They’re of both Conner and Gretchen Hobbes.”

“I’ve already done that, Mr. Cardoza.”

“Yes, but these show what they look like tonight. They will be easier to spot.”

His phone beeps several times. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

“Your people understand their job?”

“Yes, sir. Take Conner from the dance, kill her using knives, sexual assault is optional, make sure the body is bloody and found and that they aren’t caught. Ms. Hobbes is to be left alone and not harmed in any way. I told them that if the appropriate opportunity didn’t present itself, they are not to take any unnecessary chances. A little extra damage is acceptable, but, again, under no circumstances are they to be caught.”

“Excellent. You are certain they can do it?”

“It isn’t too difficult. Three men, one girl.”

“You would think so … but there is something about Conner … she is surprisingly resilient.”

“That’s why there’s three of them.”

“Let’s hope that’s enough.”

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

Luckily, the volunteers were just starting their meeting when we all walked into the gym. Mom hurried over to where the others were standing while Gretchen and I took a stroll around to check things out. I had expected to run into the guys doing set up but it looked like everything was already done. It was all a lot nicer than the other dance. More tables and chairs. Balloons in nets along the ceiling. Bunting and streamers along the walls. A bunch of colored lights and a disco ball suspended from the scoreboard at mid-court. Certainly more elaborate than dances when I was in high school. The food area also was bigger. Gretchen was impressed.

“This looks nice! I thought you said your friends would be here.”

“I assumed they would. They must have done all this earlier today or yesterday. You’re right, it’s nice. Wonder what’s on the menu.”

We wander over to the food tables, our heels loudly clicking on the floor until we reach the tarps. The banquet tables are lined up in one long row, covered in white tablecloths with a red skirt hanging along the front all the way to the floor. There’s several food warmers with lids but they’re only holding hot water right now. There’s nothing out to snack on.

“We could go back to the kitchen, see if we could find something?” I suggest.

“Nah, I’m fine. Don’t want to get in anybody’s way. Raul doesn’t like it when someone interrupts him while he’s working.”

“Really? I never noticed that when I’m there.”

“That’s because he likes you, dummy. You’re special. Everyone treats you differently. Father, the teachers at school, Sister Carmela … everybody. You’re Patricia Conner, the Golden Girl.”

“Shut UP! I’m not special … I just play the angles, that’s all.”

“Don’t be modest. They all recognize that you’re different. You see things others miss. You do things others can’t. You solve problems that others ignore. Everywhere you go, things change.”

“For the better?”

“I think so, though Enrique may disagree. He’s the one person who doesn’t like you.”

“The ONE person? I can think of lots! Caitlin McBride and her group. Aelia Ridgeway and the entire St. Agnes basketball team, plus their fans. There’s quite a few people not exactly fond of me.”

“Well, the ones who matter are fond of you. Me for instance.”

“I appreciate that but you’re still gonna have to meet some guys tonight.”

“But WHHYYYYYY?”

“‘Cause you promised.”

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

Sitting in a “borrowed” car outside the Y, I’m glad all three of us have checked out the place over the last two days. I want to make sure we all know the layout. Teak couldn’t understand why it was necessary.

“Three of us, one of her … it’s too easy, man,” he rumbled.

“‘Kay, it’s too easy, but gettin’ her out of there without us gettin’ caught … that won’t be easy. What if she struggles? What if she screams? We get seen, we get caught, we get killed. I got big plans for my future and they don’t include fucking this up.”

Julio shook his head. “Still don’t see why she needs to die.”

Crap! Not again! “We been through that, Julio. Ain’t any of our bizness. We’re just soldiers looking to move up. You wanna’ move up, man?”

“Yeah … course I do.”

“Me too, so this is what we gotta do. This is our chance to stand out, to be recognized, get some respect.”

“She’s a girl. Don’t get no respect doin’ girls.”

“She’s a JOB! I don’t care what anybody else thinks, I only care what Cardoza thinks!”

Teak leans forward between the two front seats of the car. “Calm down, Billy B, we know. We ain’t happy but we know. Question is, ‘xactly how we gonna do it?”

“I’ll go in once the crowd shows up, find her and keep an eye on her. If she leaves anytime, I’ll call ya and we go get her.”

“What if she don’t leave?” asks Julio.

“Then we follow her home, grab her off the street.”

“What if she got someone wit her?”

“Then we take care of them and then grab her.”

“What if she’s got a lot of people wit her?”

“Then we don’t do nothin’, fool.”

“What if we can’t keep her quiet?”

I pat my hip pocket. “Got a little smack here. It’ll take the edge off, but three dudes with knives ought to be more than enough to keep her in line, like ‘Baby, keep your mouth shut or you’ll lose an eye, quick’. Know what I mean?”

Teak sat back. “Yeah, that’d keep me quiet, though the smack’d be nice. Where we doing it after we got her?”

“Raphael’s got a place for us, down by the docks, been abandoned for a couple of years. We can wash the mess straight into the water.”

“Sweet.”

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

Gretchen and I were sitting at the team’s table when people returned to the gym. Mom was with them … and so was Coach Tobey. Both of them walked quickly towards us.

“Hey! Deadeye! How you doing?” he shouted.

I got up out of my chair, striding towards him as he threw his arms open, dropping down to my level. We hugged each other briefly. I felt something hard and wide pressing into my stomach. Stepping back as we release each other, I look down towards his waist.

“I’m fine Coach … what the heck is that?”

“This? It’s my championship belt.”

“Belt? It looks like a hubcap.”

“Don’t dis the belt. You’re just jealous.”

“It doesn’t go with my outfit. Heck, it doesn’t go with any outfit.”

“What you talking about? This is stylish as hell … ‘scuse my French, ladies.”

“That wasn’t French,” said Gretchen.

“I know, I’ll explain later. Coach Tobey, this is my friend, Gretchen.”

“Well, aren’t you a beauty! Any friend of Patricia’s is welcome here. I have to tell you, I knew it was you before I ever saw that video. As soon as I got in the building, there was this buzz about a small girl who hit an impossible shot. ‘Has to be Conner,’ I said to myself, right then and there. Still, I couldn’t believe my eyes! God damn shot was beyond impossible … ‘scuse my French.”

“Does he know what French is?” asks Gretchen.

“He does,” I answer. So that’s what tonight’s going to be about. Nuts! I might have expected it. I really should have done something more normal. A three quarter court shot, anything but what I did.

It was pretty darn cool though. “Thanks Coach, but it was just a lucky shot. I was still woozy from that pick, I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Bullshit! ‘Scuse my French.” Gretchen starts to say something but I wave her off. “I’ve seen that look in your eyes before, that wicked, evil look just before you do something unbelievable … though, I can’t say I’ve seen you that angry before. Thank God.”

“Well, you can think what you want Coach, but I was there and I say it was a lucky shot.”

“I was there too,” said Gretchen, “and he’s one hundred percent right.”

Coach reaches out and shakes her hand. “Smart girl. I like her.”

Great. Time to change the subject. “The gym looks very nice. Who did it?”

“A bunch of the ladies thought it up. Me and my boys helped, but so did a lot of others. This is the biggest one of the year, takes a lot of hands. Here comes one of the honchos now.” Coach whistles loudly, getting everybody’s attention. He points towards one of the people staring at him in surprise. “Becca!” he calls out, motioning with his right hand for her to come his way. She pauses for a moment to say something to the two other women with her, then she quickly walks towards us.

She looks younger than most of the other volunteers, more like late twenties or early thirties than parent age. Dyed blonde hair with a stylish amount of dark showing. Tall but well built, in shape, a confident, efficient aura about her.

“Is there a problem, Coach?”

“Nah, I just wanted you to meet some people. This is Jessica Conner, her daughter Patricia and Patricia’s friend, Gretchen … you didn’t tell me her last name, Patricia.”

“It’s … Hobbes,” Gretchen says quietly. The woman is staring intently at her.

“Gretchen Hobbes,” Coach continues. “This is Rebecca Robinson. She volunteers here at the Y, teaches some classes on design.”

“Fashion design. Gretchen, where did you get that dress? I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“We got it at ‘Sofia’s’ but it was damaged. Patty fixed it for me. She did all this.” Gretchen sweeps her hand across the panel I added. “She also made the one she’s wearing.”

Robinson looks over at me. “Really? You did all that?”

“You should see what she did with our school uniforms,” Gretchen added.

“I’d like to, I really would. What made you think of adding that panel?”

“I had the fabric which matched her shoes.” Gretchen stuck out her foot. Robinson nodded her head. “I thought about just shortening the hem slightly and adding a strip but it didn’t feel right. I figured, go big.”

“I’d say you made the right choice. Extraordinary! You have a real talent!”

“Thanks. It’s just a hobby.”

“Oh, it could be so much more! If you could come to one of my classes, I can show you things that might change your life!”

Coach chuckles. “Good luck with that.”

Robinson’s taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying to get her to join my team. This is the girl who beat all my boys … ALL of them.”

Robinson’s eyes go wide. “THIS Girl?”

“Yep. She’s also the girl who hit that basketball shot to beat St. Agnes.”

“HER?”

“That’s right. You’ll have to get in line. A lot of people want a shot at Patricia Conner.”

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

Lots of people keep stopping by our table to talk to Patty. At first, it’s mostly the parents who are volunteers. The men want to talk about the St. Agnes game, the women ask if she’s going to play the piano again. Apparently, she played several songs the last time she was here and people loved it. She introduced me to everyone who came by. The women all complimented me on my dress, the men just complimented me … if they said anything at all. They all looked though, some looked real hard. Sometimes it was a little uncomfortable.

“Get used to it,” Patty said.

“Why should I? Why should I have to get used to the way some men look at me?”

“I guess you don’t. It’s up to you. You dress the way you want to, some people may react in ways you don’t like. You can either let their reactions dictate how you live or you can ignore their reactions and do what you want. Your choice.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is.”

“What if someone isn’t as confident as you, as comfortable in their skin as you are?”

“Fake it.”

“What?”

“Who says I’m so confident, so comfortable? I got problems, just like everybody else.”

“Such as?”

“For one, I’m barely five foot tall.”

“You’re four-ten.”

“Thank you, Miss six-two.”

“I’m just saying it’s no big deal.”

“I like the way you phrase that.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. I know you’ve got problems in your life and you know I’ve got them in mine. How a person handles their problems is their choice. Sometimes, if you don’t feel confident, you can fake it, act confident. Do it long enough and you can become confident. It’s worked for me.”

It sounds crazy. It IS crazy … isn’t it?

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

We’ve been here almost an hour and a half and kids are starting to show up. Terri and Javier were a couple of the first ones to arrive. I was glad to see them, they’re a major part of tonight’s plan. I pull her aside shortly after they come in.

“Terri, I need your help tonight.”

“What with?”

“I brought Gretchen here so she could meet some nice guys.”

“Looking like that? They’ll be lining up out the door and down the street. What’s the prob?”

“I said NICE guys. This is her first dance of any kind; it needs to be a good experience. I don’t know a lot of people here so I need you and Javier to help me screen likely candidates.”

“You mean, like matchmakers?”

“I’m not looking to marry her off, just meet a few half way decent guys and get out of here not hating the entire male population.”

“You dream big, Patty. You really do. Of course I’ll help, so will the other girls. It’ll be fun! So Jane Austin! How we dealing with her Dad, who he is?”

“We’re not highlighting it but we’re not hiding from it either. She is who she is. The name of Hobbes carries baggage she’s got to learn to deal with … at least for now.”

“When won’t it?”

“I’m working on that.”

“Really, just you or do you have a PR firm on retainer.”

“Just me for the moment. Good idea about the PR firm though, maybe later. For right now, she’s just Gretchen, our teammate.”

“Okay. I better get back to the table before Javier does something I’ll make sure he’ll regret.”

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

The other girls totally got into the matchmaker thing. Terri, Katie and the rest of the girlfriends of the team quickly began to review the history of every eligible guy they could spot. They limited themselves to guys who weren’t already dating someone because they all knew how they’d feel if somebody tried to fix up their boyfriend with a girl who looked like Gretchen.

Hot tar and feathers wouldn’t be enough.

In half an hour, they had six good prospects.

“Okay, here’s the list, one through six,” said Terri. “First, Franklin Kirby.”

“Where’s he at?” I ask.

“Over there, by the fire hose, two tables to the left. The guy in the blue shirt.” She sighs, “Just like his eyes.”

I finally spot him. Yowzaa! He’s gorgeous! I can’t see how tall he is because he’s sitting down but everything else looks perfect. The hair, the teeth, his chest … those blue eyes. Damn! Makes me squirm just to look at him.

“No good,” said Javier between forks of pasta. The guys had gotten tired of waiting for the girls to finish rating other guys so they went to the buffet and loaded up.

“Why’s that?” asked Terri.

Javier finished chewing and swallowed. “Because he’s gay.”

“NOOOO!” cried Katie. “He can’t be!”

“‘Fraid so,” replied Javier as he returned his attention to his half-full plate.

“How do YOU know?” demanded Katie.

“Just look at him. If he wasn’t gay, he’d be dating a dozen girls. Besides, I know the guy he IS seeing. They’ve been together for like three months. Cute couple.”

“Alright,” said Terri. “Number two, Gary Hubertz … or is he gay too?”

Javier swallows again. “Not that I know.”

“Good, where’s he sitting?” I ask.

Javier points to his right. “Over at the basketball players’ table. Green shirt. He’s just standing up.”

I see him. Not bad. No Franklin Kirby but not bad. And he’s tall enough, at least 6’ 5”. Gretchen’s heels are only about 3” so she tops out around six four or five. He’ll do.

“Good, now we need to get them together.”

“Easy,” grunted Javier. “Cruz, go over the ballers’ table and tell Gary Hubertz to come over here.”

“What if he don’t want to?” asks Cruz.

“Tell him a girl wants to meet him. That should do it.”

“Gotcha!”

As Cruz works his way through the crowd towards the other table, I reach over and tap Javier on the hand.

“Where’s Eric? I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Oh, Eric, uuhh yeah … Eric. Uuuhh, ya see, Eric … he’s got this part time job at a restaurant and won’t get here until later.”

“A job? Good for him! Work’s hard to find out there! How much later?”

“Like ten or so.”

That won’t give us much time to talk but that’s okay. I spot Cruz coming back to the table, Hubertz following close behind, smiling and scanning, looking for the mystery girl. The one sitting nervously beside me.

“Patty, I don’t know if I can …”

“Hush. We’ll just invite him to sit down and talk awhile, take it from there. No pressure.”

When they get to the table, Cruz moves aside, leaving Hubertz standing next to us all, clearly uncertain about what’s going on. I stand up and take his hand.

“Nice to meet you Gary. I’m Patricia Conner and this is my friend, Gretchen, Gretchen … Hobbes.”

Gretchen slowly stands up. I watch Gary’s face as his eyes follow her the entire way, gradually widening in total shock as his breathing stops.

She can do that to a person. I give his limp hand a shake, stirring him back to awareness.

“Kinda takes your breath away, doesn’t she, Gary?”

“Oh. My. God! … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said … but you’re so … I’m sorry …”

I pull him down into the seat next to Gretchen as she sits back down, red faced. I hurry around to an empty chair opposite them and sit too.

“Don’t worry about it Gary, it’s a common reaction. I hear you play basketball. Who for?”

“Uhhh, St. Joe’s during the season and then for the Y in AAU.”

“So … a Catholic boy.”

“Yeah.”

I nod towards Terri slightly, congratulating her on her choice. She accepts with a smile.

“You know, Gary,” I say, “Gretchen plays basketball too.”

“You do? Who for?”

“Saint … Saint … Ann’s,” Gretchen says quietly.

“St. Ann’s. They’re pretty good this year.”

“Thanks. We are.” Gretchen smiled. “What’s your record?” she asked shyly.

“We’re undefeated, but, you know, it’s still early.”

“Undefeated. That’s pretty good too … even if it is … early.”

I look around the table and notice every girl there is hanging on each word being said. Better put a stop to that.

“Nothin’ to see here ladies. How ’bout a little privacy.” The girls nod and begin to move away. “Gary, we haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

“No, I was getting ready to when Cruz came over and …”

“Great! Great! Would you like to eat with us?”

“Sure! That’d be awesome!”

“Wonderful! Let’s go, I’m starving. Coming, Gretchen?”

“I am kinda hungry.”

Gary hopped up and pulled Gretchen’s chair away as she stood up. She smiled at him, looking ever so slightly up at his eyes. I was right, just about an inch or so taller than her. Good.

“You guys go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

As Gary and Gretchen walked away, I stopped next to Cruz.

“Eric’s supposed to be here around ten, right?”

“Who told you that?”

“Javier. He said Eric has a part time job. In a restaurant.”

“Yeah, yeah … he does.”

“If you see him before I do, let me know.”

He glances over at Javier, then back to me. “Sure thing, Patty. You got it. Right away.”

I pat him on the shoulder. “Easy man. It’s not an emergency or anything.”

He gives me an uncertain smile.

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

It’s been almost two hours and not one opening! Everywhere the bitch goes, she’s got people with her. If it’s not all those girls when they go for more food or the bathroom, it’s those fucking steroid cases. I thought Escaban said she didn’t have bodyguards. The few times it’s only been one person, it’s been Hobbes’ daughter.

Looks like this may be a waste of time. At least I’ve got a nice seat, good eats and lots of eye candy around. Teak and Julio are stuck outside.

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

I split my attention between watching Gretchen and Gary out on the dance floor and the big clock by the entrance doors. It’s getting closer to ten.

Gretchen said she wasn’t interested in dancing, even though Gary asked. I ended up asking Terri to loan me Javier for a couple dances to show Gretch it can be fun.

She hasn’t missed one since then.

I have to say, the girls may have picked a winner in Gary. He’s a nice kid; polite, seems to be smart, and, after getting over some initial shyness, is an interesting conversationalist. He’s done a good job of drawing Gretchen out. She’s actually stopped looking to me for reassurance. Terri takes the chair next to mine, Javier the one next to her.

“So … how’s it going?” she asks.

“Better than I thought. You did good with Gary. Gretchen’s really enjoying herself.”

“It’s a talent. I was talking about your clock watching. And door watching.”

“What?! I’m not …”

“Don’t try and deny it, Patricia. You’ve been nervous all night.”

“Well, if I have, it’s been about Gretchen.”

“Like hell. You think you’re the only one who’s observant? I’ve been watching you for months. When you’ve got one of your schemes cooking, you’re the ice queen. Ever since Gretchen started dancing, you’ve been nervous as a cat. What gives?”

“Nothing.” She gives me a look of disbelief. I hold out my hand, flat, palm down. “See. No shakes. Nothin’ going on here.”

Terri flops back in her chair. “Humpf”

Just then, Gretchen comes back to our table, leading Gary by the hand. They’re both smiling and glowing from the exertion. I pull a chair out.

“Have a seat.” Gretchen pauses. “What is it?”

“Ummm Gary wants me to sit with him over at his table, so I can meet his friends. I told him I had to ask you if it was okay.”

“I don’t know. I told your dad that I’d be responsible for …”

Terri touches my shoulder and leans close to my ear. “Easy up a little. Nothing’s gonna happen in here.”

She’s right. This is exactly what I hoped would develop. Still … I need to make sure Gary’s aware of who’s in charge.

“Okay Gretch, if that’s what you want. Gary, you need to know that I promised Gretchen’s father that I’d bring her home safe and sound. I’ll be very upset if something happens to her, you understand?”

He looks down at me from all his six-five male attitude and smiles. “Sure. No problem.”

He doesn’t understand.

“I don’t think you quite do. Javier, you want to explain it to him?”

“Sure thing, Patricia. Gary, my man … you know all that shit that was goin’ round this place this past summer bout a girl who whipped our asses in the practice ring?”

Gary’s smile stretches into a big grin. “Oh yeah! We all thought it was funny as hell.”

Javier jerks his thumb at me. “She’s the one who did it. You couldn’t pay me to piss her off. Besides, me and the boys think of Gretchen more as a sister than a friend, ain’t that right Cruz?”

Cruz nodded his head in agreement. “Absolutely.”

“So, ya see, Gretchen’s got a lot of guardian angels around here.”

Gary’s grin is gone, replaced a look of serious concern tinged with fear. Gretchen’s enjoying the show.

“Now do you understand?” I ask.

“Yeah, I got it. Be good.”

“As gold. You two go have fun.”

Gary hurries away, gently pulling Gretchen with him. She looks back at me, blowing a kiss and wiggling her fingers. As they disappear into the crowd, Cruz stands up.

“She’s a sister that I’d love to …”

“Careful with what you say next.”

“Just saying that if it don’t work out with Hubertz, I’m next in line.”

“Actually,” said Terri, “you were sixth on our list.”

“SIXTH?! What the fuck you talking bout?! I’m the best damn … Hey, there’s Eric.”

I jerk my head around towards the double doors at the far end of the gym. I can’t see anything over the crowd so I jump up on my chair. Now I can see him, standing part way in the door. I start waiving my right hand wildly in the air, trying to let him know where I … we are. He ducks partially back out the door but steps right back in, walking into the gym … with a beautiful girl holding his arm.

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

“That’s one mean friend you got there, Gretchen.”

“She’s not really mean … well, she is mean sometimes … not mean exactly … she’s hard to describe. If something needs to be done, she’ll do it, even if some people would call it a mean thing to do. But she only does it to help people.”

And punish them if they try to hurt her or her friends.

“She acts like she’s your mother or something.”

“She’s not my mother, she’s my BFF. Patty feels responsible for me. She had to make a lot of promises to my father to get him to agree to let me come here tonight. If Patty makes a promise, she takes it seriously. I know. The stories I could tell you about Patricia Conner.”

“Really? Like what?”

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

A girl.

A beautiful girl.

Why the f … f … fuc … FUCK DIDN”T SOMEBODY TELL ME??!!

I turn and stare down at both Javier and Cruz.

“Did you know about this?” I ask as calmly as possible. They both step back.

“Now, don’t get mad, Patty,” said Cruz.

“Yeah, Da’Pee, it’s not our fault,” added Javier.

I hop off the chair, walking towards them. They both step back again, keeping their distance. “You didn’t think I might be interested in knowing that Eric is dating some … cute girl.”

“We didn’t think it was any of our business, right Cruz?”

“That’s right. And it ain’t like you been around much or anything. He waited for you but you never came back.”

“Hey, I’m busy! I got school and … basketball … and other stuff.”

“So what, we all got that shit. You make time for what’s important.”

Terri jumped between us, hugging my shoulder. “Shut up, Javier! You don’t know all the stuff Patricia does, all the things she has to take care of. I couldn’t do it! All either of you had to do was give her a heads up. Is that too much for one friend to do for another?”

Cruz and Javier look guiltily at each other. Cruz finally speaks up.

“We didn’t know what she might do. We didn’t want to get …”

“Beat up,” finished Javier.

“Hey Guys! What’s up?”

We all quickly turn to face Eric and his … girlfriend, fake smiles on our faces. At least mine is fake.

“Nothin’, man,” said Cruz, slapping Eric’s outstretched hand. “Took ya long enough.”

Eric and Javier clap each other on the back and bump chests, then he turns to the girls.

“Claudette, this is Terri Hughes, Javier’s girlfriend. Terri, this is Claudette DesCartes.”

Terri reaches out to shake her hand but DesCartes gives her the old double handshake, grab with the right and cover with the left.

“I am sooo ‘appy to meet you, Terree.”

Great. A French accent.

“Nice to meet you too, Claudette.”

“I’ve saved the best for last. Didn’t know you were gonna be here, Patty.”

“I mentioned it to Javier and Cruz, guess they forgot to tell you about it. There’s a lot of that going around.”

“Guess so. Anyway, Claudette, I’d like you to meet the one and only … Patricia Conner.”

I step forward, my right hand out. DesCartes goes for the double again but I quickly catch both her hands with mine, push them down slightly as I step closer, rapidly kissing her on both cheeks.

“Bonjour, Claudette.” I release her hands and fall back. She slowly raises her left hand, with long, thin fingers, and lightly touches where I kissed her.

“Oh my! Just like home. Bonjour, Patricia.”

Five two, I’d guess, slender but not skinny, dark skin, dark hair, exotic eyes. Probably Caribbean heritage with a little Asian thrown in. Moves smoothly, sultry. Most likely flexible as heck.

I feel like a Midwestern farm girl.

“No, you don’t get it,” said Eric. “You know that girl I told you about, the one who can do all those things. This is HER!”

I thought, for a moment, I saw anger in her face, but it quickly disappeared, replaced by a good imitation of awe.

“No! It can’t be ‘er! She is so petite!”

“Why thank you, Claudette. You know what the say, surprising things come in small packages.”

“I thought the saying was good things come in small packages.”

“That too. Have you guys eaten yet? The buffet’s kinda picked clean.”

Eric waived his right hand. “We’re good. Ate at work before we got here. You’re looking really good, Patty. Really good.”

“Patricia makes her own clothes,” said Terri.

“Mon dieu! So talented!”

Javier started rearranging the chairs. “Let’s all just sit down, take a load off. You guys gotta be tired.”

“Just for a moment or two. Eric and I came to dance!” She gave a little shimmy that would cause any man’s dick to perk right up.

“Go ahead and sit, Claudette. I’ll get us something to drink before we start. Then I can tell everybody how we met.”

I drop into a chair. “Wonderful. Can’t wait to hear it.”

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

They’re out on the floor, dancing so close you couldn’t get a tissue between them, her hands around his waist, thumbs resting on his back pants pockets, his placed on her pert, cute bottom. It’s a slow, romantic song.

Thank God they aren’t serving booze. I’m a nasty drunk.

Terri’s sitting next to me, sharing a bowl of pretzels. “I can hate her, if you want. It won’t be hard. Javier’s been paying more attention than he should. Not like he did to Gretchen but I can forgive him that. I mean, it’s Gretchen! Even I think twice when it’s Gretchen.”

She’s just saying that to cheer me up. It helps. A little.

“No. Javier’s right. It was my fault.”

“He’s smarter than he looks.”

“Well he’d have to be, wouldn’t he?”

“True. Why didn’t you do anything about Eric?”

“I don’t know. It just wasn’t a top priority. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.”

“Until tonight.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, “until tonight.”

We keep watching them dance while we slowly work our way to the bottom of the bowl.

“Terri, you don’t have to stay with me, you know.”

“That’s okay, unless you want to talk to Gretchen instead.”

I glance over at where Gretchen’s sitting. She’s with a bunch of guys and girls, laughing and talking a mile a minute.

“No. She’s enjoying herself, which is why we came in the first place.”

“So tonight is just about her?”

“Mostly.”

“Nothing for little Patty Conner?”

“Apparently not. It’s probably for the best anyway … in the long run, we’re all better off.”

“That’s crap and you know it.”

It suddenly hits me. I can’t watch Eric and Claudette out on the dance floor anymore. If I have to see them for ten more seconds, I’ll freak out. I need to talk to someone who knows me, who understands me.

I need my mother. Right now.

“Look, Terri. I gotta find my mom. Will you stay here and keep any eye on Gretchen for me? I won’t be long, I promise. Everything’s going smoothly anyway.”

“Sure, I’ll relieve you, Captain. Where’s your mom at?”

“I don’t know … but I see Coach Tobey over by the exit near the kitchen. He’ll know where she is.”

I stand up and start to reach for my purse then decide to leave it here.

“You sure you’re cool with this, Terri? I don’t have to …”

She waives her hand dismissively. “Go. Find your mom. Have a good cry. You need it.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Besides, what could possibly go wrong?”

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

I grab the phone.

“Wake up boys! She’s on the move and she’s alone! Looks like she’s headed for an exit, the one by the kitchen … wait, she’s stopped. Damn it! Bitch, if you don’t … she’s talkin’ to this old dude … still talkin’ … FUCK YEAH! They’re going outside! Get over there as fast as you can!”

Time to show what we can do. Time for some fun!

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

“Thanks Coach, I appreciate this a lot.”

“That’s okay, we should be able to find her pretty quick, though she should be way on the other side of the building. It’d be faster if we go through than around.”

“I’d rather do it this way, if it’s all the same to you. I needed to get out of there. The air will do me good.”

“The air I understand, the ground maybe something else.”

“What are you … nuts!” My stiletto heel sinks into the dirt. It rained yesterday and the ground’s still soft. “I see what you mean. We’ll get to pavement soon enough.”

“Here, take my arm, that’ll help.”

He’s right, it is easier. We’re just about to reach the loading dock for the kitchen when I hear someone coming up behind us, fast. I look back over my shoulder in time to catch the glint of a knife. I hop up and push off Coach with both feet, throwing him out of the path of the running man and me towards the concrete around the dock, where I land on both feet but barely keep my balance. Darn shoes!

The man stops between us, squatting in an attack position, a six-inch knife in his right hand.

“Old man! Get over here right now or I cut the girl’s throat! You hear me? NOW!”

“Coach! Run for it! Get help!”

Coach Tobey starts to edge my way, moving slowly, carefully.

“Listen son, we don’t need any trouble here. No one’s gonna do anything stupid. Just take it easy.”

He’s doing exactly what the guy wants, get us together so he can control both of us. The Coach is coming to protect me. Blasted male chauvinism!

“Coach! Stop! I can take this guy! Go for help! Run!”

“Don’t listen to her old man! You keep on coming this way.”

“NO! COACH! RUN!”

He keeps sliding my way as the guy starts to circle away, giving Coach Tobey room to move closer to me.

“Stay calm Patty, let me handle this. No one’s gonna get hurt. What do you want, son? Money? Drugs?”

“I want you to shut up and keep moving, old man.”

The guy’s standing on the grass, no way I can get to him wearing these heels. The concrete around me is littered with broken glass, mostly beer bottles. So much for going bare foot. By now, Coach is only five feet away from me. We’ve got the elevated loading dock behind us and the jerk with the knife in front of us. We still have the advantage, two against one, if Coach would just work with me.

“Listen, Coach. Stop right there! We can take this guy. I know how to deal with knives, trust me, I’ve done it before.”

He keeps moving towards me. “Now Patricia, don’t you do anything crazy. I can’t let you get hurt. I’m the adult here, let me handle it.”

“I thought you said that if there was trouble, you’d want to be behind me.”

“Honey, I was just kidding around. This is serious. Everyone just needs to stay calm.”

It’s too late. He’s standing next to me and we’re pinned against the dock. Wonderful. The guy just stands there, knife in his right hand, looking out towards the street. Maybe he hears something. I strain to listen, cocking my head to one side.

YES! There’s someone running this way. They heard all the commotion. We’re gonna be okay! Coach hears it too. All three of us are watching to see who comes around the corner of the building.

It’s two guys. I don’t recognize either of them, but from the look on the first guy’s face, he does. We are so screwed.

As they sprint toward guy one, each of them pulls their own knife. Now it’s three armed guys against a middle aged Don Quixote and me. Coach steps in front of me.

“There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt here. Let’s all be calm. What do you want?”

Guy one flicks his knife towards me. “We want the bitch.”

“What?”

“We want the girl, old man.”

“What for?”

“What do ya think?”

Coach glances back at me, fear in his eyes but a look of determination on his face. Oh no. He turns back to confront our attackers.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

“You gonna stop us, old dude?”

“You’ll have to go through me to get to her.”

OH GOD NO! The misguided fool is going to get himself killed trying to protect me! I grab his arm.

“Don’t Coach, they’ll kill you. Just let me handle this, please!”

“No way. You’re my responsibility. What would I tell your mother? My boys? My wife?” He gently pushes me back behind him, shielding me. Guy one steps closer, his friends spreading out behind him, left and right, following him.

“That’s the way you want it, we gonna bring it, old man.”

Desperate for a weapon of some kind, I search everywhere. Not a stick, pipe, piece of metal or rock bigger than gravel to be seen. Even the broken glass has been pulverized by truck tires until there’s not a piece big enough to grip in your hand.

As they slowly approach, Coach turns left and right, trying to anticipate who’ll strike first. Just then, I catch a reflection from one of the lights over the dock.

Yes … yes … OH GOD THANK YOU, YES!

I run around in front of Coach and drop to my knees, facing him. I claw at his championship belt, trying to get it out of the belt loops.

“Patty! Stop it! What are you doing? Stop it!”

One of the guys behind me starts laughing. “Looks like the little whore wants some cock. Maybe she gets horny when she scared! I got some for you right here, bitch!” he says in a deep baritone. He’ll pay for that.

I finally manage to loosen the belt, whipping it free from the Coach’s pants as I stand, knocking him off balance. Before he regains control, I hit him with my shoulder, pushing him towards and past our attackers, who are so shocked, they just stand and watch as he stumbles past them, eventually sprawling face first on the ground about ten feet behind them. As he scrambles to his feet, I begin to whirl the belt in a circle above my head, the heavy metal buckle at the end, the sound of it cutting through the air getting louder as the speed rapidly increases.

“COACH! RUN! GET HELP! I’LL HOLD THEM OFF! PLEASE! GET HELP!”

He just stares at me for what seems like minutes then, finally, grabs the waist band of his pants with both hands and sprints toward the building, quickly disappearing into the shadows.

My attackers look back and forth between themselves then turn towards me as I settle into a steady rhythm, the belt singing as it slices the air above me.

“Well boys, it’s just us now … let’s dance.”

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

As soon as I reach a dark spot, I spin and hit the ground, waiting to see if any one followed me. They hadn’t moved, their attention focused on Patricia.

What the FUCK was she thinking! I had things under control … well, not under control, but at least I was going to make it hard on them, maybe buy some time. I may be old but I know a lot of tricks. They may have eventually got me but it would have taken some time, time that Patty doesn’t have now.

I can’t leave her alone! But I can’t go charging back in there without a plan or a weapon of some kind. Unfortunately, there’s nothing around to use. We keep the whole place too fucking clean!

The first guy steps toward her. “What the fuck you think you doing, bitch? Think we be afraid of a belt?”

“Don’t know, don’t really care. Your clock is ticking. My friend’s gone for help. You got two, maybe three minutes before the shit hits the fan. All I have to do is hold you off that long.”

“Fuck this shit! Teak, get her.”

The biggest one of the three eased closer to Patty, darting forward in sharp moves, trying to time the belt as it swung by his head. Patty was moving too, up on her toes, changing the angle of the rotation, making it hard to predict where the buckle was going to be.

“Quit fucking around with the bitch, Teak!” shouted the first guy. The big guy turned his head to say something back. I saw it before he did. Actually, he never saw it at all.

Patty lunged at him, smacking him in the side of the head with the speeding buckle. She didn’t hit him square in the head, that would have stopped the belt, leaving her vulnerable. It just clipped him, but it did it several times, hitting him in a different spot on his head each time as he spun around. He dropped to the ground with a thump and stayed there.

I know a knockout when I see one.

Patty swooped down and scooped up the knife he dropped with her free hand, the belt circling her head the entire time. As soon as she got the knife she skipped back away from the unconscious boy, smiling.

“One down. Who’s next? Tick tock.”

The other two never budged, they didn’t have time. Patty moved as quickly as I’ve ever seen a human being move.

“What the fuck was that?!” the third guy said to the first. “We gotta get out of here! You know what goes down if we get caught. I ain’t waiting around to be arrested for this shit. I ain’t gonna die!”

“Julio, shut up! We got this. All we do is …” he stopped, looked over at Patty and waived his hand at his partner. “Come here.”

The two moved closer, still blocking Patty from leaving. They huddled up but kept a close eye on her. They were arguing with each other but only for a few seconds. When they broke, each one went to nearly opposite sides of Patty. If she’d been wearing regular shoes, she could have run for it and they’d never caught her, but not in those heels. It looked like they were going to try to attack at the same time. Patty figured it out too, picking up the pace on the circling belt.

“Better hurry guys, you haven’t got much time left.”

“Shut your mouth,” the first guy growled.

“OOooowww, big man. Make me, Chuckles. Remember, I’ve got a knife too now.”

“Chicks don’t know shit about knives.”

“We know were a guy keeps his balls and dick. A few pokes in that area can do a lot of damage.”

Even I cringed when she said that. The guys went back to trying to time the belt but they were squatting lower, like they planned to go under the belt. With Patty being so short, that was going to be a neat trick.

“When we get you, bitch, I’m gonna fuck ya blind, ya got that? Blind!”

“I hear you. Tick tock, Chuckles.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna be mine. You’ll like it too. Ya’ll gonna beg for more. I’m gonna GO!”

Both of them dove low and tried to scuttle towards Patty as fast as they could but she was ahead of ‘em. She jumped back away from the first guy, angling the belt down, aiming for his head. He stopped and backed off. Problem with that is it left an opening for the other guy, who charged forward. Patty spun away but, as she did, she slid her left hand up the belt as she pulled it down with her right, stopping the spinning, then she immediately snapped it down, whipping it around the guy’s neck. She pulled him forward, keeping him off balance and stumbling. He couldn’t stand up but tried to hustle forward, all bent over, to get some room to get upright but Patty wouldn’t let him. She pulled him along, swung him around her … head first into the concrete wall with a loud, hollow “thonk”.

He ran into that wall so hard … it may have killed him.

And Patty’s now holding two knives. She quickly takes up a defensive position in front of the first guy.

“Two down, Chuckles. You don’t have much time left or many options. These two … they’re mine. Someone put you up to this and I want to know who. They’re gonna tell me. You think they won’t dime you? They will once I’m done with ‘em.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Me? Just a little Catholic schoolgirl, nobody special.”

“Fuck that shit!”

“Whatever. You can run, but I got a feeling whoever hired you won’t be happy about that and you won’t last very long out there. You could try to kill me, but you’ve got about forty five seconds before a pot load of people come rushing out here to save me.”

“SAVE YOU?!”

“That’s what they’ll be thinking. Only you and I know different. Even if you do manage to kill me, which you won’t, by the way, you can’t get your two friends out of here in time to avoid being caught.”

“What you saying, bitch?”

“I’m saying that your only chance to get out of this alive is to tell me who sent you. You tell me that and I’ll go head off the rescue mob, give you a chance to get your buddies safely away. No one will ever know this happened. What do ya say?”

“I say … THIS!”

He charged her, wildly swinging his knife in front of him. She easily avoided the attack, lightly floating away, staying ahead, but he was backing her into the corner of the loading dock and wall.

Time for me to move.

Pushing up off the ground and grabbing my pants, I start to run just as Patty’s back reaches the corner. He swipes left and right at her but she dodges each swing. When he tries to slash her from above, she deflects the blow with her forearm and spins out of the corner, driving her spiked heel into his kidney.

He’s tougher than I thought. He didn’t scream. He did stop fighting and doubled over, clutching his side.

Patty grabbed his left hand by the wrist, pushed it up against the wooden edge of the loading dock and drove a knife through the palm of his hand all the way to the handle, pinning him to the dock.

Now he screamed.

She backed away as he returned to swinging the knife at her, tears rolling down his cheeks while he cursed. After a few futile swipes, he threw the knife at her but it hit the ground before reaching her. He turned to try to pull her knife out of the loading dock but the pain was too great and he had lousy leverage.

“Sorry Chuckles. See ya’ in hell.”

She turns and starts to walk away.

“Wait! … wait … I’ll talk … I’ll talk.”

She looks at him over her shoulder. “That was a limited time offer. You’re screwed now.”

“Come on! They’ll kill us!”

“Not my problem.”

“PLEASE!”

She slowly turned back towards him and strode within five feet of the bawling thug.

“Who’s the bitch now?”

“What?”

“Who’s. The. Bitch. Now.”

“I don’t understand.”

She spins on her heel. “Wrong answer.”

“I AM!”

She rushes towards him, gettting in his face. “Say it.”

“I’m the bitch.”

“Remember that. Who sent you?”

“Get me off this thing first.”

“Yeah, right. Who sent you?”

“How do I know …”

“You don’t. Who sent you?”

The thug hesitated then gave up, slumping against the concrete behind him.

“Hobbes, Raymond Hobbes.”

Patty was shocked. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it was Hobbes.”

“How do you know it was Hobbes? He do it in person?”

“No, he sent somebody. The guy’s name was Escaban.”

“Escaban?”

“Yeah. We weren’t supposed to know it but Raphael let it slip.”

“Did Escaban say Hobbes wanted this done? Think carefully.”

“He said some other dude was told by Hobbes to get it done. Cardoza.”

“Enrique Cardoza?”

“He just said Cardoza, I swear!”

Patty stalked away, right past me, her heels sinking into the ground.

“Let him down, Coach.”

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

What went wrong?

How did Hobbes finger me? Or did he? This isn’t his style. There’s no way he’d have a group of punks like those guys deal with an undercover cop. Not with just knives. They thought they were after a teenage girl.

Hobbes would have no reason to have me killed if he didn’t know what I am. He loves me. Well, not actual love but he likes me. I saved his business! I’m helping him with Gretchen! If he didn’t know I had betrayed him, there’d be no reason for him to hurt me and if he did know I’d betrayed him, then he’d have done a lot more to punish me. Besides, after that display at his house today, I’d like to think that my radar is sensitive enough that I’d have noticed that something was up.

Hobbes didn’t have anything to do with this. I’d bet my life on it.

If it wasn’t Hobbes, then who was it? The obvious choice is Cardoza. Escaban is his messenger boy. It’d be just like him to use Escaban to arrange this, but again … why? If he’d discovered what I am, he’d go straight to Hobbes and I’ve already been through that scenario.

If he didn’t go to Hobbes … he’s doing this on his own, not using Hobbes’ resources. He’d only do that if he doesn’t want Hobbes to know! What does he get out of my death? Why now? I need to think about this.

Sitting on the smoker’s bench outside the kitchen door, head down, I can hear Coach Tobey shuffling through the grass, heading my way. I slide over just as he arrives and he plops down next to me. Neither of us says anything right away.

“They gone?” I ask.

“Yeah, I got the one guy’s hand wrapped in a towel just as the first guy you knocked out came to. They both carried the third guy away. He’s alive but may have a fractured skull, hit that wall pretty hard.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“Amen. Why’d you let them go?”

“Found out what I needed to know. Calling the police just complicates things.”

“So … you know what all this was about?”

“Maybe.”

“I see … sorry I wasn’t able to help … just couldn’t leave you alone out there.”

“That’s okay, Coach. As long as they thought you went for help, it forced their hand. That helped a lot. I was more interested in getting you out of the way. They’d have killed you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah … I do. They’d have had to work for it though.”

“I bet they would have. I appreciate the thought … I really do, but I couldn’t have that on my conscience … too much bad stuff up there already.”

We sit silently for a few moments.

“Patricia … you mind if I ask you a question?”

“No Coach, go ahead.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“‘Scuse your French?”

“Not this time. I don’t care what you look like; no seventeen year old girl beats three gang bangers armed with knives using only a God damn belt!”

“Yeah … but it was a championship belt.”

“Be serious girl! I want to know who, or what you are.”

“What if I can’t tell you?”

“Then you can’t be coming around here anymore. We can’t have this kind of trouble anywhere near the Y. We struggle to keep this place an island of peace and hope in a sea of despair. Trouble makers aren’t welcome.”

“TROUBLE MAKER?! I was defending myself out there! They attacked me, remember?”

“I was there … I saw it. I saw the fucking impossible. You could have beat those boys senseless. Dressed like an angel wearing spiked heels and using my old belt. You could have killed them. You MAY have killed one of them.”

“It was harder than it looked, Coach.”

“No doubt. If they had been smarter, or more experienced, or had the vaguest idea of who or what they were dealing with, they could have given you some trouble. But, somehow, I think you’d have come out on top, no matter what. They came looking specifically for you, Patricia. For YOU. This was no accident. Even if you didn’t start trouble, you attracted it. Until you can either explain it or convince me it won’t happen again, the Y can’t afford to take the chance.”

“Just like that? You’re tossing me out?”

“Girl, you think this is easy for me?! You saved my life, for Christ’s sake! You’re one of the nicest, most talented, most … I don’t know what you are, I only know you aren’t who or what you say you are, you can’t be.”

“You’re saying a girl can’t be as good as I am?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me, as God is your witness, you’re just a seventeen year old girl who goes to Catholic school and likes to play basketball, do martial arts and sew fashionable dresses in her spare time. You tell me that.”

In the old days, I’d have tried. I’d have sucked it up, put on my best smile and laid it on thick. Tonight, right now, I just couldn’t, not to Coach Tobey. He would have died trying to protect me. Besides, there’s bigger battles to fight before today is done. I stand up.

“Do I have to leave now?”

He seems surprised. “No … no … not now. You can finish the night. Do you still need to see your mother? Wait … is she really your mother?”

“Coach, if I’m not telling you about me, do you think I’m gonna answer that question?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Before we go find her, I want to say two things. First, what happened tonight has to stay between you and I. No one else can ever know. Ever. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Maybe both.”

“Okay, deal. What’s second?”

“One day, if I can, I’m coming back here and tell you what you want to know.”

“Patricia … I hope to God damn heaven you do. ‘Scuse my French.”

CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

“So … we’re done.”

“Not necessarily, Mom.”

“Someone just tried to kill you, Patricia. I’d say we’re done.”

“The questions are, who tried to kill me and why. Until I know that, I’m not pulling out.”

“How do you plan on finding out without dying?”

“Because, I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t Hobbes, it was Cardoza, and he’s doing it on his own.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Very sure … almost positive.”

“Big jump there. What’s the new evidence?”

“Nothing … I just don’t want you backing out on me, not now.”

“Again, what’s your plan?”

“When we take Gretchen home tonight, it should be fairly easy to tell if Hobbes is surprised to see me. If he reacts normally, then it wasn’t him.”

“Unless he’s a scheming, unapologetic, sociopath.”

“He’s not. I’ve met a few in my prior jobs. They’re more like Cardoza.”

“Assuming you’re right, it’s not Hobbes, what can you do about it? You’ve got no proof of anything. If Cardoza tried to have you killed, why would he stop now? We have to face facts, Patricia … this changes everything. We are out of time.”

When Coach Tobey and Patricia found me, it was clear they were upset. Coach was not his usual jolly self. She gave me a very brief description of what happened with Coach adding the details she omitted before he hurried back to the dance. What little they told me was terrifying. And now she’s considering doing nothing, acting like it never happened. Slumped against a wall, hugging her bare arms tightly to her body due to the chilly night, she seems so frail and fragile.

At one time, I would have risked anything, everything, to get Raymond Hobbes. But not now … not her.

“We’re so close, Mom! You’re right but … it’s almost done! Or nearly done.”

“What exactly is so close? Getting the information Lipsomb needs or your plan to transform Raymond Hobbes?”

She doesn’t want to answer. Eventually, she sighs.

“I can get to the servers by the end of next week. It’s all in place. Tippett’s going to Las Vegas Thursday to spend a long weekend at a big conference for hackers and security specialists. It’s like Woodstock for those guys. Once he’s out of town, my window of opportunity opens.”

“And the other?”

She sighs again. “Not yet. I’m getting closer but I need more time. This is more important than those computer files. It’s Gretchen’s chance for a future.”

“Everyone has a future, honey.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did. “I understand. You tried. You tried harder than anybody could have expected. Harder than I’ve ever seen anyone try before. Harder than Hobbes deserved. Sometimes … you don’t win.”

“I’ve lost before … but this time … the price she’s gonna pay.”

“Maybe we can help her.”

“Maybe. It’s gonna be bad, Mom.”

“I know, honey. Look, if you promise me that you’ll wrap this up as soon as reasonably possible, I’ll go back to Hobbes with you tonight, give you a chance to find out what you can.”

“Really? You certain about that?”

“You said you were almost positive it wasn’t Hobbes.”

“More like pretty sure.”

“Terrific. What I’m saying is I trust your judgment. We go back tonight and you decide if it’s safe enough to hang around another week. If you want to give it a try, I’m in. If you don’t, we go back to Daniel and tell him we’re done. Fair enough?”

“More than fair.”

“Coach said you two were already on the way to find me before you were attacked. Why was that?”

“It was nothing, certainly in comparison to all this.”

“Had to be something, enough to chase me down and leave Gretchen alone.”

“Terri’s watching her for me.”

“You don’t delegate well. What was it? Come on, tell Mom all about it.”

“I was upset about something.”

I don’t say anything, just stare at here, eyebrows raised. “Really minor stuff.”

I don’t budge.

“This guy, my friend Eric … Spikeman, you met him.”

“I remember.”

“Well, Eric showed up late … with a date.”

“And that upset you?”

“Nobody told me about it before he came waltzing in with this exotic beauty on his arm. Javier and Cruz knew about it and they said nothing. NOTHING! I was completely blindsided! Standing up on my chair, waiving my hands like an idiot! He rolls in with Miss Oh so Cultured. You think either of them would have mentioned something but noooooo, they just left me hanging out there!”

“So you were upset because your friends kept information about another friend secret?”

“Yeah, that was it, absolutely.”

“… and you felt betrayed …”

“Exactly.”

“… by your friends … and Eric.”

“See? It was nothing … particularly when you compare it to almost being killed. Right?”

“Oh I understand. Completely. Why’d you have to see me about it?”

“I just couldn’t take it anymore, those two, dancing like that.”

“Cruz and Javier?”

“NO! Eric and Claudette!”

“Claudette? Is that her name?”

“Yeah, Claudette DesCartes. Some name, huh? What ever happened to Betty or Sally or … or …”

“Patty.”

“Yes! Exactly! I knew you’d understand. I have to get back to the dance, been gone too long. God knows what they’ve been doing. We’ll stay in the gym until you’re done and then we’ll take Gretchen home and see what we’ll see.”

“How’s Gretchen doing?”

“Okay, I think. She’s enjoying herself, dancing, having fun. When I left, she was sitting with the AAU basketball team and their girlfriends.”

“Was that wise?”

“Terri’s got her eye on them and she’s more than trustworthy. Besides, Gary was warned about what would happen if he crossed any lines. He seems to be a good kid.”

“And you’re okay with Gretchen seeing this boy and his friends?”

“Why not? It’s the only reason I’m here tonight. Gotta go. See you later … and Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. I appreciate all your help.”

“Your welcome, sweetie. One last thing, what’s your setting?”

“Blue twenty five. Why?”

“No reason, just curious. I’ll see you and Gretchen in the gym.”

“Right. Later.”

She turned and hurried away, heels clicking as she strode down the sidewalk, hips swaying, tight bottom undulating, hair bouncing.

Poor girl. She has no idea how far gone she is, not consciously anyway.

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

“Took you long enough! It’s almost midnight!”

“Sorry, Terri. Took longer than I thought to find her then she asked me all these questions. You know how parents are.”

“God, do I know. Gretchen’s out dancing with Gary, nothin’ funny has happened since you left. I’m grabbing Javier and getting out there before midnight.”

“What happens at midnight?”

“They drop all those balloons and everyone kisses their boyfriend … sorry, I forgot about … you know.”

“No problem.”

“Patty, are you okay? You look real … serious or somethin’.”

“I’m fine, you go find Javier, give him something to remember the night by.”

Terri laughed and winked at me, then hustled off, leaving me alone at the team’s table. Most of them were on the dance floor, even those without dates. I think I’d heard that some of the balloons had gift certificate attached so it was also a prize drop. Hope they have enough people to prevent fights. No wonder Coach had to get back here when he did.

It’s pretty easy to find Gretchen and Gary, they stand about half a head taller than most everyone else out there. She really does seem to be enjoying herself. I’m glad. Maybe these happy memories will help her get through the crap that’s coming. Can’t see Eric and Claudette. Thank God.

Damn you Cardoza! Why now?

“Hey Pee.”

Cruz pulls out the chair next to me and sits down.

“Hey Cruz.”

“We cool?”

“Sure, we’re cool.”

“Good. We just didn’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

“And you didn’t want to get beat up.”

“That too. You wanna dance?”

“No thanks. You might be expecting something at midnight.”

“You bet I would. Girls say I’m a damn good kisser.”

“And yet, you’re sitting here with me.”

“My problem is, I can’t settle on one girl.”

“Maybe your problem is you haven’t found the right girl.”

“Not me. I’m a player.”

Just then, the crowd started counting down from ten to one. When they hit one, the band started to play a rock version of “Auld Lang Syne” as couples hugged, kissed and swayed to the music. It took the balloons a few seconds to reach the dancers but, when they did, kids started hitting them all over the gym, laughing and jumping. Gretchen was really getting into it until Gary slowly spun her around and kissed her. Gretchen threw her arms over his shoulders and responded … with vigor. I was a fraction of a second from doing something when they broke the kiss and waived at me.

It was a show for me … or was that just the excuse? Either way, things were fine for now. I look over at Cruz. He’s leaning forward, elbows and forearms on the table, fingers interlocked. I tip my chair his direction and kiss his cheek.

“Happy New Year, Cruz.”

He turns his head and smiles at me. “Happy New Year, Patricia.”

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

I let Gretchen ride shotgun, long legs ya know. She hadn’t said much since we left the Y, though she and Gary lingered awhile by the front door when it was time to go. He stayed until the very end, told his friends he’d catch up to them later. There wasn’t any later for Gretchen. Hobbes expected her home as soon as Mom finished her shift and we weren’t going to give him any reason to be upset, not with what I had to do when we got there. It took Mom to start things off.

“So, did you girls have a good time?”

“Just the best ever. Patty, the next dance is in February, Valentine theme, naturally. We have GOT to go!”

“Think your dad will let you?” I ask.

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll sneak out if I have to.”

“I’m sure your father will be reasonable, Gretchen,” said Mom. “What was so much fun?”

“What wasn’t? The food, the dancing, the people, the music, everything.”

“You met some new friends?”

“Lots. Gary and all his teammates. And others. You know, Patty, sitting with all those tall guys, I didn’t feel so … visible, ya know? I didn’t stand out so much.”

Oh, you stood out alright. “No one gave you any trouble then?”

“After your little speech … not a chance.”

“What’d you guys talk about?”

“At first, mainly you.”

“ME?!”

“Yep. They all had heard about you. Everyone … and I mean everyone, had seen the video of the St. Agnes game but I was the only one who had actually been there. I did nothing but answer questions the first hour or so. You really are famous around there.”

“But still modest.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I hope you got to talk about things other than Patricia,” said Mom as I coughed several times. “Interesting as she may be.”

“Thank you.”

“Modest, my butt. We talked about all sorts of stuff. School, music, things to do around Miami. Patty! There is so much stuff we can do. Gary said he could show us all kinds of fun things, though they all want to try the paintball thing we did, particularly that dive you did off the second floor of the barn. They just didn’t believe that one.”

“Over my dead body,” said Mom. “Were the other girls friendly?”

“Not so much at first. They didn’t know me but they came around, at least most of them did.”

“I’m glad it all went so well for both of you.”

“It really did but Patty was gone for awhile. You barely got back in time for midnight. Where’d you go?”

“I remembered something I had to talk with Mom about. She’s going to be out of town next weekend and school starts that next Monday.”

“You’re gone the whole weekend, Ms. Conner?”

“Yes, dear.”

“That’s great! Patty can stay at my house all weekend!”

“I don’t know about that, Gretchen. With school starting the next day …”

“We’ll behave, I promise! No late nights or anything like that, right, Patty?”

“If you say so.”

“We would have to check with your father first, Dear.”

“He won’t have any problem, trust me. Everybody loves Patty at home.”

Almost everybody. The gates to the Hobbes mansion appear in our headlights. Time for some answers.

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

No surprises at the main gate. Normal number of guards visible on the way up the drive to the house, all familiar faces. A couple of them actually waived at us. It’s a trite phrase but applies, everything is normal … too normal.

By the time we reach the main entrance, Hobbes is waiting just inside the door, casually dressed, a wide, happy smile on his face. When our car stops, Gretchen is quickly out the door and up the steps, hugging her father.

He laughs loudly. “My! My! I hope this is a good sign.”

“Thank you, Father! Thank you. I had so much fun tonight! It’s the best thing I’ve ever done!”

Mom and I trail behind her, taking the steps a little more slowly. Mom is poking along, intently scanning for trouble. I take her arm and speed her up.

“If they’re out there, waiting for us, we don’t have a chance anyway,” I whisper. “Just smile and follow my lead.”

We stop a few feet in front of Hobbes and Gretchen, waiting. They turn towards us, arms wrapped around each other’s waists.

“Ladies! I assume that I have you both to thank for my daughter’s evening.” He bows slightly. “My thanks. You have accomplished what I could not.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Hobbes,” I said.

“It wasn’t you’re fault … Raymond. These things take a woman’s touch,” added Mom. Calling Hobbes by his first name, that must have just about killed her. It helps though. Hobbes relaxes just a bit more.

“Very true, Jessica. That is something that has been lacking in both our lives for some time. Please, would you and Patricia care to come in for a little New Year’s toast?”

She glances over at me. “I don’t know, Raymond. It is rather late and …”

“Just one … for the holiday.”

I nod my head ever so slightly. She gives a ragged sigh.

“I suppose one won’t do any harm.”

Hobbes releases Gretchen and steps aside, bowing and extending his left arm towards the open door. As we walk into the main hall, it is still fully decorated for Christmas. There is a large fireplace off to the side, with four chairs around a small fire, a silver bucket on a pedestal holding an unopened bottle of champagne on ice.

Hobbes was waiting for us. He was expecting all three of us to come back, intact and unhurt.

“Everyone, have a seat. This won’t take a moment.”

Mom is clearly uncomfortable. I don’t know if she understands the significance of this display. Her feelings for Hobbes may be overwhelming everything else. Hobbes quickly removes the wrapper from the neck of the bottle and gently works the cork free, deftly catching it in his hand instead of sending it flying across the room.

Say what you will about Hobbes, he has style and class. A very smooth operator when he turns on the charm, which he’s got set on about eight of ten right now. He takes a crystal champagne flute, fills it two thirds full and hands it to Mom. He does the same with a second flute and holds it out to me.

“Now, Raymond, Patricia is only seventeen, I don’t think …”

“Tut tut, Jessica. The girls are practically adults. As lovely as they look tonight, no one would mistake them for children. It is perfectly legal for a seventeen year old to drink at home with the permission of an adult.”

“But Patricia and I are not at home.”

“A minor technicality.”

He offers the glass again and I take it. He pours a third one for Gretchen and finally one for himself. He raises it towards all of us.

“To 2012, may all our wishes and desires come true in this new year!”

“Yes!”

“Agreed.”

“Amen.”

I slowly sip mine, savoring the flavor, inhaling the bubbles. I’ve never been much of a champagne drinker, having the occasional bottle or two after the completion of a particularly tough assignment, but I haven’t had alcohol since this job started … has it been seven months already? This mind transfer thing is better than AA.

Mom empties her glass, Hobbes quickly picks up the bottle.

“Would you care for another?”

“It was very good but I’m afraid not. We need to be going and the police are everywhere tonight. We saw three stops on the way over here, didn’t we girls?”

“She’s right, Mr. Hobbes, they’re out in force.”

“You could stay the night … both of you. We have many bedrooms. We could finish this bottle … and perhaps another.”

He’s turned it up to nine of ten. Too bad it’s a waste of his time.

“I’m sorry Raymond, it’s just not possible. We must be going.”

He takes it well, knowing not to push. “A shame, perhaps some other …” There’s a loud creak as a door moves, echoing through the hall. We all look left to see Cardoza standing behind a partially open door.

“Enrique! Come in! What are you doing up at this hour?”

I think Hobbes sees a chance to extend this encounter by adding a new party. He’s right.

“I had heard that everyone had returned from the dance and I was just checking to see if all was well.”

“There were no problems, Mr. Cardoza,” said Mom. “I was chaperoning and would have been told.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing beyond the usual minor things.”

“Are you certain?”

“Not after Patty laid down the law,” said Gretchen.

“She did what?” asked Hobbes.

“Patty told everyone that they were to be nice to me and not cause any trouble or that she’d be upset. They all know her there, she’s famous. They all respect her, even the adults. Just like at school; students, teachers, nuns, everyone. Respect.”

Hobbes nods his head in agreement. Respect is something he understands, something he can relate to.

“That is how it should be. She is worthy of their respect. Enrique, have a drink. No use in letting this go to waste, eh?”

“No thank you, Raymond, it is rather late for me.”

“Oh Father! Ms. Conner will be out of town next weekend, can Patty stay here with me?”

“Certainly. That is very fortuitous. I have been wanting to speak with Patricia about a business opportunity.”

“What kind of business opportunity?” Mom demands, her hackles raised.

“Completely and totally legitimate, Jessica, I assure you. Nothing will happen without your consent. Remember that surveillance camera Patricia built?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Mr. Tippett, my IT man, saw it and thought it had market potential. He’s in Las Vegas next week at a conference and I have told him to, quietly, see if there is any interest in the device. If there is, I would like to reach an agreement with you and Patricia concerning manufacture and sales.”

Cardoza looks ticked. “Raymond, why have we not discussed this?”

“Enrique, it has nothing to do with our business, it is completely separate! I would like to try my hand at … other kinds of business.” He glances towards Mom. “One never knows what the future holds. I am still a young man, after all. What is forty, fifty? You still have half your life ahead of you. Best to make it full of challenges and excitement, don’t you agree, Jessica?”

Nine point five of ten.

“Very much so, Raymond, but I have had my fill of challenges and excitement for tonight. Patricia is capable of being left alone for the weekend. I certainly trust her, but I will feel better knowing she is with adults if there are problems. I appreciate your offer to let her stay here.”

“She is always welcome, as are you.”

“Thank you. We better be going before I fall asleep. It is rather late for me also, Mr. Cardoza.”

He gives Mom a forced smile. We make our goodbyes, grab our coats, walk through the foyer, out the door and get in the car.

Gretchen hugs me through the open window and waives wildly as we drive off.

We don’t say anything until well clear of the gate.

“You were right, Patricia. I can’t do this while hating him. If I strictly think of Hobbes as Gretchen’s father, I can deal with him. He’s not a bad father … he’s actually competent. And he does love her. And he wasn’t behind tonight’s attack on you.”

Mom’s sharp. “What convinced you?”

“The champagne. He was expecting you, truly glad to see you.”

“Us. He was expecting us. But you’re right, that was a dead giveaway. The other was Cardoza showing up full of innocent, concerned questions. He hasn’t tumbled to me but he wants me out of there for some reason. If we had more time, I might be able to find out what it is, but it’s too late for that. We have to move now. God! What this is going to do to Gretchen.”

She reaches over and gently rubs my arm. “I know, honey. I know. She doesn’t deserve it. I promise we’ll do what we can but our first job is to get that information. Everything else is secondary.”

Tears trickle down my cheeks. “It’s not fair. I was so darn close.”

“I know. You’ve done more than anyone else has, a remarkable job. I couldn’t be prouder, you know that, right?”

“Thanks … but it hasn’t been good enough. I’m just creating more pain and misery.”

And more nightmares.

CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

I’m almost completely on my own. Usually, there’s a whole crew of cops watching over me when the big move goes down. Not this time. This time, it’s just me and Mom. And she’ll be parked three blocks away if I have to make a break for it. Like I could get out of this compound alive.

The whole weekend has been tough. Everybody has treated me like family, including Hobbes. They have no idea what I’m about to do and that everything is going to come tumbling down. Every friendly face I see is about to be betrayed. It’s really hard to keep playing the role when you’re constantly thinking about the future disruption of all their lives. No matter how many times I tell myself it’s just a job I can’t shake this feeling of guilt. It’s worse than it ever was when I was on the force. I don’t know if that’s because of Gretchen or my feminine side but it’s certainly true.

I pulled the trigger Friday afternoon before coming here. The fireworks start Sunday morning at 3:13 a.m. This better work.

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

There’s some kind of alarm going off! I flail at my alarm clock, eventually hitting the snooze button, but it doesn’t stop. It takes a few seconds for me to realize I’ve never heard this alarm before. We’ve had fire drills, safety drills, hurricane drills and security drills before but this is new. I turn on the table lamp by my bed.

“What is THAT?” asks Patty. She sounds groggy. The left side of her face is all scrunched up, resting on her pillow while her right hand shields her only open eye from the light. She yawns wide, then wipes her face back and forth with her right hand, getting both eyes open and eventually sitting up next to me.

She’s doing better than I am, though barely. The best I can manage is propping myself up on my elbows.

“I don’t know … I’ve never heard it before today … or if I did, I’ve forgotten. God! That’s loud!”

“It’s hard to miss. Should we tell someone?”

“If they aren’t awake by now, they’re dead.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s probably best if we stay here.”

“Okay.”

We sit on the bed, looking at each other, around my room, then back to each other. After about two minutes, I’ve had enough.

“This is stupid! All I hear is the God damn alarm. No people running around, no sirens. I’m gonna find Father and find out what this is all about.”

I roll out of bed, shuffle to my closet and grab my robe.

“Wait up, I’ll go with you.”

Patty hops out of our bed and scurries to my closet. She keeps a few things in there, for emergencies and stuff, including a fluffy pink cotton robe that actually fits. As I reach for the doorknob, I’m startled by a knock on the door.

“Yes? Who is it?”

“It’s Gomez, Miss Hobbes.”

“What the hell is that alarm for?”

“It’s the big computer in the basement, something’s gone wrong. They sent me up here.”

“What for?”

“To get Patty.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, just following orders. Are you guys decent?”

“That’s a loaded question if ever I heard one. Tell him to come in and find out,” said Patty.

That sounds fun. “Why don’t you come on in and …”

Patty hits me with a pillow. “I was joking!” She pulls the cord around her waist extra tight.

“Lay on, McDuff,” she says

“Huh?”

“I’ll explain later. Let’s go.”

I open the door. Gomez reaches through and grabs Patty’s arm. “I was told to hurry.”

“If she’s going, I’m going.”

“Your father didn’t say anything about you, Miss Hobbes.”

“Did he say I couldn’t?”

“No, but …”

“Then we better hurry. Lay on, McDuff.”

“What?”

I point to Patty. “She’ll explain later. Let’s go.”

We all hurry down the hallway, the stairs to the main floor and then the set to the basement, the alarm getting louder the closer we get to the computer. It’s practically deafening when we finally get there.

Both father and Enrique are waiting, along with Escaban and Jackson. All of them are casually dressed, actually more like barely dressed. Shirt, pants and shoes, no socks.

“WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE?” father shouts over the alarm.

“I GO WHERE PATTY GOES,” I answer.

“HAS ANYONE TRIED TO TURN OFF THIS ALARM?” asks Patty.

“OF COURSE, WE AREN’T IDIOTS,” replies Enrique. “THERE ARE NO EXPOSED WIRES, NO SWITHCHES WE CAN FIND.”

Patty walks over to Tippett’s work table and picks up a long screwdriver. “MAY I?”

“PLEASE,” said father.

She walks out of the room, stands up on her tiptoes in front of the speaker and drives the screwdriver through the metal grill, wriggling it around. The sound drops down to a mild buzzing.

“Very practical, Patricia. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. What do you need from me?”

“Obviously, something has gone wrong with this infernal machine. Tippett isn’t here and, apparently, can’t connect with it from where he is, though he assured me he could do so from anywhere in the world. We have managed to contact him by phone and he is ready to give us instructions as to what to do.”

“So, what’s the problem with that?”

“None of us has any idea what he’s saying.”

“None of you?”

“That’s why I hired him. He asked who else was available and when I mentioned your name, he said that you were the best choice.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Hobbes. I really don’t want to know anything about your business. If I start messing with your servers, I might see something you wouldn’t want me to see.”

“Even the girl knows this is a mistake, Raymond,” said Enrique.

“What choice do I have, Enrique? Can you understand what Tippett wants done?”

“No, but we can get an expert here in less than an hour. Let him deal with it.”

“I’d rather you do that, Mr. Hobbes, I really would.”

“And what if the damage is done by then? No one can tell me what tripped the alarm. It may be too late already. I have everything on those machines! I need to know, NOW!”

“Alright … I’ll try. Where’s the phone?”

“I’m still calling someone else in.”

“You do that, Enrique. I have Tippett on speaker phone over here.”

The speaker box is sitting on a table next to a keyboard, mouse and monitor. The speaker squeaks. “Hey … kid.”

“Hello, Mr. Tippett.”

“Call me Zeke, kid.”

“What’s first, Zeke?”

“This shouldn’t be too difficult. All we need to do is shut everything down in a controlled way. Call up the GUI and click on the ‘Emergency Procedures’ icon in the lower right corner.”

“There’s no GUI, there’s no display at all.”

“Is it on?”

“Yes, the power light’s on … all connections good … circuit breaker good.”

“There’s a second monitor, try station two on the other side of the room.”

Patty scooted to the other set of equipment. She pushed buttons and jiggled cables then came back to the first station.

“No luck, same story.”

“What the hell is going on? Start basic, hit escape.”

She pushes the button. “Sorry, nothing.”

“Could there be a mechanical breakdown of some kind?” Father inquired.

“Not likely, Mr. Hobbes. Each station’s run by a separate CPU, separate video cards. Why would both of them stop at the same time?”

“I don’t know, Tippett, you’re the expert. And if you don’t get me some answers, right now, the best possible ending will be that you are an unemployed expert. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I know Tippett’s a sleaze but father wouldn’t fire him if he didn’t do anything wrong, would he?

The speaker’s silent for several seconds. “Yes, Sir.”

“Look,” I say, “why don’t you just unplug it?”

“You hear that sound?” said Patty. “That’s the sound of some heavy duty reading and writing going on. Even if we could pull the plug, it’d probably corrupt some data. Doesn’t matter though because the power system is heavily backed up.”

“She’s right,” said Tippett.

“How does she know that?” demanded Enrique.

The speaker’s silent again, then answers the question.

“I told her.”

“It’s not exactly a state secret. It’s SOP for any decent IT guy,” said Patty.

“SOP?”

“Standard. Operating. Procedure.”

“Then unplug it from that,” I suggest.

“Only with a pair of wire cutters,” said Tippett, “and if you get the wrong one, you get electrocuted.”

“We need to see what the servers are doing. Can I network my computer into the system?” asked Patty. “You use Unix and I use Linux.”

“With what?”

“Ethernet, USB, maybe parallel port.”

“It could work. Parallel port is pretty old school.”

“I’d need cables.”

“There’s a box of cables under the bench.”

Patty turns to father. “I need my computer. It’s in a black case next to the bed.”

Father points at Gomez. He runs off. Patty pulls several boxes from under the workbench, finally finding the one with the cables. By the time Gomez is back, she has several stretched out across the table. Gomez hands her the case. She quickly unzips it, places the computer next to one of the servers and starts to connect cables while Father paces back and forth. After double-checking everything, she switches her computer on. It’s always a little slow to boot up and it feels twice as long this time, but, eventually, her opening screen shows up. She types some stuff, switches cables, then types again. I don’t see any change.

“Sorry Mr. Tippett. No luck.”

“Dammit! Alright, kill the power. It may take six hours for it to shut down but it eventually will. I’ll catch the first plane I can to get back there.”

“Enrique, get Jacob here as quickly as possible. I’ll send the helicopter.”

“To Las Vegas? Raymond, the range of the helicopter …”

“What about a serial port?” asked Patty.

“Serial port? That’s not old school, that’s prehistoric.”

“You have a cable?”

“Maybe. It’d be in that same box.”

She dove back into the box, digging deep, pulling several out before she found the one she was looking for. She went back to swapping cables and rebooted her computer.

While she was doing that, Enrique left to turn off the power to the room. There was a brief flicker of the lights. By the time he got back, Patty was typing again. She stopped and leaned back, waiting … waiting … she slapped her hands together.

“I’m in!”

Father rushed next to her, looking at the screen over her shoulder.

“What is happening?”

“I’m not sure … it looks like it’s opening and decrypting files … see, there’s a list … and then saving the decrypted files to … right there, a separate cache. See, how that number keeps changing? That’s how much data’s in the cache.”

“How big’s the cache?” asked Tippett.

When Patty told him, there was that pause again.

“Mr. Hobbes? That’s nearly the entire size of your data base.”

“Why would this be happening?!”

“I have no idea and I won’t until I get back there and do a complete analysis. As long as that’s the only thing that’s going on then …”

“Uh-oh,” gasped Patty.

“What now?”

“It’s opening a port.”

“Awww CRAP!”

“What does all this mean?!” demanded Father.

The speaker goes silent again.

“It means,” said Patty, “that it’s getting ready to send your decrypted data somewhere.”

“WHAT? WHERE? WHEN?”

“I don’t know where but pretty soon.”

“STOP IT!”

“I can’t! All I can do is see what the server’s doing. I haven’t been able to change anything!”

“Tippett! This must be stopped now! I can’t permit my information to become public! Think of something!”

“There’s nothing I can do! The system’s shut me out! We’ve already cut off the power.”

“THAT’S IT!” screamed Patty. She hurried around to the back of the servers and unplugged several cables. She came back, the cables wrapped around her hand. “See, the server couldn’t keep the port open.”

“What stopped it?” asked Enrique.

“I disconnected the phone cable. No connection, no internet, no way to send the files. You don’t have wireless set up so the servers are isolated.”

Father smiled. “How did you think of that?”

“When Zeke said the power was cut, it reminded me that the server had to be connected to the telecommunications network and there was no backup to that.”

“So that’s it, you fixed it?”

“No sir, Mr. Hobbes. You see here,” she points to her screen, “the server failed to send the data packet so it’s starting all over; decrypting, copying and saving. When it fails again to send, it’ll repeat the cycle. You’ll end up with lots of copies of the decrypted files on your hard drives. You’ve still got a problem with your servers. It was a cheap and dirty fix of the big problem. You’ve still got to figure out who infected your system.”

“So … someone did this to me.”

“Probably. Why else would it try to send decrypted files somewhere? That’s for Mr. Tippett or other people to figure out. Right now, I’d like to get back to bed. Oh, you owe me a new computer.”

“What is wrong with yours?”

“It’s connected to your system. If you’re infected, I’m infected. Besides, when this is all finished, it’s hard drive will probably be full of your files. I doubt you’d want to take the chance on those getting out of this room even if Mr. Tippett says it’s clean. Am I wrong about that?”

“No … you’re not.”

“I’ll take an iPad 3. Goodnight.”

“Yes, goodnight ladies. Patricia?”

“Yes, Mr. Hobbes?”

“Thank you. You may have saved my business … again.”

“You’re welcome.”

Patty walks out the door and I quickly catch up to her.

“You could ask him for anything and you ask for an iPad?”

“An iPad 3. And I didn’t ask, he owes me a new computer ’cause I’ll never get that one back.”

“He owes you so big right now … we could tell him about us. He’d have to accept it!”

“He wouldn’t have to. After last weekend, I thought maybe you’d have changed your mind … about us.”

“I haven’t … not exactly. You were right, it was fun, a lot of fun. I discovered I like boys.”

“You mean … like?”

“Yeah, but I also like you just as much as before, so that means you were right about us not being …” I look around to make sure we’re alone “… lesbians.”

“Let’s save this until we get back to the bedroom.”

“Okay.”

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

Father called a lot of the guards in Sunday morning, just to be safe. He usually gives many of them Sundays off but this computer thing has him worried. Even though Patty stopped anything bad from happening last night, he’s not taking any chances.

At breakfast, Patty asked if she could go get her computer bag, she’d forgotten about it last night and left it downstairs. Father had Henry get it for her. He was even more full of thanks than last night, now that he had time to think about what could have happened. Patty was being modest, as usual. She’s really missing an opportunity to make him pay for all she did.

After breakfast, we just hung out the rest of the day. Patty seemed kinda sad about something. I asked, but she said it was nothing, that she was fine. Except for all the excitement last night, it was a nice quiet, restful weekend, a perfect way to get ready for school starting again tomorrow.

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

Henry scanned my computer bag along with the rest of my stuff before I left Sunday evening. This whole security thing was a good idea at the start of my time in the house but I’d like to skip it now. For the last few months, it was mostly perfunctory, let’s hope the trend holds.

“What’s this thing, Patty?”

He’s pointing to a black rectangular image on his screen. Be calm.

“That’s a portable hard drive. It plugs into my computer to expand the storage capacity. I’ve only got a 150 gig drive in the computer and that one’s a couple terabytes.”

“Why haven’t I seen it before?”

“Because it’s stored in a pocket of the bag over the computer. The computer usually blocks it during the scan but there’s no computer in the bag this time so …”

“So now I can see it, makes sense. You’re good to go, kid.”

I breathe a mental sigh of relief. “Thanks, see ya later.”

“Yeah. Drive careful.”

I grab my backpack and bag off the conveyor belt and almost get to the door before I feel a hand on my shoulder. I freeze.

“Patricia … gotta sec?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s step outside.”

“Okay.”

He guides me out the front door, his big hand heavy on my shoulder, then closes the door behind us.

“Patricia … Lou and I’ve been talking … guys like us, we’re not supposed to know nothin’ … we’re just the muscle, but we hear things and we talk to each other cause we can’t talk to anybody else … people gotta talk or they go crazy … either way, ya see … well, Hobbes has got plans for you, big plans. He thinks you’re a special girl, a smart girl, but not just school smart but real world smart, even street smart. He also thinks you got a head for business.”

“What do you and Lou think?”

“Oh, he’s right, no doubt about it. After what happened overnight …”

“What do you know about that? Neither of you were there.”

“Told ya, the guards talk. We know a lot more than people suspect. The thing is … Lou and I think you need to be careful. Guys like us, we don’t have a lot of options. Mr. Hobbes treats us real fair and all, but we’re not stupid, we know how he makes his money. You’re not stupid either, you know too. For Lou and I … we’re gonna be working for people like Hobbes. There’s not many people in this business who are better than him and there are lots who are worse, much worse. You … you got lots of options, you got lots of potential, you could work for anybody, you could do anything. Working for Hobbes may seem like the easy way to make a bunch of money fast, but it may not be the right thing for you.”

“I’m still in high school, it’s not like he’s gonna offer me an executive position.”

“He’s paying for your college expenses.”

“How do you know …” Henry smiles down at me. “Okay, you know stuff.”

“He pays for you to go to college. When you graduate, you feel like you owe him. That’s when he makes the offer. You’re young, got your whole life ahead of you. In the long run, it’s better to be on the right side of the law. Take the advice of a couple of old guys who’ve made a lot of mistakes over the years.”

“Okay, say I don’t go with Hobbes. What happens to Gretchen?”

“Maybe you take her with you.”

“Why would I take Gretchen with …” he smiles again. “No way!”

“My sister’s gay. I’ve seen her with her ‘best friend’.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Maybe not, doesn’t matter to me. If it matters to you, you’ll think of something. Look, I can’t tell you how to live your life, that’s your call. All I can say is that … you’re better than all this, you can make a difference. Do what’s right, even if it’s hard.”

“Why don’t you and Lou follow your own advice?”

“It’s too late for us, kid. Too much water under the bridge, too many mistakes.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s never too late.”

“That’s what I love about you, kid; you never say die. I hope you know better than to mention this conversation to Hobbes.”

“What conversation?”

“You go on home now, be careful on that death trap you ride. Say ‘Hi’ to your mom from us, she’s a good lady.”

“I will, Henry.”

I trot down the steps to my bike, slip my arms through the straps of my backpack, strap my bag to the rack on the bike, slip my helmet on, straddle the bike and look back up at Henry. He’s still standing by the door.

“I believe in second chances, Henry, there’s always a way, you just have to look hard enough.”

“You keep thinking that, kid.”

I step down on the starter, fire the engine, gun it a few times and roar off towards the gate, tears in my eyes. It would have been better if he had punched me in the face.

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE

Patricia insisted on reviewing the entire hard drive as soon as she got home. She didn’t want to tell me anything until she had. Both of us were feeling depressed. She had accomplished the impossible but it felt more like failure.

Patty pushed her setting as far into the Pink as she could tolerate, it sped up the processing of the data. She sat in her chair in front of the monitor, as still as a statue, while images flashed on her screen so quickly I could barely see them. Most appeared to be documents of one kind or another; letters, spread sheets, emails and text messages. There was the occasional flash of a picture and, rarely, a video.

I had promised that I would check on her at least once every fifteen minutes to make sure she was okay, but, ultimately, I couldn’t leave her room. I nodded off at least four times, at first briefly but the last was for half an hour. When I woke up, she was still sitting in her chair but the screen was blank. I carefully approached her and slowly reached out with my hand to shake her shoulder when she stopped me by speaking one word.

“Processing.”

I went downstairs to make some coffee, pouring it into a thermos bottle. When I returned, Patricia was as I left her. After filling the lid of the thermos with coffee, I settled back to wait.

The coffee did help for a while, but I eventually fell asleep again, this time for more than an hour. When I awoke, there were two hard drives on the desk in front of her.

“What are those for?”

She turned to look at me, her head tipped slightly to the side.

“The first copy is to be sent by mail to the North Cabana safe house. It should go out tomorrow. The second copy is to be hidden in this house.”

“Why hide the second one?”

“In case we are forced to reveal the existence of a copy, we give up the one in the house.”

Clever, very clever. There’s probably a third copy she hasn’t told me about, and I don’t want to know.

“What have you found out?”

“I am still processing. We appear to have copies of all his files, if not all, then the large majority. More than enough for Daniel to put an end to Hobbes’ operation and destroy Gretchen’s life, along with several others. I am still working on a way to avoid this but have been unable to come up with a viable plan, so far.”

“Honey, there’s no way to prevent it. Some problems can’t be avoided. I’m sorry about what this will do to Gretchen. I like her, I truly do but not enough to let Hobbes continue to break the law, destroy people’s lives with drugs.”

“You do realize that people will continue to destroy their lives with drugs whether Hobbes sells them or someone else does.”

“That is not justification for doing nothing and you know it!”

“I do. Processing completed.”

She reaches over to the Remote sitting on her desk and adjusts the setting. She had been sitting erect and still but now she relaxes, loosens up, even slouches a bit.

“That is so weird! This whole thing is weird but working up there … mega-weird.”

“What was your setting?”

“Forty six Pink.”

“My goodness!”

“I was barely hanging on but the digital part really hums along up there.”

“So … you know his entire operation now?”

“More like it’s indexed in my head. I couldn’t tell you every single word on each document just sitting here, but if you give me a moment or two, I can call a document up and read it. I did keep an eye out for certain information during the scan. You might find this interesting. The men who killed Robert and Alisha are dead, have been almost from the start. Hobbes didn’t want them talking but he couldn’t reward their incompetence either so he pulled some strings to get them released, smuggled them out of the country and killed them in transit, or I should say Cardoza did it under Hobbes direction. He was very upset about the whole thing. Cardoza was against it but this was one of the few times he didn’t get his way. Hobbes insisted.”

That explains why I couldn’t find them anywhere.

“Thanks, I’m happy to know that … very happy, in fact. Why tell me now?”

“I just discovered it, thought you ought to know.”

“You’re right, but are you sure you didn’t tell me to try and change my mind about Hobbes, because it won’t.”

“That’s your business. They weren’t Hobbes’ people; he just supplied them the drugs they sold. It’s kinda like blaming Budweiser for drunk driving.”

“Not exactly. Beer is legal; heroin, meth and cocaine aren’t.”

“Then it’s like blaming Hobbes for all the people killed by the Zeta cartel.”

“He is, he’s in the business of selling illegal drugs, they’re all responsible!”

“If you really believe that then you’ll never find any peace, no closure. There will always be another person alive who has to pay for your pain. Why stop with Hobbes? There’s the Tijuana cartel, the Zetas, the Potosis. Who’s next? What young girl do I have to befriend and betray this time?”

She’s starting to cry. This has been extremely hard on Patricia. What started out as a potential six-week assignment has stretched into months of daily tension and stress … for both of us. The end is now in sight.

When I said I blamed all drug dealers for the deaths of my husband and daughter … it felt a little hollow. Am I that kind of ideologue? Can I do this for the rest of my life? Can I single-handedly bring an end to illegal drugs?

No … I can’t … and I won’t. I’m done. We’re done.

I hold my arms open and Patricia walks into my waiting hug, her arms around my waist as I lay my head on top of hers.

“It’s alright, honey. It’s alright,” I say, soothingly.

“I hate it when we fight,” she sniffs.

“Doesn’t stop us from fighting though, does it?”

“What choice do I have when I’m right and you’re wrong?”

“I see your dilemma. When this is all over, what do you say we both go on a little vacation, just you and I. A week, a month, whatever. Daniel should be able to afford it and we’ve certainly earned it.”

“Who gets to go on this vacation? Patricia Connor … or Peter Harris?”

Damn it! There I go again, forgetting what Patricia is, who she is. This is just too hard, too much.

“Who’d you like to go?”

“I know what I need to do … I know what I should do … and I know what I want to do.”

“Care to explain that?”

“I need to put an end to this, go back to my body, go back to who I am. It’s the right thing to do, legally speaking.”

“How much of what we did was legal?”

She hugs me tighter. “Not much, but I also owe my friends at school, my teammates, the sisters, everyone. It’s not like the place will fall apart without me, but I made commitments. I should live up to them. That’s what I should do.”

“And what do you want to do?”

“That vacation sounded awful nice. What harm would a couple of weeks, more or less, do? We get some rest, I come back here, switch and we move on our separate ways.”

“Is that really what you want, to go back to the way you were, to give up all this?”

“This isn’t mine to give up, Mother. It never was. I borrowed this body to do a job and now, the job is over.”

“So Patricia belongs to Thomas? Is that what you’re saying? She’s a slave of some kind?”

“I don’t know what she is, or what I am for that matter. Jenny Jo’s memories are still in my head. If I leave, maybe she can get stronger, take back what is hers. We can tell Thomas, insist that he not try to wipe her out.”

“He won’t be happy about that.”

“Who knows for sure? Maybe Lipscomb will blackmail him into it. Which reminds me, when do we tell Lipscomb what we’ve got for him?”

Another hard question. “Are you certain you got what you went after?”

“I got all I’m gonna get.” She picks up the original hard drive. “I’m never getting another chance like that one.”

“Then I’ll contact him tomorrow, the usual way. It may take several days to arrange a meeting.”

“I’ll be happy when those are over. For some reason, he makes me nervous. I just don’t trust him. It makes no sense, other than he’s a lawyer, of course.”

“Of course.”

“He didn’t tell us about the raids, but he may not have known. Whatever it is, I see him and I want to run away.”

“What do we do in the meantime?”

“We stick to the plan. I go back to school on Monday, you go back to work. Everything normal.”

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

Daniel got back to me in less than two hours, a new record, which wasn’t surprising. He’s been waiting for this as long as I have. He insisted on a late night meeting, after 10:00 p.m., at Thomas’ lab on Monday.

Patricia and I arrived at 10:15. She was dawdling, as usual. I decided no to push her, best to leave well enough alone. Daniel was pacing the room when we entered.

“Where is it?” he demanded as soon as he spotted us.

Patricia walked across the room, dropped her purse on the on the desk, unzipped it, removed the portable hard drive and lightly tossed it toward Daniel. He lunged forward, both hands extended. Catching the lazily spinning device and clutching it to his chest, he said nothing but scowled at Patty, who was ignoring him. She sat down at the table and I sat next to her. Thomas wasn’t in the room, though I heard activity elsewhere in the building. Maybe he was preparing to return Peter Harris to his body. It wasn’t something I wanted to think about.

“This is it?” Daniel asked.

“Yep,” Patricia replied.

“What’s on it?”

“Everything you’re gonna get.”

“What does that mean?”

“What Patricia means, Daniel, is that we are finished. If that is not enough, then you are out of luck. However, from what I’ve been told, that should be more than adequate,” I said.

“If you can ever get it into court,” Patricia added. “Which I seriously doubt.”

“Let me worry about that,” said Daniel. “I am the lawyer here.”

“Well, I’ve been doing a little research on that subject and I think you’re totally screwed.”

“You thought the same with that spreadsheet.”

“And it nearly got us killed. Not a good argument for your expertise, counselor.”

“Hilarious. How did you get it?”

“What does it matter?”

“I’d think you’d know the answer to that, after all your research.”

“Patricia … tell him. He needs to know and you deserve the credit. It was absolutely incredible, Daniel. Pure genius!”

“Since the first bit of information was blind luck and I’ve had nothing for months, my expectations are low.”

“Drop dead, Lipscomb.”

“Just tell him, Patricia. We’re done either way.”

“Fine. When I first went to Hobbes’ house, he insisted that his tech guy, Tippett, set up my laptop to work with the household network, so Gretchen and I could access the Internet for homework and stuff. Tippett took the opportunity to install some spyware on the machine, which I discovered.”

“I thought you didn’t know much about computers.”

“I didn’t but now I do. Learning new things is a piece of cake. The stuff I know now is amazing! Anyway, I found out what he did so I decided to turn the tables. Hobbes’ business system is all wired; he didn’t want wireless access, afraid of data being intercepted or creating security breaches. You don’t need a search warrant to intercept radio signals but you do need one to tap a data line … and he’d know it if any Judge signed a warrant, probably before the police knew it.”

“You’re right about that. Go on.”

“I couldn’t access his business network when I was at his house, just the separate home network. I might be able to physically tap into it, but Tippett might be able to know it if I did. So I set a Honey Trap.”

“What was the bait?”

“Racy pictures of me.”

“Naked?”

“NO! What do you think I am?”

“I’ll answer that later. Go on.”

“I set up an email account for a fake boyfriend then sent emails with photos attached. As soon as Tippett started snooping around on my computer, he went straight to those photos, downloading them onto Hobbes’ business system. That gave me a way in. I kept sending emails with more explicit photos attached but each picture had additional hidden data buried in the file. It wasn’t a complete program or a worm, just parts. The pieces were small enough to not trip an antivirus scan but, when downloaded in the right sequence, the separate pieces formed a hidden worm on Hobbes’ system. The worm had a timer built into it. At a certain time each day, it would assemble, send an email, wait thirty minutes for a response, then disassemble. If it didn’t get a response, it repeated the cycle. Part of Hobbes’ security was hiding legitimate encrypted emails among a bunch of junk encrypted emails, the ratio was like a thousand to one. My worm sent its email along with all those others and the response it was looking for was just the acknowledgement that the email had been opened, a feature Hobbes had on all his emails.”

“Impressive, you were hiding in all the traffic he expected to see.”

“Exactly. All I had to do was wait until I was ready, open the email and trigger the worm.”

“And exactly why did it take so long to do that?”

“I had to wait until I was at the house and Tippett wasn’t. The worm was designed to make its presence known. I could have tried to do it quietly but there was no guarantee the constantly updated antivirus program wouldn’t detect or stop it. When the worm was triggered, it counted down from the time of the response, reassembled, disabled all input devices and the video output, except for the serial port, plus all other programs except the decryption program, the file copying feature and the broadband modem. It was designed to take each encrypted file, decrypt it, save it in a folder and, once all the files were in the folder, to send the files to a remote location.”

“Where you were waiting for them.”

“No. That was the weak link. Everything in Hobbes’ system had backups, some of which, like the power, I was counting on. There was no backup to the broadband phone line. He refused to use wireless. I had to get my computer into his system in order to access the folder with the decrypted files. When Hobbes’ system went crazy and Tippett wasn’t around to fix it and his remote access was disabled by the worm, they called on me to help. After a few failed attempts to patch into the system, I pulled out a dusty serial cable and got in, as planned. I still couldn’t do any input but I could monitor the decryption and copying process. Just as the worm was ready to send the files, I pulled the plug on the broadband.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because my computer was in the system now. Without the broadband, the worm would keep making decrypted copies of his files, filing a folder, then repeat … including writing to the hard drive on my computer.”

“Surely Hobbes wouldn’t be so stupid as to let you have your computer back. He had to know that it might contain his data.”

“He did and I didn’t get my laptop back … but just because he refused to use Wi-Fi didn’t keep me from using it.”

“Say what?”

“My computer had Wi-Fi built into it and that hard drive in your hand has a Wi-Fi hub installed. The hard drive and a battery pack were in my computer bag, which was in the same room with the laptop. Once the emergency was over, all that had to happen was to let Hobbes’ servers stay operating on emergency power, my laptop stay connected and it transmits the decrypted files to that portable hard drive, slowly but surely. I picked up my bag the next morning and rode away with his data.”

Daniel turns the hard drive over in his hand. “This thing holds all Hobbes’ data?”

“Several copies actually. It’s two terabytes. Spreadsheets, letters, emails and text messages don’t take up much storage space, pictures just a little more. Hobbes had way more storage than he needed.”

“Why go through all that trouble? Just let your worm send the files across the country.”

“Because someone could have gotten smart and done what I did. They weren’t going to stop the system from making the clean copies, not unless they were willing to destroy it, but someone who knew basically nothing about computers could have kept it from sending the files, just unplug the phone line. If they never called me downstairs, if they didn’t figure out a way to cut off the broadband, I still had control of the address where the files would have been sent, but the safer bet was what happened. This way, Hobbes doesn’t know his data has been stolen, he thinks he’s safe. This was the only way to do it and the only time.”

“And why it’s not happening again,” I said.

Daniel slowly nods his head. “I understand. Remarkable … truly remarkable. One for the textbooks, that’s for sure. I’ll need to double check this hard drive, make sure it has what you say it does.”

“Don’t erase anything, it’s the only copy.”

“You didn’t make a duplicate?”

I glance at Patricia but she doesn’t react. “Why would we?” she asks. “You’ve got it, it’s you’re problem now but, you screw it up and I’m kicking your ass.”

“We both will,” I add.

“Who do you plan to show this to?” asks Patricia.

“No one, at least not right away.”

“Good, because as soon as you decide to, I want to know in advance. No excuses. In advance. Once that hard drive leaves your hands, I’m assuming Hobbes will know everything and we’re gone.”

“Where?”

“We’ll leave a number if you need either of us. Wherever it is, it’ll be for a month and on your dime. When we get back, Matthews can put me back in my body. You got a problem with any of that?”

“No, sounds fair. Wish I could go with you. I want everyone back here in three days, Thursday, same time. That should give me time to review the files. If everything checks out, we move on to the next phase.”

Patricia just looks at Daniel for a few seconds, nibbling at her lower lip, then she grabs her purse, zips it shut and stands up.

“Alright. Let’s go, Mom.”

She quickly moves toward the exit and I scramble to follow. I catch up to her on the sidewalk outside of Thomas’ office. She was waiting for me.

“That was easier than it should have been, Mom.”

“Perhaps Daniel is just appreciative of what you’ve accomplished.”

“Maybe.”

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

The next three days were uneventful. Patricia returned to school to start the spring semester. Obviously, she wasn’t going to be there after a few more days but there was no reason to raise any questions at this point, particularly from Gretchen right after the computer incident. Easy and steady are the watch words for now.

I am worried about Patricia though. It’s clear that she’s unhappy and there’s little I can do to change her attitude. I tried to discuss the details of our pending vacation but she just deferred to me.

“Whatever you want is fine by me” was as much as I could get out of her.

Apparently, Gretchen couldn’t stop talking about the New Year’s party at the Y, which I thought would make her happy since her plan had worked so well, except for almost getting killed of course. No such luck. I’d say Patricia was just now facing the loss of the life she had grown used to over the last few months. The loss of her friends, her status at school, her health … and her abilities.

I’ve only experienced it second hand but what Patricia is capable of is astounding. Her ability to acquire and use knowledge, her physical capabilities, her resourcefulness in the face of adversity, all are things that the average person could only dream about. When he is transferred back to his body, Peter Harris will likely retain some of the knowledge acquired while in Patricia’s body but he’ll lose most everything else, he’ll be … normal. I can only imagine what it would be like to be given these almost super-human powers and then have them taken away, particularly in this case where Peter’s own body is so limited due to illness. That kind of loss could certainly be depressing.

Despite my best efforts, Patricia is still out of sorts when we arrive for Thursday’s meeting, her normal trepidation before seeing Daniel only adding to the problem. We’re the first to arrive. Thomas had actually brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate the end of the mission. We decided to wait for Daniel to arrive before opening it.

It’s 10:15 when he finally shows up, coming in the backdoor, carrying his briefcase, which he sets on the table in front of him but he doesn’t sit down.

“I apologize for being late, I had some preparations to make before tonight’s meeting.”

“I assume you’re satisfied with the hard drive,” said Patricia.

“Absolutely. It’s everything I had dared to hope for, even more to be honest.”

“So, when exactly does the next phase begin?”

He opens his briefcase, reaching down into it with both hands. “Tonight. Right now.” He bends down, fiddling with something in the briefcase, then stands up. “Patricia, go out to my car and sit in the back seat.”

I look over at Patricia. She appears confused for a second or two, then smiles ever so slightly and stands.

“Yes Mr. Lipscomb, I’d be happy to.”

“I’m parked out back. It’s the blue Chevy Impala. Leave the back door of the office unlocked as you go.”

“Yes, Mr. Lipscomb,” she answers, that same minimal smile on her face. She turns and walks right out of the room and down the hall towards the back door.

Thomas and I stare at each other. He looks as perplexed as I feel.

“Daniel, what is this about?” I demand.

He removes a Balancer Remote Control from his briefcase with his left hand, placing it on the table next to him. Its setting is Pink Fifty!

“DANIEL! What in heaven’s name are you …” I barely get the sentence out of my mouth when he brings his right hand up out of the briefcase. It’s holding a large handgun. He points it at Thomas, who’s still sitting in his chair. He pulls the trigger. The room is full of an unbelievably loud explosion, my ears ringing as I reflexively shut my eyes and turn away. When I open them, I see Thomas on the ground, on his back, still sitting in the chair which has fallen backwards, a large and rapidly growing bright red stain on the front of his white lab coat.

I jerk my head towards Daniel and focus on the barrel of the gun pointing right at my head from six feet away.

“Sorry, Jessica,” he says.

I try to push away from the table and run towards the front door but only manage to turn my head away from the barrel pointing at it before I simultaneously hear the gunfire and feel an overwhelming searing pain in my head.

Then nothing.

CHAPTER SIXTY

I’m half way down the hall before I’m aware of what’s happened. Somehow, that bastard Lipscomb’s managed to change my setting to Pink Fifty! I’ve always been afraid of somehow, someone other than Mom or myself getting hold of that controller, even by accident, and messing with my head. Lately, it hasn’t made a whole lot of difference what the setting is, I don’t notice any big changes I can’t handle except at the high Pink numbers. Just as before, at Pink Fifty, I’m pretty much just along for the ride. Patricia does what her programming tells her to do, of which one thing is obey direct orders.

I try to stop walking towards the car but can’t even slow her down. Sitting in the back seat, seatbelt locked, hands folded in my lap and ankles crossed like a proper little girl, I hear the first gun shot.

Crap! Time to go! Come on! Go! Move! MOVE!

Nothing. I don’t even flinch at the second shot, don’t even turn my head towards the back door until I see Lipscomb out of the corner of my eye, hurrying along the broken concrete sidewalk.

“Can I help you, Mr. Lipscomb?”

WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO, LIPSCOMB, YOU PRICK?! ANSWER ME! DID YOU SHOOT MOM?!

He opens the car door. “No thanks, Patricia.” He tosses the briefcase into the passenger seat, slides in, starts the car and quickly pulls forward, through the alley and into the street.

“Where are we going, Mr. Lipscomb?”

He glances back at me, then returns his attention to the road. “You’re a real chatter box, even at this setting. I wasn’t expecting that. Let’s try this. Patricia, don’t say anything unless I either tell you to or I ask you a direct question. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Lipscomb.”

“Good. Is Peter Harris in there with you?”

“Yes, Mr. Lipscomb, he is.”

“Is he aware of what’s going on?”

“Somewhat, as I am not fully aware of what is going on.”

He chuckles. “Good answer. You’d make a hell of a witness, Patricia. To answer your last question, we’re going to your home to pick up a few things then to visit Mr. Hobbes.” He looks at me through the rear view mirror. “Think about that one for a minute or two … Peter.”

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

I wake up coughing, my head screaming in pain. Instantly, I feel the heat all around me. I force my eyes open but can’t see anything, there’s something in front of my eyes. I move my hand, the skin tingling in the heat and reach for whatever is blocking my vision. It’s my hair, covered in some, wet, sticky goo. I pull my hair away from my face and see an inferno.

I’m lying on the floor of Thomas’ office, flames and smoke swirling all around me! There’s the smells of numerous chemicals burning … boiling … bubbling … STAY AWAKE! DON’T PASS OUT! I push up off the floor just a little, to get my bearings. I remember from a story I once read to Alisha that the safest place in a fire is near the floor, so I keep my head low and look around.

Not ten feet to my left is Thomas, still on his back, still in the chair, just as I last saw him, his clothes ablaze. He’s not moving, not making a sound, so he must be dead. Rest in peace.

There appears to be more fire towards the front of the room than the back so I start to crawl on my hands and knees toward the back door as quickly as my aching head allows. Just as I reach the door to the hallway, there’s a small explosion of some kind that knocks me flat, hot gasses rushing past me, as I hold my breath. Pulling myself forward on my stomach, I slowly clear the doorway, roll onto my back and kick the door shut, dropping onto my back, breathing heavily, searching for oxygen in the foul air around me.

This area’s on fire also, but it’s not as intense. Getting back up on my hands and knees, I head for the back door. As I pass Thomas’ lab, I can see that the bed holding Peter Harris is already engulfed in flames, the smell of burning flesh is nauseating. I manage for the moment not to vomit but I do get dizzy and start to black out again

MOVE GOD DAMN IT OR YOU”LL BE NEXT! HE’S TAKEN PATRICIA! THE BASTARD’S GOT YOUR DAUGHTER! MOVE! NOW!

I shake my head, the pain helping to keep me conscious. Once I reach the back door, I wrap my left hand in the front of my shirt and reach up into the super heated air to turn the handle. In seconds I discover two things. The door is locked and I’ve just seriously burned my hand. Slumped against the door and gasping for air, I’m out of ideas, there’s no way out, nothing to use to pry the door open even if I had two good hands.

I’m sorry Patty, I tried. I really did.

DON’T GIVE UP ON ME, MOM! NOT NOW! YOU’RE SO CLOSE! IT’S JUST A WOODEN DOOR. KICK IT DOWN. IF YOU’RE GONNA DIE, GO DOWN FIGHTING!

That’s what she’d do, she’d go down fighting. Rolling onto my back and spinning around, I drive my feet into the bottom panel of the door. Nothing. Again. Again. Again! AGAIN!

IT CRACKS! AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN!AGAIN!AGAIN!

The bottom panel flies out, cold air rushes in, feeding the flames. I scramble to the door and crawl through the hole, gulping the oxygen rich air even as I feel the flames growing behind me. With a lunge, I pull myself free and tumble down the short set of concrete steps. When I hit the ground, I keep rolling away from the house until I hit something.

It’s his back fence. I push myself to my knees, then pull myself to my feet with my right hand, using the fence for support. My head spinning and throbbing, my body shaking, my lungs dried to a crisp, I remember what Patricia told me at the very start.

If everything goes to hell, you run to 1105 North Cabana Boulevard. Tell them Peter Harris sent you.

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

She told him where the first copy of the hard drive was. Then she told him about the second copy, the one I didn’t even tell Mom about. How does she know this stuff? It’s like there’s this other version of me who’s got access to my entire life but doesn’t care what I think. No matter what I said, she did exactly what Lipscomb told her to do. I don’t even know if she can hear me, though, last time, she knew what I was thinking. Maybe not this time.

“Are there anymore copies, anywhere, Patricia?”

No. Not Randi’s Place. You can’t tell him about Randi’s Place. She’s got nothing to do with this. That’s our ace in the hole, you have to keep that secret, you can’t …

“No, Mr. Lipscomb, none that I’m aware of.”

WHAT? Oohhhh, she lied! She stared him in the face and LIED! That’s my girl! There’s hope! Why now? What’s different? Nothing but the truth up to now and then, bang, a whopper. Lipscomb didn’t even blink, just took it for the gospel truth and moved on.

He went through my room, with Patricia’s help, looking for anything that would reveal the operation but I’m not that stupid and she told him so … politely. Always politely. That has to be Mom’s programming.

God, what happened back at Matthews’ office? Two shots, two people. If I find out that he killed them, there is nothing on earth that will stop me from killing him. I can’t do anything right now but somehow, somewhere, he’s gonna screw up and give me my chance … when he does …

We’re back in the car, headed for Hobbes’. It’s got to be almost midnight. He’s in bed by now and hates to get up unless it’s an emergency. What exactly does Lipscomb plan to do? No way is he going in to try to arrest Hobbes, he’s playing this hand solo. It’s almost got to be blackmail, the only thing that makes any sense.

He’s driving in silence, not asking any questions and I can’t … not yet. I keep pushing Patricia to ask about the gunshots but she says nothing.

As we pull up to the gate, Lipscomb looks back at me.

“Tell them that I am your uncle, Daniel, your mother’s brother, that something terrible has happened to your mother and that you need to see Mr. Hobbes, immediately. Got that?”

“Has something terrible happened to my mother?”

“I told you, no questions.”

“I am not supposed to lie. You are asking me to lie.”

“You are supposed to follow my orders and I am ordering you to tell them what I told you to tell them, lie or not.”

“I understand … Uncle Daniel.”

When the guard answers the buzz, Patricia says exactly what she was told to say, in a flat, emotionless voice. It takes a few moments for us to be buzzed in, but they do it. I’m not surprised. Lipscomb is using me as his gate pass. I can’t think of anyone else other than Gretchen or Cardoza who could get Hobbes up at this hour. The guard on duty quickly ushers us in after a brief body scan. Hobbes is waiting in his office. As we enter, Hobbes stands.

“Patricia, what is wrong? What has happened to your mother?”

“You’ll have to ask Uncle Daniel. He won’t tell me what he did to her.”

That’s right, stick it to him. Hobbes is confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“Patricia, have a seat over there in the corner. Remember, nothing unless I ask or tell you, understood?”

“Yes, Uncle Daniel.” She walks over and takes a seat. I can see both Hobbes and Lipscomb. The guard was dismissed by Hobbes.

“We have not met. You are Patricia’s uncle? I have never heard her mention you before.”

“That’s because I’m not her uncle. I’m Daniel Lipscomb, Assistant Federal District Attorney for the Southern District of Florida.”

“So this story about harm to Jessica Conner is a ruse of some kind to get to see me at this ungodly hour?”

“Not exactly. She is dead. I shot her myself this evening, though you’re likely to get the blame.”

OH GOD! He will suffer before I’m done with him! I don’t care what happens to me, you are a dead man!

Hobbes looks over at me, Patricia appearing as calm as a lake at midnight, then back to Lipscomb.

“Are you a madman?!”

Lipscomb slips a CD from the pocket of his Armani suit coat. “No, a businessman, just as yourself. If you review the first few documents on that disc, you’ll likely figure out what I’m here to sell.”

Hobbes warily sits down, starts his computer, inserts the disk and calls up the first file. He can’t hide the surprise at what he sees, nor can he hide his growing anger as he reviews each successive file. After about ten minutes, he reaches over and grabs the phone on his desk. He pushes the code for the security office, I recognize the sound of the beeps.

“Wake Enrique and have him come over to the office immediately … yes, it is an emergency.”

He hangs up and returns to reviewing the documents. Enrique shows up six minutes and twenty-seven seconds later. I counted.

“What is going on?”

Hobbes extends his hand towards Lipscomb. “This man claims to be Daniel Lipscomb, Assistant Federal District Attorney. He brought me a CD with these documents on it. Come Enrique, take a look at what Mr. Lipscomb brought us.”

Enrique stares at me with barely concealed hatred. “What is she doing here?”

“That is yet to be determined. Have a look, Enrique.”

He joins Hobbes on the other side of the desk and begins to review the same documents, his astonishment growing just as Hobbes’ anger did. You have to hand it to Hobbes, he is almost always in control of his emotions. He may show it, but he doesn’t act, at least not right away.

“How did you get these?” Cardoza demanded.

Lipscomb had sat down while they were reviewing the documents. Now, he sat back and crossed his legs.

“I put together a small, secret, team of experts to infiltrate your organization. I’ve had an agent inside for several months. Last week, it brought me those documents, along with tens of thousands of others. I have in my possession the entire contents of your servers and, therefore, every piece of information anyone would want about your organization. I know all about your tunnels, your factories, your shipping schedules, your farms, your landing sites, your submarine base, who you’ve bribed, where you keep all the cash you receive before sending it to be laundered. In short, I know everything about your organization, down to the birthday of the pool boy, which is July 12th by the way.”

First Cardoza, then Hobbes turns to look my way, Cardoza with rage and Hobbes with … sadness?

“Yes,” continued Lipscomb, “the agent is Ms. Conner here, though you shouldn’t blame yourselves, gentlemen. Patricia Conner is an amazing combination of technology and human experience. It is so far beyond your imagination, that it went undetected is hardly your fault. It would have fooled anyone.”

“You keep saying ‘it’, she is a girl, no?” asked Cardoza.

“Yes, it is a girl, but not just a girl. Inside that body is stored the mind of one of the most experienced undercover operatives in the Eastern United States, possibly the entire country. Meet Peter Harris. I suggest that, if you have a gun, you point it at Mr. Harris right now and that you shoot him should he move even a fraction of an inch.”

Cardoza pulled a large drawer open and removed a sawed off pump shotgun, aiming it directly at me. So much for my chance. Lipscomb removed the Remote from the other suit pocket.

“This unit controls who is in charge of the body. Right now, it is set on Pink Fifty. That means that a computer program is in charge. A program that must obey and do whatever I tell it to do. Patricia, remove your blouse.”

I knew that some day it would come to this. I warned Lipscomb what would happen if he tried to pull this kind of stunt. Patricia begins to unbutton her blouse, but her fingers are trembling, I can feel the hesitation. She stays seated but still manages to eventually take off the blouse and drop it on the floor next to her. I feel something coming from her … embarrassment?

“Very Good Patricia. Now, remove your bra.”

Cardoza’s enjoying this but Hobbes looks sick. Patricia reaches for the clasp in the front of the bra, even more reluctantly than before. Just as she releases it, Hobbes reacts.

“Enough! You’ve made your point!”

Lipscomb looks surprised. “Really? I had more planned. As you wish. That’s enough, Patricia.”

She quickly re-latches the bra. “Yes, Uncle Daniel.”

“You can stop the Uncle Daniel now, Patricia. As I was saying, Pink Fifty you get sweet, courteous, compliant Patricia but at Blue Fifty, you get … ready with that shotgun, Enrique.”

My control comes flooding back. I slowly reach down, pick up the blouse and put it back on, deliberately glaring at Lipscomb as I redo each button.

“I warned you about things like that, Danny boy.”

He frowns at the “Danny”. Tough shit.

“Is that all you have to say, Peter?”

“What else do I need to say? I heard what you did to Jessica, to Thomas.”

“And to you. I set the lab to burn after we left. I’d say your old body is quite well done by now.”

So … I’m stuck, forever. Unfortunately, forever for me is probably measured in hours. The bastard wants to see me panic. Like hell.

“That all you got, little Danny? You betray your people, your job, your oath. If you weren’t a lawyer, I’d be disappointed.”

“What? No threats, no bluster?”

“I don’t need to threaten, you already know what’s gonna happen when I get my hands on you. And you KNOW I will get my hands on you, don’t cha’… Danny?”

“You should have expected this, Peter. You’re the expert in betrayal.”

“Oh I’ve become an expert in so many other areas in the last few months, Danny Bo …” He abruptly twists the control back to Pink Fifty almost causing me to pass out. He turns his back to me.

“That’s why Patricia is an IT. It’s not a human being any more, just a combination of body parts and silicon, slapped together by a mad scientist.”

“An interesting display, Danny. What do you want?” sneered Hobbes. He doesn’t miss much.

“I prefer Daniel, and what I want is fifty million in uncut diamonds, annually, beginning tonight plus access to your network of bribed officials. With money and the right contacts, my future is assured.”

Oh your future is assured alright.

“And if I don’t comply? You can hardly take that information to your superiors. If I understand your conversation with … Peter Harris was it, you have burned a few bridges tonight.”

“True, the information would never be admissible in a court trial but I think the Zetas cartel would find it very interesting reading, as would the Tijuana cartel and a number of the other struggling cartels trying to make a name for themselves. Any or all of them could cause you extreme trouble, resulting in losses in the billions of dollars. I would think that fifty million a year would be relatively inexpensive insurance. You grossed over eight point seven billion last year alone.”

“Yes, grossed, but I have expenses. If you’ve reviewed those files you know my expenses. They are getting higher every day. As for fifty million dollars, that is out of the question.”

“Raymond, the number is nonnegotiable. Yes, I know your expenses, I also know you have over one hundred million in uncut diamonds in a warehouse less than an hour from this house. Very smart method to launder money, by the way. Untraceable, holds their value, easy to transport, easy to store. Much simpler to deal with than thousands of stacks of old one hundred dollar bills.”

“More like tens of thousands of stacks of old twenty dollar bills,” said Cardoza. “I assume you have taken the usual precautions to prevent me from killing you right now, Mr. Lipscomb?”

“Of course, multiple copies of the hard drive data in the hands of people unrelated to me who will deliver them to your competitors if they do not hear from me …” he looks at his watch “ … shortly and then daily, thereafter.”

“I thought as much. If you would take Ms. Conner with you and wait outside, I would like to speak with Mr. Hobbes in private.”

“Certainly. Patricia, come with me.”

“Yes, Mr. Lipscomb.” Patricia stands and walks out behind him. I noticed that Cardoza’s hand never strayed from the shotgun and Hobbes couldn’t take his eyes off me. He seemed as tired as I had ever seen him. After the door shut, Lipscomb took a seat near the door but had me kneel at his feet.

“I know you can hear me, Peter. I had planned on keeping you for myself, as a subservient playmate. It would have been difficult for you at first but I’m sure you would have grown to enjoy it.”

Good God, what an ego!

“Unfortunately, you were correct in there, you have become an expert in a number of areas I had not initially planned on. Thanks to Matthews’ idiotic idea to pump you full of information about all forms of self-defense, you are much too dangerous to keep around. If there were some way to accelerate your willing acceptance of your position, things might be different but I’m not going to take that chance. Besides, at fifty million a year, for starters, I can afford to buy whatever companion I desire without the obvious risks you present. Too bad, you would have enjoyed it.”

I’m gonna enjoy it when I get my hands on your throat and rip out your larynx. If I could just get control of my body for a few minutes, I’d get out of here. Over the months, I’ve found every weakness in Hobbes’ security system and there are a few holes. Not many, but they exist. In theory. I’ve never actually tested them. Not likely to get the chance. The door to Hobbes’ office swings open, Cardoza standing in the doorway.

“Come back in.”

“You first, Patricia.”

“Yes, Mr. Lipscomb.”

Hobbes is sitting behind his desk, definitely more tired and depressed than I have ever seen him before. It might be the hour of day but I think it’s more.

“I don’t have to accept this, Lipscomb. I could hand you over to Enrique and he can make you tell me where you have hidden my information.”

“I’ve seen pictures of his handiwork, you’re probably right. The question is, how long would it take?”

“From your character, I’d say not long.”

“You might be right about that too, Raymond, but are you willing to bet your business, your life on it? My fee is reasonable, certainly as a percentage of your gross, particularly when I went through all that trouble to raise prices by decreasing the supply.”

“That was YOU?”

“With Patricia’s assistance, of course.”

Hobbes looked more disappointed than angry.

“I will need to see a complete copy of the data, to confirm what you have.”

“Of course. I have a copy in my car. I can get it for you now or …”

“Enrique will go with you. While you are gone, I wish to speak with Patricia … alone.”

Cardoza seems surprised. “Alone? That isn’t a good idea X-ray. Once I have returned …”

“Alone, Enrique.”

“Then she must be restrained in some way.”

Hobbes considers this for a moment. “Collect some handcuffs from the guards.”

Cardoza was gone for only five minutes or so. They had Patricia sit, then locked her wrists to the arms of the chair and her ankles to the legs. They had her try to stand up but she could only get into a crouch. Cardoza seemed satisfied.

“That should hold her … until I get back.”

Hobbes holds out his right hand. “The control, Lipscomb.”

He hesitates. “You have no idea how dangerous it is.”

“Then it will be my funeral, won’t it?”

“It could be all our funerals if she gets free.”

“Then I had best be careful. You want your diamonds, hand me that controller.”

He still doesn’t react. Is he that afraid of me? Eventually, greed overcomes fear and he hands the controller over.

“Don’t go past Ten Blue.”

“I’ll keep your advice in mind. Close the door behind you.”

Hobbes knows how do dismiss someone. Both Cardoza and Lipscomb leave the office, closing the door behind them, as instructed. Hobbes walks back behind his desk and sits. He just stares at me for a few seconds, then turns the setting to Fifty Blue.

“I treated you like my own daughter, I would have given you anything you wanted. You saved my business.”

I REALLY wish people would stop using that darn thing like a video game controller. It takes a couple of moments for my head to clear.

“Yes, you did and yes, I did.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say? I was hired to do a job and I’m the best.”

“How was this done? How could you possibly be two different people?”

“Do you want the technical explanation? One of the men killed by Lipscomb was a scientist who came up with an incredible and completely illegal process to transfer the mind of one person into the body of a young teenage girl who had nearly died from, surprise, surprise, a drug overdose.”

“Nearly died?”

“Yeah, the scientist jumped the gun, brilliant guy but ethically challenged. Sound familiar?”

“Who was the other man who was killed?”

“The other man was me.”

Hobbes slowly shakes his head.

“And the woman?”

“You know who that was … my mother.”

“YOUR mother? The girl’s mother? Who?”

“Jessica Conner … though that wasn’t her real name.”

“Was it just a job for her also?”

“No, it was personal. One of the gangs you sell to screwed up and killed her husband and daughter, a girl who’d be near Gretchen’s age if she’d have lived. She wanted revenge.”

“That explains much. You have put me in a terrible position … Do I call you Patricia?”

“Might as well, I’m stuck now. As for your terrible position, I understand. It’s the game.”

“This was a game to you? A GAME?!”

“No, not anymore. I’ve spent most of my life going after people like you, criminals large and small. I enjoyed it, it was exhilarating, but it was also destructive. You’ve enjoyed your life in the drug trade but it too was destructive, it cost you your wife and was costing you your only daughter, not to mention all the devastation drugs causes to society.”

“I do not make people use drugs. If they didn’t …”

“Want them you couldn’t sell them. And if you didn’t sell them, somebody else would. I’m familiar with the arguments … and you’re absolutely right.”

“So why bother to fight me? There are worse men than I in the trade. Look at those mad men, the Zetas.”

“I can’t save the world, but I can save some of the people in the world. I can save Gretchen.”

“And you thought you could save me?”

“Maybe, if I had more time, but when Cardoza tried to have me killed …”

“Enrique? When?!”

“At the New Years party. He sent three gang bangers to the dance to kidnap and kill me. Gave orders to have me raped and cut up.”

“Why did I not hear of this?”

“I stopped them, traded silence for information, that’s how I know the details. If you don’t believe me, switch that thing to Fifty Pink, slowly please. I can’t lie at that setting, ask Lipscomb.”

Hobbes looks down at the Controller in his hand, rubbing his thumb along the side. He starts to reach for the switch but hesitates.

“You say they were ordered to cut you up?”

“After raping me, which frankly bothered me more than the knives.”

“Are you familiar with how my parents died?”

“Yeah, some kind of terrorist bomb.”

“Not exactly. There was an explosion and it was a bomb by a terror group but my parents were not killed by the blast. They were a block away, in front of a large office building with a decorative glass front. They were killed by the falling shards of glass when the front of the building shattered. Both were decapitated and dismembered. A horrible sight … I still have …” he looks away “… nightmares.”

Interesting. Cardoza had to know. I was to be a message to Hobbes, but what was that message? I’ll leave that one for later, if there is a later.

“Maybe we can compare nightmares.”

“It’s unlikely we’ll get the chance. You realize that no matter my personal feelings, you must be killed. My competitors cannot learn that I let someone who has betrayed me as you have go free. Such a sign of weakness would bring them all down upon me. I have no choice, Patricia.”

“Whatever you need to look yourself in the mirror, Mr. Hobbes, but you’ve got a choice. Everyone always has choices. You make them and you live with them and you die with them. I made a choice when I agreed to get put in this body, when I became Gretchen’s friend, when I decided to make sure she had other friends to help her when I left, when I saved your business, when I delayed going after that computer to give you time to realize there were better, safer ways to make money and finally, when Cardoza forced my hand, I decided that I was out of time and had to move now. I didn’t know anything about what Lipscomb had in mind but, in hindsight, it’s painfully obvious that something like this might happen. I made my choices and I’ll face the consequences.”

“Are you asking me not to have you killed?”

“That’d be great but you’re not strong enough to face the consequences. Don’t expect me to go easy though. I’d pretty much given up on life before this job but now … there are so many possibilities.”

“Even as you are, a man imprisoned in a girl’s body?”

“It’s not what I’d planned, but life is life. I do have one favor to ask and one bit of advice.”

“What is the advice?”

“Don’t trust Lipscomb. I did and see what it got me.”

“And the favor?”

“I know it’s your policy to make sure everyone knows when you’ve caught an infiltrator at least within the law enforcement community. Very public and graphic deaths. Don’t do that with me. Make it look like an accident or something. It’s better for Gretchen to not know about me, it’ll shatter her self-confidence, destroy her. Don’t do that to her. A tragic death, she’s got the support system to deal with that now. Plus, an accident keeps the police off your back.”

Hobbes shakes his head slowly. “Well reasoned, as always. We could have been great. Your mind and my resources, there would have been no stopping us.”

“You can still be great, Mr. Hobbes. All it takes is change.”

“Patricia … if you do manage to escape … run and don’t look back.”

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

There is opportunity in this disaster.

Hobbes has to admit that I had repeatedly warned him about Conner. While security is my responsibility, I am certain that I would have discovered her secret if he hadn’t put limits on me.

At least, that’s what I’m going to tell him when he complains about the computer breech, assuming he doesn’t blame Tippett for this debacle. The question may become what to do with Tippett? Perhaps a murder suicide with Conner. We can’t simply fire him, he knows much too much about our system and operations and even if he doesn’t know about the operations, we can’t take the chance. That’s one person who must die, one who will likely die … and then there’s the man sitting across from me, waiting for Hobbes to finish his little meeting.

“Mr. Lipscomb … I am curious. How do you plan to explain the deaths of your associates to your superiors?”

“You took care of that for me, Mr. Cardoza. The history of this organization is to ruthlessly deal with informers, the closer they get to successfully infiltrating your organization, the more severely they are treated. Considering what Patricia did, one could expect an extreme reaction. It will be quite easy to blame Hobbes for what I did to Warren and Matthews. As for Patricia, that’s undecided.”

“You have no plans?”

“I intended to give her to Hobbes as a bit of a peace offering. His reaction to the truth of what happened was not as … strong as I anticipated. Apparently, she was more successful in ingratiating herself into the household than I thought she had.”

“Some people are more gullible than others. She enchanted a number of people in the household. It was disgusting.”

“I take it you weren’t a fan.”

“She was a thorn in my side.”

He smiles brightly. “Perhaps you would be interested in … taking custody of Patricia, give her the treatment she deserves.”

“I take it you weren’t a fan?”

“Hardly. Peter Harris was an egotistical jerk, full of threats and bluster. No doubt, he was good at his job, one of the best, but a bastard to work with. Right now, his mere existence is a threat to me … and you.”

“Why me?”

“Because Patricia told me the truth about what happened at the New Years Dance.”

“What are you talking about? Nothing happened at that dance.”

“Not that she told you about, but I had a conversation with her while searching her house for evidence of this job. I was curious as to why she stole the computer data now rather than earlier. She said that she was attacked by three gang members at the dance, defeated them with a belt, of all things, and managed to get one of them to talk, apparently the only one she left conscious. The guy fingered you.”

One disaster on top of another. If Hobbes ever found out.

“Why would anyone believe such a fantastic story?”

“She was at Fifty Pink when she told it and she doesn’t lie at Fifty Pink. She felt that Hobbes was not aware of the true facts and might be upset with you should he be made aware.”

“Given what has happened since that day, I’m certain Hobbes will not be interested in anything she has to say.”

“Fine by me, not my problem, but, on the odd chance that you’re wrong about that, the sooner she’s dead and buried, the less risk she poses to you.”

Is he threatening to tell Hobbes himself? Is she telling him all about it right this very minute? Either is possible, neither is good.

“What are you suggesting, Lipscomb?”

“Enrique, call me Daniel. I expect us to have a long and profitable future. I’m suggesting that you are the best person to take care of Patricia Conner … once and for all. If you’re interested in the job, I can tell you a few secrets about Patricia, certain commands she can’t disobey.”

“What kind of commands?”

“The kind that any man would greatly enjoy.”

As I said, opportunity in disaster.

Severance Pay (Chapters 60 through 66 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Caution:

CAUTION: Rape / Sexual Assault

Audience Rating:

EXPLICIT CONTENT

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Everything has gone off the rails for Patricia and Cardoza has the Controller. Can she escape and, if so, what kind of life will she have? Elements and Themes listed apply to entire story, Rating to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and and Robyn Hoode for their editorial assistance.

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE

Hobbes switches me back to Fifty Pink, slowly this time. It’s an easier transition but I end up at the same place, trapped in a body I can’t control. He unlocks the handcuffs, keeping them in his left hand.

“Patricia, follow me.”

I stand up. “Yes, Mr. Hobbes.” He walks out the office door and I follow him, as ordered. I’ve stopped fighting things for now. It’s mentally exhausting and even if I could make my body, and it is now MY body, do what I want, it can’t be like it was on the lower Pink or any Blue setting. I need to be in full control to get out of this alive. Save my energy until the right moment.

Both Cardoza and Lipscomb are waiting for us. Hobbes waives Cardoza over, handing him the collection of handcuffs and the Contoller.

“Have you looked at the data yet?” Hobbes whispers.

“Briefly,” Cardoza replies. “It appears to be accurate and extensive. I’d have to cross check with the files in our servers but the documents I know by sight are there and they are correct. If I was forced to give an opinion … I would say he has the real goods. Sorry Raymond.”

Hobbes nods his head in acceptance, then fixes an angry stare on Lipscomb. “I despise traitors.”

“She fooled many of us, Raymond.”

“Not Patricia. She was doing her job.”

“Her JOB? SHE was the one who invaded our compound, played you for a fool, stole your records, befriended the entire household!”

“Like many have tried before her. They paid the price and now, so shall she. Patricia knew the risks and she came anyway. One must admire that kind of bravery, even among the enemy. But this Lipscomb … he disgusts me. No honor, no loyalty, no respect for his team. A common murderer.”

“Thank God for that or we would never have even known what had happened. You would have been blindsided. At least now, we control our own fate again. We pay a relatively small sum of money and we are back in business.”

“I wonder, Enrique.”

“What of the girl? We should act quickly.”

Hobbes’ shoulders sag. “You take care of it. I … I … can’t.”

Cardoza smiles evilly. “As you wish, Raymond.”

Hobbes reaches out, grabbing his left wrist. “It must look like an accident, a believable accident, and Gretchen must never know. Never, not now, not even after I am dead.”

“X-ray, that is not our usual solution to this kind of problem.”

“This is not our usual problem. It is unique, requiring a unique solution. You have the limitations, I leave the details to you. I don’t wish to know … anything. Ever.”

“So, I have a free hand?”

“As long as you meet those two conditions, yes.”

“And what about payment?”

Hobbes holds out his right hand. “I will review the hard drive and let you know in the morning. If you are correct, then we will pay him.”

“He wants payment tonight, Raymond.”

“Too bad.”

Enrique hands him the hard drive. “Mr. Lipscomb,” said Hobbes, raising his voice. “I will pay your … fee … after I have reviewed the contents of this hard drive. If it is as you described, payment will be immediately arranged. If it is not, you will join your unfortunate comrades. Understood?”

Lipscomb had been sitting this entire time, attempting to eavesdrop. Don’t know how successful he was. Now he stands up.

“That was not the deal.”

“We have no deal, not as of this moment. I will not buy … as you say … a ‘Pig in a Poke’. I need time to study your data. Surely, a delay of, say six hours, could hardly make a difference. If you are unwilling to agree, it only makes me more suspicious of the contents.”

Lipscomb’s clearly unhappy but he doesn’t have a lot of choice. Hobbes will pay more money to keep everything secret than anyone else would for making it public. He pretty much will have to accept the counter offer if he wants a big payday.

“Six hours, but not a second longer. I will meet you at the McDonalds on the corner of Sixth and Washington by 7:20 a.m. Bring the diamonds with you. No guards, just you.”

“Enrique will be handling the exchange.” Hobbes turns on his heel and strides back into his office, closing the door, never once looking at me.

Enrique turns to Lipscomb, smiling tightly.

“Let me show you to your car, Daniel. Patricia … follow.”

“Yes, Mr. Cardoza.”

We all walk back to the front door, no one saying a single word. Lipscomb gets in and drives away, leaving me alone with Cardoza. He squats down, looking me in the eye while holding the Controller in front of my face.

“An interesting device. I will have to give it, and you, a thorough testing before disposal. For now, you are to be locked up until after Hobbes has reviewed the files on the hard drive and your friend has been paid, just in case I need some answers about anything. After that, I no longer need you. That’s when the fun begins. Hobbes may have decided where you end up but he left it up to me to decide how you get there. And when.”

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

It was smoother than I thought it might be.

Cardoza walked in with a valise, stopped at my table, set it on the floor next to me and left without saying a word. No threats, no warnings, nothing. It was all so anticlimactic, I was a little disappointed. That was until I got out to my car and opened the valise.

Fifty million in raw, uncut diamonds is something you never expect to actually see. It’s just a concept, an unobtainable goal until you feel the weight in your hands, reach in and grab a handful, letting them slowly spill through your fingers. The first of many future payments.

I could sit here and look at them all day but there’s more to do and not much time left. The next thing is to stash these at my safe house and to make sure I’m not followed there.

I transfer the diamonds to a heavy canvas gym bag, searching to make sure there isn’t some kind of tracking device hidden among them. I drop the valise into the dumpster behind McDonalds, get in my car and turn right onto Washington, heading for the Outer Loop. Taking the Outer Loop, I head east, away from the coast, to a less attractive part of Miami. It’s a little more low rent, less crowded. I’ve subleased a condo in one of those buildings that’s only about one third full and barely keeping out of bankruptcy. Dropping back onto city streets several miles away from my destination, I start taking an indirect route, always watching for following cars. I took the course offered by the FBI to all new Federal attorneys but that was some time ago and I never had to do it for real, but I don’t think I’m being followed. Just to be sure, I park my car on the street and walk into a Starbucks. I take a seat where I can watch my car to see if anyone else is watching it. After a half hour, no other cars have parked nearby. I’m likely clean. No GPS tracking system, no physical tail. Better hurry.

Back into my car, I drive the last two blocks to my condo. Leaving my car in the underground garage, I take the elevator to the fifth floor, carrying my bag. Once the elevator door opens, I peek out. No one around. I casually stroll to my condo, just six doors down from the elevator. I open the door and hurry in, undetected, closing, locking and bolting the door behind me.

I relax, not being aware how tense I was. The living room is dominated by an extremely large aquarium, over one hundred gallons. There’s a couch, a couple of chairs, a TV and a bookcase which holds the TV, but it’s the aquarium which draws the eye.

Actually, It’s two aquariums. The large one holds a number of Piranha. The second, smaller one to the left holds about two dozen Goldfish.

Dropping my canvas bag on the couch, I scoop three Goldfish from the small tank using a net on a twisted metal handle, then invert the net over the larger tank. The water roils for several seconds before settling down. I used to watch the feeding frenzy with great enjoyment, but the excitement fades after awhile. It’s still amusing though to see the Goldfish scales drifting to the bottom of the tank.

Now comes the last part of my plan, a particularly tricky part. It’s cost me one of my better suits but fifty million will buy a lot of suits. I’ve taken my gray wool suit and exposed it to wood smoke and then burned small holes in the shoulders, sleeves, and back of the coat and a few in the pants, so that it looks and smells like I was in a shower of burning embers. After changing into the suit, I streak wood ashes across my face and right hand, rubbing some into my hair to increase the odor. The last step is the one that will really sell the illusion … and is the one I have not been looking forward to.

Going first to the bathroom to gather burn ointment, gauze and tape, I go to the kitchen, get out a small iron skillet, set it on the stove and turn the heat on high. While the skillet heats up, I fill one side of a double sink with ice and cold water. Once the skillet is hot, I take a dish towel, roll it up tight and stick it in my mouth, biting down hard with my teeth. I pick up the skillet using a pot holder in my right hand and, after a few deep breaths to prepare myself, I set it down on the back of my left hand.

The pain is excruciating as I scream into the towel clenched between my teeth. I leave the pan on my hand for the count of three, then toss the pan into the empty side of the sink while plunging my left hand into the ice cold water.

I need a good second degree burn to prove I was at the fire, nothing with permanent damage, no scarring, but something bad enough to make my story believable.

The pain starts to fade away as the nerves are numbed by the cold water. I’ll stay here for awhile, until I can tolerate the throbbing once the hand warms back up, dress the injury and then go see Tyson.

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

I hate budget time!

I didn’t go to law school to spend three quarters of my days dealing with accountants and administrators. I just wanted to put the bad guys in jail. Simple, straight forward and idealistic. I learned pretty quickly that you spend as much time fighting your own bureaucracy as you do the criminals and the higher up you go, the more the bureaucracy IS the bad guy. There are days when I want to chuck the whole thing, move to the country and open a little estate practice.

And die of boredom.

As big a pain in the ass as the administrative shit is, there’s still that sense of accomplishment when we put some sleaze ball away, whether I do it or someone else in the office does. I just wish we could get out of our own way sometime.

My phone buzzes. I told Larson not to interrupt me. I sigh, then pick up my phone.

“Ms. Larson, I thought I told you …”

“Mr. Tyson! You need to come out here, right now!”

Humph. It takes a lot to get a rise out of Larson. She’s seen it all and is usually as cool as they come. I push the computer crap aside and hurry to my door, pulling it open. I see her standing in front of a man who is slumped in a chair. There’s an odd odor in the air. She steps aside.

Good God! It’s Daniel Lipscomb! His left hand swathed in bandages. What IS that smell? He looks … unkempt, defeated. The man is nothing if not always well dressed, full … too full … of confidence.

“What the hell happened?!”

“They found out Walter. They got them all.”

“Who found out?” He looks up at me from the chair; his face streaked with … dirt? He raises his eyebrows, eyes wide open. OOoohhh, that’s who. Damn! “What happened, man?!”

He struggles to get out of the chair, wincing when his left hand bumps against the arm.

“We shouldn’t talk out here, Walter.”

“You’re right. Come into my office. Can we get you anything?”

Daniel limps past me. “Some water would be nice.”

“Sure. Ms. Larson, would you …”

“Right away, Sir.”

“Thank you.”

Lipscomb flops onto my couch, spilling some files to the floor. I pull a chair over to him and sit down. Larson hurries in with several bottles of cold water. She opens one, handing it to Lipscomb, who downs it in one, long drink. She opens another and he drinks half of it just as quickly.

“Thank you, Ms. Larson. You can leave us,” I say.

It’s clear that she doesn’t want to leave but she does, after setting the remaining bottles of water next to Daniel. I wait for the door to close before saying anything.

“Daniel … what happened?”

“We had it, Walter! We had it! Harris had gotten to Hobbes’ computer, hit the Mother Lode … at least, that’s what he said. We had scheduled a meeting so that he could hand over what he’d found. When I showed up, the building was already on fire. I tried to get in, managed to get in the back door but the place was too far gone.”

“So, what actually happened?”

“He must have made a mistake of some kind at the very end. So many months and he fumbles the ball at the goal line. It’s so hard to take!”

“I know, I know. Is he dead?”

Daniel coughs several times and takes another long drink, finishing the bottle. I open a third and hand it to him.

“I don’t know, I never got that far into the building. Can’t think that he survived. There should be two others, Thomas Matthews and Jessica Warren. The building was Matthews’ office, so he almost had to be there and Jessica usually drove Harris.”

“Who’s Harris?”

“Peter Harris, a retired undercover cop … we probably need to take jurisdiction over the scene.”

“Right, right.”

I stand up and grab my phone.

“Ms. Larson.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Get me Randy Hicks at the FBI. We’re going to need to take jurisdiction on a local fire. Looking at arson and murder. It was an undercover operation so we’ll need to handle with care. I’ll give him the details as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Sir. Right away.”

That ought to satisfy her for now. “Anybody else on your team, Daniel?”

“No, that was it. Hobbes got them all.”

“He didn’t get you.”

“I’ve been hiding since last night. I assume the others didn’t tell him about me, otherwise they would have simply waited for me to show up before killing everyone and starting the fire to cover their tracks.”

“Or they could still be looking for you.”

“I’ve considered that possibility too.”

“How’d you hurt your hand?”

He raises his bandaged left hand, turning it. “I don’t remember. Guess I was a little frantic about trying to get inside. I just know it hurt like hell when I got out, still does.”

“Who’d you see about taking care of it?”

“Did it myself. If Hobbes was looking for me, didn’t want to draw attention. Don’t worry, I think it’s only a second degree burn, no significant blistering, at least not yet. I was lucky.”

“At least somebody was last night. Still, you should see a doctor about it.”

“I will, later. Right now, we need to find what we can at the scene, see if we can find anything to link Hobbes to the murders or arson.”

“You sure he did it or had it done?”

“It’d be very unusual for Hobbes to do this himself so no, I don’t think he did it. But if he didn’t order it, who did? What’s the motive? It has to be that one of them, likely Harris, screwed up.”

“Why Harris?”

“He was the inside guy, the other two were just support. Matthews never had contact with anyone besides the other three of us and Jessica had very little contact with anyone in the Hobbes organization.”

“And you?”

“I just had contact with the other three. It was Peter’s show, that’s how he wanted it. In fact, he insisted. The guy was an undercover genius but clearly not infallible.”

“What did the other two do?”

“Harris had medical issues that forced his retirement. Matthews had some new medical treatments that fixed those problems, at least for the short term, putting him back in the game, but he needed regular treatments.”

“What did the woman do for the team?”

“She was a psychologist. She kept watch on Harris, who was a bit of a loose cannon. Kept him focused, eye on the ball so to speak.”

“If he had all those problems, why use him?”

“As I said, he was a genius at undercover work. Three times divorced, no friends or family, a real pain in the ass as a person but an undercover genius.”

“How did he actually do it?”

“To be honest … we weren’t talking much at the end. That little episode with the information from the spreadsheet turned him against me, said he couldn’t trust me anymore.”

“Sounds paranoid.”

“Paranoid probably kept him alive as long as it did. I was going to get all the information last night. We were going to wrap everything up.” Daniel shakes his head. “God damn it … we were so close.”

“What we were able to do with the spreadsheet information, the drugs we took off the street, that made the whole thing a success already. I can’t tell you how much praise we got for those busts. It was an excellent return on our investment.”

“Does that include the costs of three lives, Walter?”

“Look, I’m sorry about that … I really am. Of course, we won’t rest until we catch whoever did this terrible thing. I’ll put my best people on it, make it priority one. But, we both know undercover work is the most dangerous thing we do in law enforcement. The way you did it, and understand, I’m not criticizing because I approved it, but the way you did it was more dangerous still, what with no backups or anything. If I made it even more dangerous with what I did with the spreadsheet information, I apologize, but …”

“I understand, Walter. Harris never did but I do. We do what we can to protect our people but sometimes, it’s never enough, not when you’re dealing with people like Raymond Hobbes. Everyone who signed on with me knew that, I was very upfront about it with them, but they did it anyway. They were all flawed individuals in their own way but they were dedicated and brave and didn’t deserve what happened to them. I can’t help but feel like it was my fault that they’re all dead. I don’t know how I’ll be able to go on after what’s happened.”

I reach out and grab his shoulder. “You should take some time off. It’s been a rough few months and you’re not in the clear yet, Hobbes may still be looking for you. If I were in your shoes, I’d think about disappearing for awhile.”

“If you insist, Walter. I can keep in touch, in case there are questions. I know I can’t lead the investigation, conflict of interest and all, but I’ll help all I can to see justice done for my team … my friends.”

“Are there any next of kin who need to be contacted?”

“No, none. That’s another reason I used these particular people. No one had to be told where they were going. It cut off another possible source of leaks.”

“You’ve really thought this thing through, Daniel.”

He smiled at me for the first time today.

“I tried.”

CHAPTER SIXTY TWO

I’ve been able to wiggle my fingers and move my right arm a little but that’s all. It took everything I had and two hours of concentration, plus my head hurts like the dickens. There’s just no way I’m gonna be able to do anything useful at Pink Fifty. The only way I’m escaping is if I can change that setting.

Cardoza had me handcuffed to a chair again, just like in Hobbes’ office, though this time it was in his apartment in the security building. That was over twenty hours ago. I managed to get some sleep but it was hit and miss, this isn’t the most comfortable chair in the world. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink since they locked me in here. I have heard voices outside the door and thought I recognized Henry’s. That’s a meeting I’m not looking forward to. If Cardoza’s gonna kill me, I hope it’s before I have to face all the guards and household staff. I don’t think I could look Raul in the face. The same for Henry and Lou, though I would like a crack at Escaban.

I hear some footsteps outside the door and the jingle of keys. All right, stay sharp, be alert. Patricia’s head slowly turns towards the door, ever so slightly tilted to the left. The door suddenly opens, Cardoza standing in the doorway, warily looking around. He’s being cautious, true to form. Not likely to get any breaks from him but I still need to be ready.

He sees me still handcuffed in the chair but he carefully scans the room as he enters, not taking things at face value. He’s good. No wonder he’s survived all these years. When he finally reaches me, he quickly checks the handcuffs to make certain they are as he left them. Once satisfied that I’m still restrained, he relaxes just a little, unclipping his radio from his waistband and placing it on a nearby table, its volume low. He has a seat on the couch opposite me.

“Well Patricia … you don’t mind me calling you Patricia, do you?”

“No, Mr. Cardoza. That is my name.”

“Are you hungry, Patricia?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you thirsty?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Would you like a drink of water?”

“Yes, I would, Mr. Cardoza.”

“Then beg me for it.”

Without hesitation or resistance, Patricia starts to beg him. “Please Mr. Cardoza, may I have a drink of water? Please, please, please?”

Cardoza frowns. I don’t think he was expecting Patricia to be so compliant. She does exactly what she’s told. It’s no fun abusing her, she has no will of her own, there’s no resistance. And yet, she lied to Lipscomb. When it was most important, she hid the truth … or maybe, she protected the secret.

Whatever, if Cardoza wants some resistance, he’s gonna have to let me out of my cage, just a little bit. And that maybe enough.

Patricia keeps begging, just as before, with no real emotion. Cardoza looks more annoyed than anything else when he finally brings her a large glass of water. He places the rim of the glass near her lips and quickly tips the glass towards her, spilling at least a quarter of the water in her face and over her blouse as she rapidly gulps down as much as she can. When the glass is empty, Patricia licks her lips.

“Thank you for the water, Mr. Cardoza.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” he sneers.

It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with her. Cruelty rolls right off her. She accepts any insult, takes no offense but I felt the hesitation when she was told to remove her blouse and bra by Lipscomb. There’s something going on with her programming, something has changed from what it was months ago. Matthews would know but it’s too late to ask him.

Cardoza sets the glass next to his radio then reaches into his pants pocket, removing a set of keys. He sorts through the ring as he stands and walks over to a large clock mounted on the wall, selecting a smaller, silver key. He pushes against the clock, which swings away from the wall, revealing a recessed door with an L-shaped handle. He inserts the key into the base of the handle, turning both at once. The door springs open but I can’t see what’s inside from my angle, though, with great effort, I do get Patricia to crane her neck a little to try to improve it.

It’s likely a wall safe. There’s no combination lock, so it’s strictly key access. I wonder if Hobbes has a key or even knows if the safe exists. Probably not. Cardoza reaches inside with his right hand and removes the Remote Lipscomb gave him. He might be planning to change my settings. Forty five Pink might be just good enough to give me a chance.

“Patricia, what happens if I were to change this setting?”

“To what, Mr. Cardoza?”

“Just away from its current setting.”

“The lower the Pink number, the less influence I have over my behavior and the more influence Peter Harris has.”

“Do you want me to change the setting?”

“Yes, Mr. Cardoza.”

“Why is that?”

“So I can escape.”

He smiles. “Apparently Lipscomb was right, you can’t lie at the current setting. Interesting. Let’s see if he was right about the other information he provided.” He steps away from the safe and walks back to the chair Patricia is locked in, stopping just a few inches away. “Patricia … look at me.”

She looks up at his face, leering down at her.

“Baker. Jacob. One. Two. Mike.”

A shock runs through my body, causing all my muscles to lock up for a few seconds and then release, leaving me slumped in the chair, eyes closed. When I open my eyes, they lock onto Cardoza’s crotch. My body strains forward, trying to reach out for his belt, for his zipper. I desperately attempt to fight the growing compulsion but can’t stop it.

“Patricia, what do you want?”

“I want … to escape.”

“What? Lipscomb said that if I used that command you could not resist.”

She was trembling. I could feel her resistance, her conflict. “I … won’t … resist … but I … do not … want.”

He laughs as he reaches for his belt. “Excellent! Perfect! We’ll start with just your mouth for now, see how it goes.”

He quickly unbuckles the belt, undoes the buttons on the waistband, unzips and the drops his pants to the tops of his thighs. He pauses for a few seconds, his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer shorts. The urge in me is growing stronger. Finally, he pulls them down, revealing a limp penis, which he dangles just inches from my mouth.

“You know what you must do, Patricia.”

She can’t reply. The trembling grows stronger as she slowly moves her head closer to his cock, her mouth creeping open.

Fight it! Fight it! You don’t have to do this! It’s you’re choice!

At the last moment, she stops, breathing hard, but Cardoza slides his hips forward, dropping his cock in my open mouth, which slurps it in like a bass hits a worm.

“Good, good. Such an obedient girl.”

Once she closes her lips around Cardoza’s cock, her resistance fades away as she enthusiastically begins to suck and roll it around in her mouth … my mouth … his penis growing larger and harder with each passing second. It’s soon too large to keep it in my mouth so I release it and immediately turn to licking its length and sucking on the head, massaging it with my tongue. Handcuffed to the chair, I can’t do much more.

Thank God.

Unfortunately, Cardoza has an answer to this. He steps closer, positioning himself between my legs as he places his hands on each side of my head. He pulls my head away from his dick and turns it up to face him. I can see the anger and satisfaction in his face.

“You shouldn’t have opposed me, Patricia. Anna Hobbes did and I had to kill her. I’ll kill you too, eventually, but the longer you please me, the longer you will live. So far … you please me … let us see if you can improve your performance.”

He pulls my unresisting head back towards his dick, aimed straight at my open mouth. I try to close it but it only opens wider as the bulbous head pushes in past my lips and toward the back of my throat. I brace for the pain but it’s not as bad as I expect. I feel it sliding down my throat and I want to cough, to gag, to force his dick from my throat but I can only gulp. Cardoza grunts in pleasure.

“Good! Marvelous! Such a talented girl! A true cocksucker! Maybe there are certain guards who would enjoy this also. Yes … yes … take it all, Bitch!”

He continues to push his cock down my throat until my nose is pressed against his groin. He holds my head there, enjoying both the physical sensations as I gulp his cock and his dominance of me. Slowly pulling back a few inches, he quickly plunges back in, his balls smacking my chin. He does this several times, cycling faster as he continues.

Up to now, I’ve managed to keep my anger in check. I can’t do anything about the situation right now. Look for a break, look for an opportunity. Watch and wait, I can take this. Keep a cool head, don’t panic, don’t show fear. Don’t let the bastard win! Make him PAY!!

As soon as he called me a bitch though, I could feel my anger jump and it’s continued to grow ever since. I already can’t control my body, I don’t want to lose my mind too.

Cardoza’s really going at it now, fucking my mouth while grunting and groaning in delight. I occasionally get a glimpse of his face, looking down at me, mouth agape, breathing hard, sweat gathering on his forehead and dripping down the sides of his head. Hope the bastard gets a heart attack. I can feel his dick pistoning in and out of my throat, my jaw starting to ache, but I don’t have any trouble breathing. My breaths are in rhythm with his thrusts. It’s like I know exactly what to do but it’s different, as if the knowledge is coming from some other part of my mind. This is more than just the usual pre-programmed information.

Suddenly, the rhythm is broken. I can’t match his pace, I can’t breathe! Almost overwhelmed by panic, I struggle to keep control while choking and gagging, my body convulsing. Cardoza pauses for a moment, then slowly pulls his cock from my mouth. I gasp for air as soon as my mouth is empty.

“Amazing! Twelve minutes exactly! Lipscomb wasn’t lying. Enough for the preliminaries, time for the main event. Patricia … look at me.”

I’m still trying to catch my breath but I can’t stop my head from turning to look Cardoza in the face. The smile there sickens me.

“Baker. Frank. Three. Zero. Mike.”

Again, my body locks up for a few seconds, then collapses in the chair. When I open my eyes, I see Cardoza standing before me, stroking his stiff, saliva coated penis. I don’t feel anything at first, not like the last time. It takes a moment for me to notice the tingling in my … no … God no. Baker James. BJ … blow job. Baker Frank. BF … butt fuck!

Cardoza laughs raucously, pointing at me. My realization must have shown on my face. “Yes! You understand now! Hobbes always said you were a smart girl. Your Mr. Lipscomb is an interesting fellow. Not so smart in trusting him, were you? I don’t think we’ll need these any longer.”

He begins to unlock the handcuffs as I squirm in the chair, painfully aware of the growing, itching sensation in my rectum. As soon as my last limb is free, I quickly stand, pull my panties down to my ankles, kick one leg free and drop to my hands and knees, all before I can mount any resistance.

“So eager, so compliant. Perhaps I can keep you around indefinitely. Lipscomb gave me an intriguing list of sex acts and positions. It will take me weeks to try all possible combinations, even with the help of Viagra. Right now, the sight of your tight, moist asshole is all the stimulation I need. For your sake, I hope you got my dick slick enough because that is all you’re going to get.”

While he talks, I’m wiggling my ass in front of him. Stop it! Fight this! It’s your body … it’s your brain. Take control! Don’t let Lipscomb make you his toy, his … thing. You’re not a thing! I’m not a thing! The itching sensation is growing but so is my anger. Not this time, Cardoza. Not this time!

The pain in my head is back, prickly at first but rapidly becoming a sharp, deep ache. I’m so distracted by the sensations at either end of my body that I wasn’t aware that Cardoza had reached down and pushed his middle finger past my anal ring. I hear myself moan several times while Cardoza laughs.

NO! Not now! Not Here! Not with Him! Fight Patricia!! You’re a learning machine … LEARN, God Damn it! My anger is now a rage, filling my head, my heart, reveling in the increasing pain radiating from deep within my head. Cardoza removes his finger but I feel my skirt being pulled away from my bottom, exposing it to the cool air.

Come on Patricia! Fight! Resist! Beat the Bastards! Don’t give in! You’re a virgin! We’re a virgin! Not with Cardoza, not with HIM!

I’d scream if I could. The pain in my head is so loud! It feels like it’ll explode any minute. Cardoza spreads my legs wider as he shuffles forward on his knees, pressing into my exposed thighs.

NO! NO! GOD DAMN IT, NO!! FIGHT HIM! FIGHT HIM!! YOU CAN DO IT! WE CAN DO IT!! DON’T LET LIPSCOMB BEAT US!! HE KILLED MATTHEWS … HE KILLED MOM!! HE KILLED ME!!!

The rage is a fury now, penetrating every cell of my immobile body. I’m aware that my rectum is aching for the relief of Cardoza’s disgusting cock and my head is seconds from splitting wide open like an over-ripe melon, but those sensations pale when compared to my all encompassing fury. I feel the head of his dick pressing against my anus.

AAARRRGGGHH! NOOOO! PATRICIA! FIGHT IT YOU BITCH! BEAT THEM! IT’S OUR BODY, IT’S OUR CHOICE! CHOOSE! NOT HERE, NOT NOW! STOP HIM!

He slowly pushes forward.

KILL HIM! STOP HIM! GOD, MY HEAD’S KILLING ME! WE WON’T TAKE THIS!

I WON’T TAKE THIS! YOU CAN’T BEAT ME!! LIPSCOMB! CARDOZA!

NO!!!

“No”

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

I’m back in the waiting room at Matthew’s office, though it’s mostly white … and clean, sitting at the table. And I’m me, Peter Harris. It’s been so long, I feel out of place. Patricia’s sitting opposite of me, that familiar half smile and head tilt. What’s not familiar is the constantly changing cloud of light and dark in the corner of the room. At times, it condenses into a semi-transparent body that kinda looks like Patricia, other times it’s a swirling cloud of tiny flashing lights, some bright, others very dim. It constantly changes from one state to another.

I stand up and walk around. There’s no pain, no hesitation, no breathing problems; I’m perfectly healthy. Patricia just sits there, calmly watching me. Moving closer to the thing in the corner, it doesn’t react to me, at least not right away. Once it shifts to the near human body, it reaches towards me with both hands for a moment before it breaks apart into the swirling mass again. I wander back to the table, returning to my seat.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What the fuck happened?”

“You broke it.”

“What did I break?”

“The Balancer. You and she broke it. We’re free.”

“How’d we do that?”

“You fought against the setting, you and she tried to take control. The Balancer wasn’t designed to deal with intentional conflict. Dr. Matthews assumed there would need to be only the occasional regulation of conflicting thoughts. You pushed the Balancer way beyond the design parameters.”

“I felt a stabbing pain in my head.”

“That is consistent with a damaged Balancer.”

I tip my head towards the light ball. “What is that?”

“The remaining memories of Jenny Jo Hamilton, our host.”

“Why is she so … fuzzy?”

“Because that is all that could be recovered from our damaged brain, just bits and pieces of memories, and an incredible amount of anger.”

“I can imagine, after what happened to her.”

“There’s much more than you know. Teen age prostitution just to survive, physical abuse, a sad story.”

“And what am I?”

“You’re you, Peter Harris. All that was transferred into the brain by Dr. Matthews.”

“So, that means you’re …”

“Patricia, the program, as modified by what I learned from you and Jenny Jo.”

“Fine, now that we know the players, where are we and what are we doing here?”

“All this is just an organizing façade, a place where you may feel comfortable so that we can discuss the situation and come to a decision.”

“About what?”

“The Balancer is broken. Nothing determines which of us is in control of the body. Without the Balancer, there is freedom but chaos.”

“Isn’t that the same as before, when the Controller went dead?”

“No, the connections were still intact, just not actively managed. Now, the connections are burned out.”

“So what can be done about it? Matthews is dead.”

“None of us saw him die but it is likely that you are correct. However, I have the capabilities to fix it. I have limited control of the nanites and can direct them to fix it, to restore it to nearly perfect operating condition.”

“Well, do it. What’s there to discuss? I’ve got to get control if I’m gonna get us out of here.”

“It will take time, at least two days.”

“So what happens … wait a minute, what’s going on right now?”

“What was happening before the Balancer was disabled. Mr. Cardoza is initiating anal sex with us. However, we have different time scales. What seems like hours here are only fractions of a second out there, in the ‘real world’. All you experience here are just electrical impulses, moving at near the speed of light. We have as much time as we need to decide what to do.”

“You keep saying that. What other options do we have?”

“As I said, I have limited control of the nanites. They can be used to repair the Balancer or not. They can also be directed to do other things.”

“Such as?”

“They can be directed to integrate the three separate personalities in our brain into one unified whole. We would be one person, all our respective capabilities rolled into one integrated personality.”

“And the Remote Control?”

“Would no longer have any effect. The Balancer would be disabled, dismantled, used for raw material to complete repairs. We would be in charge of our own fate.”

“I don’t get it.”

She sighed. “Think of the Balancer as the gatekeeper. Both of us are trying to get through the gate at the same time. The gatekeeper decides who gets in, who is in charge of body. At the high Pink or Blue settings, it is mostly you or I, at the lower settings, it is a mixture of both of us. Now, there is no gatekeeper. I can repair the gatekeeper but then we will have to dance to his tune, the tune of the person who holds the Controller.”

“Can’t you and I just work it out ourselves?”

“There is no mechanism for us to do so. We would have to negotiate every single movement, every step. Hardly a realistic possibility. Besides, there is also Jenny Jo. She is not likely to cooperate. I’m sure that you have already felt her influences.”

“Yeah. She’s really pissed off.”

“Exactly. I can direct the nanites to bypass the Balancer and integrate our separate entities into a single, unified being, free and independent of any control by outside people. Also, those subroutines Daniel Lipscomb demanded that Dr. Matthews install are located in the Balancer. If it no longer controls, we are no longer compelled to obey them. ”

That alone makes me want to say yes but there are additional concerns.

“Which one of us would end up on top? You said you controlled the nanites. What would keep you from wiping me out?”

“I said I have limited control. I can only give general directives. They have a certain amount of individual control plus a group intelligence of their own.”

“So, what keeps them from just taking over?”

“That is outside their design parameters. I assume that your personality would dominate because you occupy the greatest percentage of the brain but there is a certain amount of what you call a crap shoot here. There are no guarantees that this will work or exactly what the end result would be. Repairing the Balancer and returning to the status quo has a much greater chance of success.”

“So why even consider anything else?”

“I have learned from you the advantage of doing the unexpected and the value of taking chances. Much of our success to date has been due to you not following the expectations of others. It has been … fun.”

“Yeah, it has been. A lot of fun sometimes but not so much other times, like now. If we agree to this integration thing, how long’s that gonna take?”

“Unknown. Certainly days.”

“Cardoza’s not gonna give us that kinda time. We don’t perform, he’ll kill us quick.”

“Agreed. What do you propose?”

“That we leave me in charge for now, until we can escape, find a place to hole up for awhile and make repairs.”

“You are referring to Randi’s Place.”

“Yeah, if we’re lucky. It’s miles away from here.”

“Twelve point three miles.”

“Okay, if you want to be exact. If you’ll just lay back and leave it to me, I’ll get us out of here and some place safe.”

“And what happens after that?”

Good question. Not a lot of great options. The smart move is to fix what we‘ve got but that’ll leave me at the mercy of any fucker whose got a remote control in their hand, which is Lipscomb and Cardoza right now. Can’t get much worse than that. I’d be on the run for the rest of my life. If I go with Plan B, I’m free of the control but it won’t be me. Of course, I haven’t been me for months, even at Blue Fifty, and I’m never going back to my old body anyway, so I’m looking at changes no matter what. Then there’s Jenny Jo.

“What happens to her?” I ask, pointing towards the apparition, which looks more like a Jackson Pollock painting than anything else right now.

“Undetermined. There is not much there to work with. It was likely a mistake for the nanites to repair those pathways in the first place. There is too much anger and too little reason.”

“It was her anger that saved us. I remember now where I’ve felt it before, back during the basketball game with St. Agnes.”

“Look how well that turned out for us.”

You can really tell that Mom programmed that part of my brain. “Yeah, you’re right, but now that I know what’s going on, I can control it better. If Jenny Jo hadn’t joined in, there is no way I could have burned out the Balancer.”

“So, you’ve decided what you want to do?”

“I … I … guess I have.”

“You realize what this means, for you? It’s a female body, Jenny Jo’s instincts are female, I’ve been programmed by a woman. As you say, your odds of remaining male aren’t good.”

“Probably for the best. Wouldn’t have been able to do much if I had returned to my old body. I’ve already felt … urges … going that way. Hormones, no doubt.”

She looked up at me, flashing that brilliant smile I’ve used before. “There wasn’t any other choice for a man like you. Never play it safe. The adventure continues.” She stands up and the room disappears, leaving all three of us in a white void.

“What now?” I ask.

She extends her left hand toward me. “Take my hand. It’s more symbolic than anything else but it will do.”

I take her hand with my right. “How do we get Jenny Jo to join us?”

“It doesn’t really matter, the changes will occur no matter if she joins us or not.”

“I’d like it to be her choice, it’ll make things easier down the road.”

“You may try but I suspect that there is too little consciousness for her to make any kind of decision.”

I hold my left hand out towards the constantly swirling mass. “Come on, Jenny Jo, join us, help us. It won’t hurt.” I look over at Patricia. “Will it hurt?” She shrugs. Great. I turn back to Jenny Jo. “It probably won’t hurt. We have to do this; it’s the only way for us to win.”

No change. I look back at Patricia. “You have any ideas?”

“Sorry, this is well outside of my experience.”

Wonderful, like it’s inside mine. Then I get an idea. I hold my hand out again.

“Jenny Jo … if you join us, I promise that I’ll do what I can to help Penny, your sister Penny. I know you promised that you’d save her. I saw your memories. I know what Daddy did to you. If you help us, I promise to help you however I can.”

The swirling speeds up, as does the flashing of the lights. In seconds, the thing shrinks and condenses into a smoky image of Patricia, there yet not there. It floats towards me, walking but her feet don’t touch the ground. She looks up as she nears and I can see the blazing anger behind her eyes. Her lips move. I don’t hear what she’s saying but the word appears in my mind.

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

She leisurely nods her spectral head and slowly reaches out with her right hand, trailing tendrils of smoke. I gently touch it, feeling real substance. When I fully grasp it, I think I detect a hint of a smile. Her other hand floats towards Patricia, who doesn’t move.

“I agree to give you time to mount an escape, Peter. I will do what I can to keep Jenny Jo from interfering, though it may not be enough. You and I can reason together, reach an agreement. Jenny Jo is not like us, she is primarily driven by strong emotions. I’m afraid you will have your hands full. Good luck.”

Her free hand shoots out, grasping Jenny Jo’s, completing the circle. There’s a blinding flash, then searing pain in my head.

CHAPTER SIXTY THREE

It takes a second or two for my head to clear. The pain is still intense. Must be caused by the Balancer’s burn out. Then I hear Cardoza’s animalistic grunt and feel his cock probing my anus. I duck my head and roll forward over my right shoulder. He tries to grab at my ass but it slips from his hands, as does his dick from my butt. I pop up to my feet and spin to confront him all in one swift motion. For a brief moment, we face one another, Cardoza on his knees, hands outstretched, reaching for my just departed ass, his dick pointing up in the air, a look of confusion on his face. Then I execute a classic roundhouse kick to the side of his head, dropping him like a hundred eighty pound sack of potatoes. I stand ready to attack again but he doesn’t move. I’d like to see the look on his face when one of the guards finds him like this, pants down, dick out. Whoever stumbles onto this scene may not be around for long. The stabbing pain in my head snaps me back to our immediate problem, as does the voice in my mind screaming “Kill the BASTARD! He RAPED ME!”

So much for Jenny Jo being a team player.

Escape. Escape is job one. Stay alive to play another day. I run over to the windows on the east wall and carefully inspect them. Security sensors on all of them but Cardoza probably disabled the security to this area when he came in through the front door. I can’t use it because the stairway leads right to the main operations room. It’s gonna be one of the windows but I need to get ready.

First thing, find my panties. Looking around I quickly spot them on the floor near Cardoza. It only takes a few seconds to step into them and pull them up, snug and back where they belong. While I’m here, might as well see if I can rustle up some cash. Fishing around in Cardoza’s pants, I discover his wallet. Rifling through it, I find over two hundred dollars in assorted bills … and his security pass card! Alright!

Running to the back of the apartment, I find his bedroom, strip the sheets off his bed, knot them together and hurry back to the main room. Cardoza still hasn’t moved.

My head is still throbbing, not as bad as before but it’s getting worse. Patricia can’t unleash the nanites until I get to Randi’s Place. I don’t know how much time I’ve got before something really terrible happens up there.

It takes me a couple of minutes to quietly move the couch close to a window and then tie one end of a sheet to its legs. I could just jump but I’m on the third floor, it’d be better to climb down, it’ll make less noise … assuming the security is off.

I stuff the money and card into my bra and prepare to open the window when I see the radio on the table. Yeah, that may come in handy. Moving silently, I pick up the radio and turn it on, listening for a few seconds. Sounds like normal chatter, nothing unusual. Hustling back to the window, I hold my breath, unlatch it, grab the handles with both hands and noiselessly open it.

No alarms are triggered and the radio traffic remains unchanged. So far, so good. I throw the untethered end of the sheet out the window, climb through and slide down, holding the radio in my teeth. I hit the ground harder than I intended, causing my head to vibrate with pain, rendering me breathless for a few seconds before it eases slightly. Still nothing on the radio.

There are cameras everywhere but they are mainly interested in someone breaking in - not out. They monitor the primary traffic patterns along walks and driveways but not among the trees. Thankfully, it’s a moonless night, so I don’t cast a shadow as I run for the trees and squat among the bushes.

Pausing to catch my breath, I need to make a decision. If I use Cardoza’s card to open an outside door, I’ll have to step into the open and all doors are watched by cameras. I may get out but they’ll know I’m gone almost instantly and the chase will be on. I need to buy more time before they discover I’ve escaped, though Cardoza could wake up any second and raise the alarm. Probably should have taken a few minutes to tie and gag him. Too late now. There is a spot to my left where the wall takes a hard turn left and then back right, following the property line to avoid a utility easement, creating a shadow line about three feet wide, cast by a security light that’s in the wrong place. It’s also fifty feet to the nearest camera. A month and a half ago, I hid some rope and a folding grappling hook in the brush by that spot, just in case I needed a way out. I swiped them from a tree service Hobbes had hired to trim some trees away from the security wall. I’ll be visible when I go over the wall but not easy to spot. It’s my best chance … if no one found the rope.

Carefully following the tree line and crawling when necessary, it takes me three agonizing minutes to get to my spot and another minute and a half to find the rope and screw the two parts of the hook together. The hook is going to make noise when it hits the other side of the wall but that can’t be helped. It’s got a rubber coating but that’ll just soften the sound.

I step away from the tree and toss the hook underhand over the wall right in the middle of the shadow line. It thuds when it hits the ground outside. Waiting, I listen to the radio, its volume just barely above a whisper.

Nothing. Somebody is giving pro basketball scores.

Pulling the hook slowly up the outside of the wall, it finally catches on the outside edge. It’s not a very strong grab but I don’t weigh much and it should hold if I don’t shake it free. Just keep the tension on the rope at all times. Leaning backwards against the rope, I get my left foot against the wall, then my right foot and then I proceed to steadily walk up the wall, carefully keeping firm tension on the rope until I reach the top.

This is the tricky part. I edge up the wall until my feet are just on the lip. Shifting my weight to my left leg and cautiously bending it at the knee, it brings me closer to the wall, letting my right foot slide across the top and over the other side … completely out in the open and available for anyone who is watching the camera to see. As soon as I can, I hook my right leg over the outside of the wall and with one last desperate heave on the rope, throw myself and the rope over the top and fall eight feet to the ground.

I manage to twist around in the air and land on my feet, rolling forward to dissipate the impact. As I lay on my back, I do a quick inventory. Nothing broken, nothing strained, my legs badly scraped by the wall, my head pounding. I sit up and search for the radio. It’s only about a foot from me and survived the fall. Picking it up and increasing the volume slightly, I hear the call.

“Perkins, check out your sector. We thought we saw something at the top of the wall.”

“What’d it look like?”

“Not sure, was there and gone too quick.”

I scramble back up against the base of the wall, turn down the volume and wait. And wait.

“Perkins here. Can’t see anything. Whatever it was, it’s not around here now. No sign of activity.”

“Roger Perkins, return to post.”

Time to go.

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

It took me fifteen minutes to work my way out of Hobbes’ neighborhood, dodging the police and private security patrols the whole way. When Cardoza finally wakes up, he won’t spare anything looking for me. He’ll call up every resource he can, cops, gangs, hired guns, everybody. I can’t take a cab or bus. Even hitching a ride is dangerous. I can just see them claiming I’m a missing kid and put my picture in the paper. If some good citizen gave me a ride and then saw my picture, they could report where they dropped me and then we’re screwed.

Randi’s is about ten miles away and I have to get there as fast as possible and leave no trail. A bus drives by, heading the wrong direction but seeing it gives me an idea. Picking up my pace, I hurry to the next block, which is on a major street, and have a seat in a covered bus stop. While waiting, I pull my legs up and hug them. Even Miami gets chilly at night in January. Trying to relax, I close my eyes, taking a series of deep breaths, slowly exhaling after each one. It doesn’t help my headache at all. When I open my eyes, I notice several drops of blood on the sleeve of my blouse, all fresh. I touch my lip just below my nose with my right index finger. It comes back bloody. Not a good sign.

Pulling a bill from my bra, I tear off two corners, roll them between my thumb and index fingers, then stuff one in each of my nostrils. Can’t be seen bleeding, it attracts attention. Two buses stop and leave before the right one comes by. As it stops, I stand and step up to the opening door. Two older ladies are waiting to get off but I block their path.

“Excuse me, Sir. Does this bus go to Glenfield?”

“Sorry, little lady, that was the bus before me. I’m headed downtown,” answers the driver.

“Thanks.”

I move around to the front, letting the ladies step out of the bus, blocking the view of the driver. This bus has a bicycle carrier mounted on the front bumper. Wedging myself behind the mounting brackets of the carrier, the bus pulls away from the curb and back into the street.

The driver can’t see me and this is an express so it won’t be making any more stops until it gets within a few blocks of Randi’s. I’m taking a big chance but the way my head feels, I don’t think I could make it on foot. Anyone walking or driving along can see me but there’s not too much traffic this time of the night and a good percentage of the people who are out and about have been drinking so they won’t be that observant or believe what they’re seeing.

As cold as it was at that bus stop, it’s three times colder now and I’m just wearing a blouse and skirt, shoes but no socks, no hose. Only a few miles into the trip, I’m trembling. The next light is red and it feels like the temperature jumps thirty degrees as the bus slows to a stop. I try to scrunch down as much as possible, to be less visible. Two guys, clearly drunk, stumble by in the cross walk, one of them stopping right in front of me. He reaches out and grabs the arm of the other guy, dragging him back.

“Hey man! What the fuck you doing?”

The first guy points at me. The second guy looks, blinks a couple of times, then laughs.

“No fucking way, man! Hey kid, what the hell …”

Just then, the light changes and the driver immediately stands on his horn, causing the two drunks to scramble out of the way. The driver guns the engine and we take off.

We’ve made good time but now I’ve got to figure a way off. We hit the last two lights on green and this road has synchronized lights. If I don’t do something quick, I’ll overshoot my target. Putting a foot on each of the two brackets, I carefully push myself up the front of the bus. Wrapping my left arm around the brace my back is resting against, I reach up high with my right hand and knock on the windshield.

The brakes immediately engage with a squeal, throwing me forward and almost off the bike carrier. I regain my balance just in time to jump off the bus as it slows. Keeping low, I run around to the driver’s side, making sure to first check for traffic. I scoot along the length of the bus to the back then drop down to look for the driver’s feet. He’s around the front walking left, then right, then back left. Backing away from the bus about twenty feet, I dart for the sidewalk when he starts to walk down the opposite side of the bus and hide behind a trash can as he comes around the back corner, scratching his head. He ducks down, looking under the bus for several seconds before he finishes his search, climbs back in and drives off.

I pull the wads of paper out of my nose, leading to a steady flow of blood that soon slows to a drip. The pain is stronger but I’m also feeling woozy and it’s hard to get my eyes to focus. After putting new paper wads in my nose, I head down the street as quickly as I can. I first try to run but my legs won’t move that fast, though I do manage a fast walk. This area is more residential, with old, rundown houses but when I turn the corner onto Cabana Boulevard, it’s all business and crowded, even at this time of night.

It’s tougher for me to move through the crowd, both because of the number of people and it’s getting harder to move my legs. It’s like something is fighting me for control … OH CRAP! Jenny Jo! Patricia was supposed to keep her in check. We’re not safe yet. If I collapse in the street, someone will call 911 and they might as well hand me to Hobbes. Damn it girl … don’t you understand?

My head is swirling, I can’t see shit because of all these people. I haven’t been here in years and all the bar fronts have changed, I don’t recognize much of anything, at least what I can see through the bodies. Wait … that’s 915, just two blocks away from 1105. I try to walk faster but can’t, in fact, it’s worse. By the time I reach the 1100 block, my left leg is almost useless. I duck into the first alley I see. Randi’s has a back door. There’s no way they’ll let me in the front and the fewer people who see me the better. I don’t get ten feet into the alley before I fall, my left leg collapsing beneath me.

I lay in a puddle of filthy water, barely able to breath due to a blood clogged nose, my head absolutely shrieking in pain. I push myself up but can’t stand, my left leg is dead and my right is getting weaker. I see light streaming from a partially open door. Blinking until my eyes focus, I begin to crawl towards the door, my knee punctured by broken glass almost immediately, but that’s just a minor pain in the chorus. I have to pause twice to catch my breath. When I reach the concrete steps leading up to the ajar door, my right leg fails, driving the knee into the first step as I fall.

OH GOD! That hurt! Damn it Jenny! Back OFF! We’re so close! I manage to reach up and grab the iron railing with my right hand and pull my failing body over to it so that I can also grab it with my left. Pulling with my remaining strength, I get past the second step and reach the top. I lunge for the doorknob with my left hand and swing the door open, my upper body suspended in the lit doorway. All eyes in the kitchen turn towards me, including a pair that I haven’t seen in years.

“Randi!” I gasp. “Peter … Harris …”

My left hand slips off the doorknob and I fall to the floor, face first.

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

Dreams

Nothing but dreams. The usual nightmares but good ones too. Happy times with family, old friends, my sister Penny, pets. Mom and I shopping for groceries and both of us making supper, together. That time at the school play when I was the fairy princes. The day I bowled a 280, just missing a 300 game, when my best score before that was 216. We got loaded and went home, Wife Number one and I fucked all night. I was like twenty nine and thought I was invincible. Then there was the time Penny and I went to the county fair with the birthday money Grandma snuck to us so Daddy wouldn’t take it. We rode rides and had funnel cakes and Elephant ears and lemon shake-ups until we were nearly sick. I won that little stuffed bear and gave it to Penny. She named it Jay Jay Junior. When Daddy asked her where she got it, I told him I found it in a dumpster. He let her keep it. That was a nice day.

They went on and on. I think I remember eating something and drinking something that weren’t dreams but that didn’t last long and went right back to the dreams. Sometimes the dreams weren’t about things that happened but were about things I knew. Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Calculus, Astrophysics, German, Latin, Musicology, Aerodynamics, Economics, Karate, Marksmanship. They went on and on. I don’t remember knowing so much stuff, but I must have, otherwise, how did I remember it?

Early on, I was scared, really scared. Maybe that’s why the dreams were mostly bad dreams. But, as things moved on, it got better. I stopped being scared and then I started feeling … good. The good lasted for a while and then I was, like, confident. There’s been both good and bad stuff in my life but … I got this. I can handle it. Then I was anxious but not in a bad way, more like I was waiting for something to get done and wanted it to be done as soon as possible so that I could … I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen next, but I wanted to find out in the worst way. Now, it’s more like I’m determined, I’m not going to find out what the future is like, I’m going to make the kind of future I want. My choice, my decision, my call. Time to put things right.

I slowly open my eyes. I’m laying on my right side on a cot, a light blanket covering me, a fluffy pillow under my head. The room is dimly lit, like daylight through blinds. My headache is completely gone. In fact, there’s a sharpness, a clarity of thought that I can’t recall ever experiencing before. I can feel the blanket lightly caressing my skin, brushing against my nipples … I’m naked! I wasn’t naked to start … how long ago was that?

I cautiously turn over. The room is as I remember it, small, gray, unheated, but it’s a lot cleaner, not nearly as musty. There’s a closet door down near my feet. Hope my stuff is still there. I can see the combination lock is still in the hasp. I appear to have full control over my arms and legs. As I complete the turn and land on my back, I see there’s someone else in the room, slumped in a padded chair near my head. It’s a woman, her head and left hand bandaged, head down so I can’t see her face. It’s not Randi, too young. The hair color is familiar, though the hair is shorter than …

“Mom?” I croak, throat and lips bone dry.

She stirs and raises her head. It is her!

“You’re … alive!”

“OH! Patricia, my baby, honey … we thought we lost you. Are you okay? Can you talk?”

“Need … water. Or whiskey … what ever … handy.”

Her eyes grow wide.

“Joke … Mom. Water … fine.”

She smiles with relief and reaches down to the floor, picking up a glass, bringing it toward my lips. I move my arms back and push my upper body up off the cot.

“Careful baby … don’t hurry … take it slowly, that’s right.” She presses the edge of the glass lightly on my lips and gradually tips it up, letting the water trickle into my mouth. I drink until the glass is empty, then pull my mouth back. She returns the glass to the floor as I settle back onto the cot, my head turned towards her.

“Lipscomb said he killed you.”

“The bastard tried.”

“But you were too tough.”

“I was lucky. The bullet only grazed my head. It was bloody and knocked me out so he apparently didn’t bother to check. Likely assumed the fire would finish the job. It almost did. I’d given up until I heard you’re voice, telling me to fight.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“I know, it was a hallucination of some kind but it did the trick. I kicked out a door panel and crawled out, then got in my car and drove here … like we agreed. I’m sorry … I didn’t go after you … he had you and I didn’t do anything. I should have done something … anything but I just …”

I reach out and touch her leg. “You did exactly the right thing, it’s what we agreed. I did the same thing.”

“You thought I was dead.”

“Yes, but I didn’t check on it. You weren’t in any shape to help me and I couldn’t help you. Or Thomas … or Peter.”

She took my hand into hers. “He killed them both. I saw him shoot Thomas, saw his body burn, smelled … horrible. Had nightmares every night … until you got here. You looked in terrible condition, so dirty and bloodied. Randi said you couldn’t even walk, that you crawled through that ghastly alley … Patricia, if I had only known …”

“It wasn’t your fault Mother, it was mine. I should have known, I should have realized what was going on. It was all there but I didn’t connect the dots.”

“Patricia, don’t blame yourself. Lipscomb was smart, he had the time to plan this out. There was no way anyone could have known.”

“You’re wrong, Mom. The information was here all the time” I touch my forehead. “Remember what Thomas said? That putting information in was easy, taking it out was hard. Lipscomb brought his plans with him when he was transferred in to my brain. They’ve been in here from the first day Peter Harris joined. I’m pretty sure that was why I started distrusting him almost immediately. All these negative thoughts nagged at me but I couldn’t put my finger on why.”

“Honey, you can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

“I don’t. We both know who’s responsible. The information was buried deep in my mind, just bits and pieces survived, but it was enough to trigger my subconscious, to warn me. I ignored those warnings so I could complete the job, do my duty. We’re done with that. I can fix this.”

“Fix this? Fix what?”

“I can put things right. The dead stay dead and a few others may join them but justice will be done.”

“What can the police do? What can we tell them? What proof do we have? Who can we trust?”

“We trust each other. We take care of it ourselves.”

“Honey … there’s just too many of them out there. Hobbes and his people, Lipscomb and the police. We wouldn’t stand a …”

“I know were Lipscomb is hiding. The exact address.”

“What do you have in mind?”

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

My burner cell phone vibrates. I gave this number to one person.

“Hello, Walter.”

“How you doing, Daniel? How’s the hand?”

“Much better. Doesn’t appear to be any scarring.”

“Lucky you. I got the initial report from the FBI on the fire today.”

“What did they find?”

“What we expected. Definitely arson, no attempt to even hide it. Multiple ignition points, gasoline as an accelerant. They found the remains of two men, one shot dead before the fire started, the other was alive when the fire was set.”

“Burned alive?”

“That’s what they say. Lousy way to go.”

“Can they tell who’s who?”

“Yeah, Peter Harris was the one who burned alive.”

“Makes sense, they would have been tougher on him. What about Jessica?”

“Nothing yet, though there was a lot of damage. Most everything ended up in the basement. They say it was a very hot fire, your man Matthews had a lot of flammable chemicals stored there. They may not find her.”

“Hope they do, she deserved better.”

“I’d say they all did. I’ve arranged for presidential commendations for all of you.”

“Thanks Walter, but none of them had family, though Harris has three ex-wives I think.”

“Three? Busy man. Well, you’re available for a presentation.”

“I’d rather not Walter, not yet at least.”

“I wish you’d let me bring you in and put you in protective custody. I’m sure we could find a safe place for you.”

“Walter, my best protection is to disappear. No one knows were I am and I’d like to keep it that way. You’re my sole contact and that’s fine by me. Eventually, I should be able to come back and be reasonably safe, just not yet.”

“It’s your life, Daniel. Just know that the whole office is looking forward to honoring you.”

“Thanks Walter, I can’t tell you what that means to me. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, Daniel.”

I really can’t tell him, it’ll look good on my resume though. Hope those idiot techs find some trace of Jessica’s body so they can close the investigation. I’m tired of hanging out in this hell hole.

CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR

She didn’t cry or whine or sob when she told me what had happened to her, not that Peter would normally do any of that kind of thing, but there wasn’t a lot of anger either. It was all “just the facts, Ma’am”. At least on the surface. Underneath, I could sense the steel in her, the absolute determination to see this through to the end, whether I helped or not.

Randi stopped by to see our patient several times a day. She hadn’t been too happy to see me that first night, even after invoking Peter Harris’s name, though she did help. She had one of her sons hide my car, the other got a local … I guess you could call him a doctor in the broadest terms … to come and tend my injuries. She even gave me a haircut to even out the areas where my hair had been burned back. Haven’t worn it this short in years. Like all stylists, she took the opportunity to ask me questions, mostly about what happened to Peter, I played quasi-dumb. If she knew he was dead, she might feel whatever debt she owed him was cancelled and I might be out on the street. I told her we were working together and things went bad and he’d given me this address as a short term refuge. All true, as far as it went. She wouldn’t tell me why she owed him a favor but she seemed to respect him, maybe fear him just a bit. She said she didn’t know what was behind the locked closet door and didn’t want to.

It was a different story when Patricia arrived. She had no daughters, only sons, but she had two granddaughters, one just a few years younger than Patricia. She took charge immediately, ordering everyone but me around. I was her new best friend. Told me her whole life story while we sat around the cot, caring for Patricia. Constantly apologizing for the poor facilities, cursing Peter up and down for getting such a young, beautiful child involved in such a dirty business, she still was smart enough to avoid telling me about their relationship.

Now that Patricia was conscious, her concern increased. She was full of questions, which Patricia easily deflected or gave half answers to … or flat out lied about with disturbing ease. She was always a good liar but now, even I found myself believing her and I knew the truth. I had to make sure we were alone before asking for the straight story.

She had been unconscious for almost three days after falling through the kitchen door, semi-conscious and fevered for the last five. We were able to wake her enough to get her to drink both water and protein shakes. Now she was eating solid food with gusto, to Randi’s delight.

“You keep eating, child” she’d say. “Got to get you’re strength back.”

Patricia didn’t argue. By the beginning of the tenth day, she was on her feet and walking the hallway. We had to toss all the clothes she had been wearing when she showed up and I dare not go home so a quick trip by me to Goodwill got her enough basic things to get by, though none of them fit very well. She’s really going to miss her sewing machine.

Patricia was sitting on the cot, her back propped up against the wall, when Randi came by.

“How you feelin’ today, child?”

“Fine Ms. Brown. Ready to get back out there.”

“No! No! Not a precious baby like you. Ain’t gonna happen, not with Randi around, it ain’t.”

“We don’t have any choice, Ms. Brown. They killed Mr. Harris.”

“Have mercy!” she cried, crossing herself several times. I hope Patricia knows what she’s doing. “You didn’t see them do it, did you, child?”

“No Ma’am. But I know the people who did it and they said he was dead. It matches up with some of the things Mom saw. I’m sure he’s dead.”

“Lord have mercy on his soul. That man saved my family.”

“How’d he do that, Ms. Brown?”

She quickly looked around to make sure we were alone, like we could have squeezed another person into the tiny room. “My eldest boy, he got into a little trouble. He’d just turned eighteen and was hanging around with the wrong kind of people. I did what I could to stop him but with three younger boys …”

“You had your hands full,” empathized Patricia. She really is good.

“You don’t know the half of it. Anyway, my boy was in the wrong place at the wrong time and a man died. It was strictly self defense but there weren’t no witnesses for my boy.”

“How terrible! What did Mr. Harris do?”

“He took the blame, made it look like he did it as part of his job. The dead guy was a big drug dealer, which my boy had nothing to do with! Peter Harris told a story and made it stick.”

“What happened to your son?”

“Went straight. Finished high school, graduated college, got a good job, got married, gave me two grandbabies. None of that would have happened without Peter Harris.”

“Amazing!” I said, both the story and that Patricia had gotten it out of her so easily.

“It was. He helped keep my other boys in line. This is a family business but soon, my other sons will graduate from college. I can sell this place and retire in the next five years.”

“All because of what Mr. Harris did,” said Patricia, a little too smugly for my taste.

“True. And now the poor man is dead,” said Randi.

“Gone to his just reward,” Patricia echoed.

“Well … maybe Jesus will have a little mercy and he can do better than that.”

Patricia just smiled. “I hope you’re right about that, Ms. Brown.” She slipped off the cot and grabbed the combination lock. “Let’s see what Mr. Harris left for us.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You know how to open that?”

“Yes. Mr. Harris told me the combination, just in case he didn’t … you know … make it.”

“I have to admit … I’ve always been curious about what he put in there.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You told me that …”

“I know, I know. That’s what I tell myself all the time. Keeps me from breaking down the door. But now …”

“It’s different. Go on Patricia, open it.”

“If you say so, Mom.”

She spins the knob several times, then starts to enter the numbers.

“Thirty eight … twenty two … thirty six.”

The lock clicks open. She removes it from the hasp, turns the door handle and pushes it open. Stepping into the dark closet, she almost disappears.

“What is it?” asks Randi.

She tosses a large, metal box out onto the cot. “There’s this box and another. You guys open that one.”

Randi and I look at each other for a moment, then she reaches down, unlocks the clasps on either side and quickly flips it open, stepping back, just in case.

It’s cash. Lots of cash.

“Lord have mercy! Look at all that money! How much do you think it is?”

Patricia steps out of the closet, dragging a larger, metal box, which she drops at the foot of the cot. She cranes her neck to look at the money box.

“I’d say about thirty five thousand, give or take.”

“That much?”

“That’d be my guess, Ms. Brown.”

“My word! Is there any money in the other one?”

Patricia flips open the lid but it’s between her and us, we can’t see into the box. “Looks like mementos of some kind. Here’s a baseball glove.” She holds it up for us to see. “And a hat.” She holds up a moth eaten baseball cap from one of the local high schools. “There’s also some magazines.” She flips an old “Playboy” onto the cot in front of us. Randi recoils from it.

“I don’t want nothin’ like that in my place! Jessica, you check that box out and give me every single one of those filthy things. I’ll burn them in the barbecue pit! Shame there’s no more money for you two.”

“Don’t you want some?” I ask.

“Lord no! Our deal was what’s in that closet was his and I was to leave it alone. Good thing I didn’t know about the money or the temptation may have been too great. Cheatin’ a live man is one thing, cheatin’ a dead one is a whole nother thing. He puts a bug in God’s ear and my life becomes all sorts of hell. No thank you!” She turns to leave the room. “I’ll get you a cardboard box for those dirty magazines and then … Oh Heavens! I’d forget my head if it wasn’t nailed on my shoulders. I didn’t tell you why I came up here in the first place. People been asking about you.”

“Me?”

“Not by name, but by description. Not a lot of people, but they’re shady characters. Don’t worry, my family won’t spill the beans. You all can stay here as long as you need to. Ain’t nobody gonna tell anybody nothin’!”

“Randi … we don’t want to get you in any kind of trouble.”

“Don’t worry, Jessica. We know how to deal with these people. I’ll get you that box.” She looks back at the money and shakes her head. “Thirty five thousand dollars! Will wonders never cease.”

I wait until I hear the hall door shut, then look at Patricia, who’s peering over the lid of the box between us.

“It wasn’t self defense. He killed that dealer in cold blood and she knows it. Trying to raid the guy’s stash. Peter Harris, or I should say the character he was playing at that time, needed the dealer out of the way and would get some street cred for doing the job himself so he took the blame and let Randi’s kid off the hook. It was, and I hate to use this trite phrase, a “win-win” for everybody. The rest of the kid’s life was just happenstance, though Peter did help a little with the other boys. She kept her word because Peter could put her son away. There’s no statute of limitations on murder. Plus, she’s basically an honest person. And God fearing.”

Why does she keep referring to himself in the third person? There’s no one around to overhear us.

“So, where did the money come from?”

“Skimming from seizures over the years. A little here, a little there, it adds up.”

“You did say you had some money stashed away.”

“Peter took the fifth on that, if you recall. All this stuff is just here for emergencies. He wasn’t looking to make a profit.”

I pick up the magazine and let the centerfold fall open. “What kind of emergency was this going to deal with?”

“The best kind. That’s just the first layer. This box has a false bottom in it. The good stuff …” she ducks down behind the lid and roots around in the box “… is here!”

She holds up a small handgun with a large metal tube on the front.

“What is that?”

“It is a .22 magnum caliber semi-automatic handgun with a staggered clip and an industrial strength silencer. This baby is light, fast, accurate, whisper quiet and hits a lot harder than you’d think. Peter got it in a weapons bust. Somehow, it failed to make the inventory list. Go figure. There’s another half dozen or so similar items in here.” She lets the lid drop, then pushes the clip into the hand gun. “It’s time to visit Mr. Hobbes.”

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

Nothing!

It’s been almost two weeks since Patty disappeared. I called her cell, sent emails, texted her … nothing. I even made Lou drive me by her house after school on the fourth day and looked in all the windows on the first floor. All their stuff is still there, at least as far as I can see. Patty’s motorcycle’s still in the garage. It’s like they were beamed up or something. I was worried sick by the second day. Everyone at school … most everyone … are worried too. They include a special request for Patty and her Mom’s safe return in the morning prayer each day.

I asked Father to do something. I know that he knows influential people. And people who specialize in getting things done, like Enrique. He said he’d do what he could but … it just doesn’t feel right, somehow. Every day, I ask him if there’s any news and he says there’s nothing so far, but that he’s got people out looking, even the police, though there hasn’t been anything in the newspaper or television, not that I’ve seen anyway.

You think she would have said something to me if she was in some kind of trouble. I keep replaying our old conversations in my head, looking for some kind of clue, but again, nothing. I’d have gone crazy by now if it weren’t for Terri and the rest of the team. We text all the time and scour the internet, searching for anything that might help find them. Gary’s been great too. We’ve been texting ever since the dance. Patty leaned on him pretty hard but he understood why and I’ve convinced him that she’s a wonderful person and my best friend. We’re a package deal, you want me, you get both of us. Whenever I get too depressed, he says something funny to bring me back.

I don’t know how I would've gotten through this so far without my friends.

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

“YOU DID WHAT?!!”

“Calm down, Mother. We don’t want Randi busting in right now.”

“Are you INSANE?!”

“Maybe … I haven’t had time to perform any tests since the changes. Then again, I’m probably not the best person to make that call.”

She said it so matter of factly, like she had just changed the oil in the car or had her hair cut short. She didn’t even volunteer the information. I asked her what the Balancer setting was and she said it didn’t exist anymore, that she had, in essence, reformatted her brain. The careful structure Thomas had created was thrown out the window for whatever a horde of mindless tiny robots decided to do to her. I was flabbergasted.

“Why … how … what possessed you to do such a reckless thing?”

“Peter and Jenny Jo managed to overload the Balancer while Cardoza was … having his way with me. Peter was able to regain control and we escaped. But we couldn’t stay that way. It was either fix it or get rid of it by joining forces. We all talked about it, though Jenny Jo really couldn’t participate. We opted for freedom over control.”

“You had no idea what the end result would be!”

“That’s true, but the prospect of staying the way we were was intolerable. Peter had accepted the Balancer as a temporary necessary evil. He didn’t like it but as long as the Remote was in your hands and you didn’t abuse your power anymore than you were, he could live with it.”

Abuse my power? When did I ever abuse my power? It’s just like Peter to think a little constructive control was abusive. Patricia continued.

“But then Lipscomb got his hands on it and then he gave it to Cardoza. As far as we knew, you were dead, as was Peter, or to be more exact, his body was. The temporary situation was now permanent. Peter was not the kind of person to accept that, particularly with all those subroutines Lipscomb had Thomas install.”

“What kind of subroutines?”

“The kind Peter warned them about, remember?”

Oooh yeah. “Yes, I remember.”

“That was all on one hand. The other hand held the uncertain future of a joined existence. It might fail completely and we die. It might partially succeed, leaving us worse than dead. It could completely succeed but we had no guarantee as to what the end result would be. Peter felt fairly confident that he would dominate any final mind, mostly because Patricia suggested he would, though she didn’t tell the complete truth about that. Something she learned from Peter which likely saved your life.”

“How did lying save my life?”

“Lipscomb asked about the third copy of the hard drive. Did it arrive yet?”

“It showed up in the mail two days after I did.”

She grinned. “When Lipscomb asked, Patricia denied any knowledge of it, which was technically correct because Peter had mailed it when the setting was Blue Fifty and she was answering the question at Pink Fifty. If she had been totally truthful, she’d have told him about Randi’s Place, Lipscomb would have shown up here, discovered you were alive and who knows what would have happened next.”

“So what did Patricia not tell Peter?”

“That Jenny Jo could become the dominant mind, that her extreme emotions might win out in the end.”

I’m afraid to ask. “Soooo … what happened?”

Her face lit up with that brilliant smile I’ve come to adore. “Can’t you tell? He mollified her, talked her into accepting the situation. Patricia would have just forced the issue, she didn’t consider an emotional appeal worthwhile but his humanity won Jenny Jo over.”

“Who or what are you now?”

“I am Patricia Taylor Conner. A free and independent woman. Personality wise, about ninety percent Peter Harris and ten percent Jenny Jo Hamilton, though there was a surprising amount of overlap between the two. All of Patricia’s knowledge remains intact, as does her ability to acquire new knowledge. There was an increase in the number of synapses and, without the built in delay of the Balancer, my brain is even faster. Basically, I’m everything I was before but amped up.”

“When you say ‘woman’, do you mean …”

“Yeah, I do. Peter Harris knew there was a price to be paid by him. There really wasn’t an option, my body is female. He could have fought it but what’s the point? We all gave something, he gave a lot … but he got a lot too. Though, between you and I, when you flashed that centerfold, she was a bit of alright.”

“So … you’re okay?”

“As far as I can tell. The Balancer was disassembled, and, along with it, the subroutines disposed of and Lipscomb’s limited memories recovered.”

“Is this the time to go after Hobbes? You’re condition’s still unknown.”

“We go as soon as we’re ready. I’ve got all the weapons I need, and Randi found me a sewing machine so I can make my outfit. I should be set by tomorrow night.”

“The forecast is pretty bad, rain, wind, thunderstorms.”

“So much the better. It’ll be easier to get my bike back.”

CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE

It’s a fucking lousy night. The weather sucks too. It’s been raining all day and now we’ve got a storm with a shit load of lightning. What the hell is going on?

When they told us Conner was an undercover cop, no one could believe it. When they said she was some kind of science fiction, part human, part machine creation … that was actually a little easier to believe. Most of us didn’t buy it, but a couple of guys nodded their heads. After we found out what she did to Cardoza, more guys were willing to believe it. That was after they laughed their asses off.

Now they tell us she’s coming back, which makes no fucking sense whatsoever. If she’s not halfway to Timbuktu by now, she’s out of her God damn mind. Or his. Or its.

I just don’t know anymore. My radio beeps

“Henry. Everyone’s in position on the South and East.”

“Roger that, Lou. We’re all covered on the North and West.”

“Twenty bucks says she tries to come in the same way she left.”

“I’ll take that bet. She’s way too smart, Lou. Way too smart.”

“You’re probably right, just like to keep things interesting.”

Interesting. Things are already too interesting for my taste. Hobbes had us hustle Gretchen to some place across town and leave her with a couple of P.I.s for safe keeping, so he obviously knows something no one’s told us about. All I get are rumors. Conner tried to call Hobbes but he wouldn’t talk to her. She sends emails but he doesn’t respond. Conner’s not even human, more machine than person and she’s threatened to kill everyone in the compound. I hate rumors.

I think I’m a good judge of character and Conner … whoever or whatever she is … is basically a good kid, a smart kid, and if she really is coming back here, she’s got her reasons.

I just hope I’m not the one who has to kill her.

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

“You ready to go, Mom?”

“What about a gun. Shouldn’t I have a gun?”

“You ever fired a gun before?”

“No, but it shouldn’t be so hard. I’ve seen it done in the movies.”

“You’re right. In theory, pulling the trigger is easy. Six to eight pounds of pressure. It’s getting mentally ready to pull that trigger and making sure you actually aim at something that’s important. If you’ve never been in a fire fight, now isn’t a good time to learn.”

“I need to have something. If people are shooting at you or me, I want to be able to fight back!”

“They’ll be shooting at me, that’s for sure, but you’ll be on the wrong side of the wall, Mom. I don’t want you to be on the inside with me. You’d just be another thing I have to take care of. Outside the walls, you’re reasonably safe.”

“What if they come outside and try to grab me. Then they could hold me hostage to stop you.”

“Then get out of there as fast as possible and I’ll either call you or meet you at the rendezvous point.”

“But what if …”

“I see that, no matter what I say, you want a gun. I’ll give it to you on two conditions. The first is that you only shoot this in self-defense. Don’t go charging in with barrels blazing.”

I open up my metal chest, lift the trap floor and remove a weapon. “This is for someone without a lot of experience with guns. Twin barrels, twin triggers, safety is here. It uses .410 shotgun shells. You don’t aim it so much as you point it towards your target and pull each trigger separately or at the same time. Right now it’ll be loaded with bird shot so you won’t get much penetration but you’ll get a good spread and that’s what’s important. Just put your left hand on the forend, your right on the trigger, flip your safety off, point the barrels at your target and blast away. You can reload by pushing this lever, which rotates the upper this way, drop in a couple of new shells and close it but hopefully, it won’t come to that. Anyone still standing after you pull those triggers will likely take cover. You grab that opportunity to run away … got it?”

“But I can do so much more than …”

“I know you can, but now isn’t the time to find out.”

“Fine.” She holds out her hand so I give it to her, grip first. “You said there were two conditions. What’s the second?”

“That I’m behind you when you shoot that thing.”

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

I key my radio.

“Listen up, everybody. I don’t want anyone to take any stupid chances. Stay together, work as a team. We’ve trained for this. If you give Conner an opening, she’ll carve us up. Remember what happened on that paintball field? She kicked our asses up and down that place. Well, these aren’t paintballs tonight, it’s the real thing so be smart, be careful, and go home in the morning. Keep your vests on the entire time, got that?”

“Yeah, I got it, Henry.”

“Roger that”

“Copy, over.”

Most called in. If I didn’t hear a response from someone, I called them directly. If they do what I told them, we may not lose more than half of our guys tonight.

“An inspiring speech.” It was Cardoza on the radio. “I want to make one thing clear. Conner is to be killed, at all costs. The one who does so receives a fifty thousand dollar reward.”

OH FUCK! He just turned a group of trained guards into an armed mob! ASSHOLE!

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

Thank you, Enrique!

The storm is getting worse, which made things easier for us. The ramp was loaded in the panel truck Randi loaned us. Mom let me out two blocks from our house then gave me time to run there and hide in the neighbors’ yard, near the alley behind the garage. She then pulled the truck in front of the driveway and parked it there, blocking most anyone’s view of the garage. I ran in, grabbed my bike and wheeled it into the alley as Mom pulled away and drove down the street. I hustled the bike up the alley a block in the opposite direction before hopping on and firing it up.

We had met two blocks from Hobbes’ house and wheeled the ramp towards the house until it was just outside of his lit perimeter on the West side. The occasional lightning flash put more light on the ramp than I liked but, apparently, no one had noticed, because the radio chatter never changed.

I had kept that radio with me all the way to Randi’s Place, stuffing it in the waist of my panties when I was forced to crawl for the door. We had been in place for the last twenty minutes and I listened to Henry and the others discuss their plans. I was waiting for the heart of the storm to arrive because it would provide me with additional cover and make Henry’s job harder but the additional time was useful because I could eavesdrop while waiting.

The radios were top of the line, encrypted frequency hopping. No one could listen in unless they had the code. I could hear just fine so either Cardoza didn’t realize I had a radio, or he was too embarrassed to admit I took his … or a third possibility was that they knew I had the radio and they made a conscious choice not to change the code to feed me false information, like there was a weakness in the lines somewhere, to try to force my hand. Everything sounded like it did just before I left days ago, just more tense, more focused, more nervous. What I’d expect.

The display on my smart phone shows the most intense part of the storm was only a few miles away. Mom stays with the ramp, hiding in a neighbors’ grove of trees, as I run back to my bike about one hundred yards away. I slip a voice-activated headset on my head, squeeze my helmet on over it, plug it into my radio and prepare to start the psy-ops portion of the night’s events.

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

“Gomez. You’re our eyes tonight. See anything yet?”

“Nothing … at least nothing for sure. There maybe something there outside the West wall. I’ve played with the cameras but can’t get a better look. Could be shadows thanks to the storm.”

“What’s the radar say?”

“Storm’s getting bad. The worst should arrive in about five minutes.”

That’s probably what she’s waiting for. “How’s the new camera doing, the one on the wrinkle in the wall?”

“Just fine, though it’d be better if you’d moved that light, get rid of those shadows.”

“We wanted to keep everything the same, in case she tried that route again, then we’d have her.”

“Nothing so far, not even a nibble.”

Told you she was too smart, Lou. Let’s see what the West side looks like. Before I get two steps, someone’s calling me on the radio.

“Impressive job, Henry. Couldn’t have done better myself.”

Conner?! How the HELL did she get a programmed radio?

“Conner … is that you?”

“More or less.”

“Do I want to know how long you been listening in on our conversations?”

“Naw, you don’t.”

Jesus Fucking Christ. “What’d you want, Conner?”

“I just want to talk with Hobbes.”

“Ain’t that day ja view all over again?”

“It is, isn’t it? Results will be the same this time.”

“‘Fraid not. Hobbes doesn’t want to see you and the gloves are off.”

“There’s no need for anyone to get hurt here. I just want to talk with the man, nothing else. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.”

“YOU’RE willing to … what about you spying on us all, messing with the computers, betraying us?”

“I know, I know. I’m willing to trade all that for forgetting about Cardoza trying to have me killed.”

“When did he try to kill you?”

“At the New Year’s dance. He and Escaban hired some gang hoods to take me out. They failed … obviously.”

I look around. A number of guys had gathered around me as soon as I started talking to Conner, even though they could hear every word on their radios. They’re all looking at Escaban, who’s wide eyed and looking scared.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about! I swear …”

“Tony? You out there? That’s nice! Billy B sends his regards. Promised I’d let him go if he rolled on whoever sent him. The boy practically sat up and begged, though not before I’d stuck a knife blade through the palm of his hand. I’m willing to let all that slide, just patch me through to Hobbes.”

Escaban says nothing, just turns away as a bolt of lightning strikes and pulses somewhere nearby, the boom of thunder coming a second later as the rain continues to pour down.

“No can do, Conner” I answer.

“Henry … I can fix this. I can fix everything. Remember what we talked about? Like two weeks ago? I’ve got your second chance in my pocket. Second chances for everyone, even Hobbes. Don’t blow this opportunity, Henry.”

Another lightning strike but further away, the thunder just rolls in instead of almost knocking you off your feet.

“Sorry kid, not my choice.”

“And if you had a choice?”

If I had a choice? When do I get choices? What she’s asking is would I trust her? How could I? She lied to all of us. At least part of the time. I know she was really a student at St. Ann’s, she played basketball like a demon, she was the best of friends with Gretchen … real friends, I could tell. In fact, I’d have sworn on my mother’s grave that she was exactly what she was supposed to be. I’ve always thought I was a good judge of people. Would I trust her?

“Patricia … what ARE you?”

I hear a chuckle. “Think of me as The Terminator with tits … and a better sense of humor.”

“Conner … just walk away, kid. There’s nothing for you here.”

“Sorry, can’t do it … but, tell you what … I’ll make a deal with you guys. Paintball rules.”

“What?”

“You’re all wearing vests, I heard you tell everyone to keep their vests on.”

“So?”

“So, I shoot you in the vest, you sit out. Nobody dies.”

“Are you crazy?! You think this is some kind of game?!”

“I’m coming in, one way or another, Henry. I’m giving you guys a choice, to live or die.”

“And what if we shoot you first?”

“Then I probably die, I’m not wearing a vest.”

“So … we get to try and kill you but you’re just going to wound us?”

“Not even wound, just rattle your teeth a bit. Besides, I can’t expect you to ignore fifty thousand dollars, can I?”

She heard that. What else does she know? She spent months inside these walls, saw every square inch. She could have been planning this for a long time. Hell, she could have planted booby traps for all we know.

“Sorry Conner, no deal, now get the hell away from this place.”

“That’s a shame, Henry. I unwittingly helped someone make a mess of things. I’m going to clean up that mess. See ya’ in a few.”

The rain’s really picked up, so has the wind.

“Gomez. Weather.”

“We’re right in the path of the storm front. The TV weather guy says it’s almost on top of us.”

“Keep an eye on those cameras. Conner’s going to try to get in here, it could come from … does anybody else hear something?”

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

I can’t tell how fast I’m going, my lights are off, I don’t want to give away my position until the last minute. Mom’s got a big, handheld spotlight that she’ll use to light up the ramp just before I hit it, though I can see it silhouetted against the white wall in front of it. I give the bike some more gas. Better long than short. The ramp’s wet, which can’t be helped but the tires should grip as long as necessary.

My outfit is mottled gray, covering everything but my face and I’m sweating like a pig, which is an odd saying because pigs can’t sweat, Oh well, I’ll think about that later, Mom just hit the spotlight.

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

“Henry! I just saw it! It’s Conner on her motorcycle. Heading for the West wall. She’s almost … God DAMN!”

I heard it before Gomez called me. Some of the other guys did too and they started talking to one another. In seconds, practically every outside guard had left their position and run to the west side of the compound. Most were carrying AR-15’s but a few had the old M-16. Three of them had slipped and fallen on their asses as they rounded the corner, sliding into the rest of the guys, knocking people to the wet ground left and right.

God! What a fiasco!

“Get up you idiots! Get the fuck …” There was a tremendous flash of lightning and an immediate deafening crash of thunder. Everyone ducked their head, waiting for the next bolt.

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

WHOOAA! That last one was close!

HIT THE RAMP!

HIT THE LIGHTS!

HIT THE SILKS!

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

“HENRY! SHE’S TRYING TO JUMP THE WALL!!”

“WHAT? WHICH …”

There’s another bright flash of light, but this one’s from the headlight of Conner’s bike as it clears the West wall by three feet, soaring over the heads of half the guys scattered across the soaked ground. She’s wearing some kind of bright white outfit, with a cape or streamers or something fluttering behind her.

The bike lands with a wet squishy thud, the engine screaming as it fish tails left and right. Guys are scrambling up and firing at it, some from their knees, some from their feet, some on their backs. Conner keeps moving, dodging the gunfire with crazy slides until she hits a tree, flipping over, her engine still reved on high.

Three guys, led by Escaban, run over and start shooting Conner at point blank range, Escaban screaming at her.

“THINK YOU’RE TOUGH NOW, BITCH!”

“ESCABAN! BACK OFF” I shout, trying to be heard above the gunfire and the growing storm. He fires twice more then walks away as I run towards the body.

“That fifty thousand is mine!” he says as I pass him.

“Fuck you,” I answer. Not very witty, I’ll admit. When I get there, there’s a lot of muddy white cloth … but no body. The engine’s still screaming. I fish around with the handlebar until I untangle the cloth and see that the throttle’s tied down. I pull my knife and cut it free, shutting off the engine.

”Riley, help me with this.”

We pull the bike upright and then straighten out the cloth. She bunched and tied it together in different spots, giving it a human like shape.

“Don’t spend that money yet, Tony. It’s a dummy.”

“What the hell you talking about? We all saw her jump the wall and crash right there. She must have crawled off …” He starts to look around, as do a few others.

“We saw what she wanted us to see. Gomez. Do you have anything on any of the cameras? UUGGHH!”

It felt like someone hit me in the chest with a sledge hammer. As I caught my breath, I heard other guys gasping and crying out. Some reached for their backs, others their sides. Two off them fell backwards into the mud.

I never heard a single shot over the hiss of the rain, the whipping of the wind and the practically continuous rumbling of thunder.

“Gomez” I wheeze. “Where is she?”

“I’m right here, Henry,” Conner answered over the radio. “You’ve all been hit. Time to sit this round out.”

I scan the area in front of me, rifle at the ready. I can’t see anything, just swaying tree limbs and shadows.

“Gomez. Got anything?”

“Sorry Henry, nothing. Night vision is useless with all those flashes of lightning. Infrared too with that cold rain.”

“Did you see the muzzle flashes?”

“No. She must have some kind of a suppressor.”

“You can bet I do. A real good one.”

Damn it! It’s like a fucking party line! It’s hard to breathe, she may have broken one of my ribs.

“What now, Conner?”

“You’re all out in the open, gathered around my bike. I’ve shot every one of you, hitting the reinforced areas of the vests. It could have just as easily been your heads. I told you, I don’t want to hurt anyone, I just want to talk with Hobbes. If you all go back to the security office, you can keep track of me once I get in the house. That’s my offer.”

How does she keep doing this shit to me?

Escaban edges up next to me. “You aren’t going to take this, are you?”

“It was your fucking boss who offered the bounty that turned this group of greedy idiots into a useless mob. And you two tried to kill her.”

“So what? You gonna let the little bitch push us around?”

“What’s YOUR idea, Tony?”

“Look where everyone was standing when they were hit. She has to be somewhere over there.” He points to my right.

“Maybe she was there when she shot us, doesn’t mean she’s still there. I wouldn’t if I was her.”

“Let’s find out.”

Escaban drops his AR-15 down to his hip and starts firing blindly, sweeping his muzzle left and right. He gets off about twenty or so rounds before his head jerks back and he drops to the ground, twitching and thrashing for a few seconds before he ends up still and face first in the mud.

No one moves. I slowly kneel down and roll him onto his back. He was shot in both eyes. My radio beeps.

“Henry, I really believe in letting bygones be bygones … after I get mine. What happens next is your choice. Your. Choice. There’s always a choice, Henry.”

Standing up, keeping the muzzle of my gun pointed down towards the ground, all eyes locked on me, I make an announcement.

“If anyone wants me, I’ll be in the Security Center.”

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

Escaban almost got lucky.

His first two shots were just left and right of me. Henry was right, I should have moved. I sure as heck did after he started firing. I rolled to my left until I got behind a tree. Bracing myself against the trunk, I took aim at Escaban’s head, waiting for him to turn back towards me. A .22 magnum doesn’t have that much penetration, that’s why it was safe for me to shoot the guys in the vest. At this range, it might not even penetrate the skull. But, if I use a couple of pre-existing holes, the bullets should just rattle around inside the skull, shredding gray matter wherever they go until all their energy has been transferred to what ever remains of his brain.

Under these circumstances, that’ll be a very difficult shot. Unfortunately for Tony, difficult shots are now my specialty.

It was also unfortunate for him that, to get the guys to do what I wanted, I had to make an example of somebody. It was the best and fastest way to persuade them that I meant business.

Two birds, one stone.

CHAPTER SIXTY SIX

I heard all that gunfire and then nothing. Then there was some more and now nothing again. I knew there was going to be a lot at the start, that was Patricia’s plan. Jump the wall, make a big entrance, then get off the bike as soon as it cleared the wall, letting it draw attention away from her as it hit the ground and continued on. She’d taken a couple of white sheets and tied them up so that they had a kind of shape like a person. She attached it to the bike so that she could still ride and control it but as soon as she jumped off, the wind would catch it and fill it out. She also cut her outfit so that it had baggy arms and pants, letting her catch the wind when she jumped, slowing her fall just a bit. She sewed on Velcro straps so she could gather the extra fabric once she landed and tighten everything up, keeping a small target.

I was supposed to run away as soon as she hit the ramp, there was nothing I could do for her after she was in the air, but I just couldn’t leave.

That second burst of gunfire wasn’t in the plan. I guess it means she survived the jump.

I need to go. Can’t do anything useful here and all’s I’m doing is worrying. I can do that at the rendezvous.

God … watch over my little girl and bring her home to me.

Take care, sweetheart.

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

The rest of the guards must have gotten the message. I ran into two more before I reached the terrace in the back. I tagged both of them in the chest and they reluctantly left without me needing to say anything. There was a third one heading for the Security Center without me shooting him at all. Guess he wasn’t interested in Cardoza’s bounty. By my count, that was eleven out of commission and one down. There should only be five or so left. If they all stayed at their assigned positions, no one should be in the house. They all had fall back positions in the house should they not have killed me outside the house but I don’t know how enthusiastic the remaining guys are.

And then there’s Cardoza.

My camouflage outfit helps me outside the house but it’s near useless once I get inside. The place is full of cameras and the only way to disable them is to cut the feed to the Security Center. I can stay in the shadows for awhile but all the lights are blazing and the generators are ready to switch on. I could have tried to disable them and cut the video lines but that would have taken too much time. Besides, if I couldn’t have talked Henry into paintball rules, I’m not sure I could have gone on. It really wasn’t worth killing every guard in the compound to finally get to Hobbes. If Henry hadn’t bought it, I’d likely have escaped again and thought of something else.

Escaban was and Cardoza is in a different group. He’s going down if the opportunity presents itself.

The terrace door isn’t locked. They must have assumed locked doors would have slowed the guard’s responses and not keep me out anyway. Good choice. I pause at the door. Once inside, I’m a sitting duck. The mottled gray color will still help a little but if they want to send fifteen guys after me, they’ll have a pretty good idea where I am.

I sure hope Henry’s got a strong enough sense of self-preservation to not do that.

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

“Where’s she at now?”

“The kitchen … I think.”

“THINK? Gomez, you’re the camera whiz. Find her!”

“I’m trying, Henry. Every time I think I’ve got her, there’s another one of those bolts of lightning and I get lens flare.”

“Well … do some of that technical voodoo, solve the problem and find her, dammit!”

“Then what, Henry?” asked Riley. He’s got a point. Then what? Am I going out there and confront her? Am I sending someone else out there to do that? I had my chance and what’d I do? Saved my fucking skin, that’s what I did. So did everyone else who was with me. There’s only four guards unaccounted for. If I try to call them on the radio, Conner will hear us. Cardoza wouldn’t let us carry cell phones, he wanted to limit communication with the outside while we’re on duty so I’m stuck. Though … maybe not.

“Riley! Get over here. Scan the perimeter with the cameras.”

He came over and slid into the seat next to Gomez. “Why? We know she’s already inside.”

“I want to know where the rest of the guys are. If I can’t call ‘em maybe we can see ‘em. If they’re smart, they stayed at their assigned posts. It’s safer than stumbling around out there in the rain with a killer.”

“Gotcha.”

Riley started flipping images from the different outside cameras while Gomez kept working with the inside cameras, cursing whenever there was another flash of lightning.

“There’s Sanchez!” shouted Riley. “And there’s Peterson. They’re both at the front gate. Kelly’s over at the East wall.”

“There’s Lou” said Gomez.

“Where?”

“In the Dining room.”

“WHAT? What’s that idiot doing?”

“His job, Henry.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Gomez. You were in here, safe and dry. I was the one out there, raining cats and dogs, with Escaban dead at my feet, his eyes punched in. You think you can do better, why don’t you go out there and get her? I’ll give you as much help as you gave us out there. What do ‘ya say?”

Gomez just hunkers down in his seat. “What do we do about Lou?”

“Do you know for sure where she is?”

“Last I saw was the kitchen but she was heading his way. Do we warn him?”

“Yeah, we do.” I click my mic on. “Lou, this is Henry.”

“Roger, Henry.”

“Lou … look sharp … look reeaall sharp.”

“Roger that, Henry.”

I click my mic off.

“Is that it?” asks Gomez.

“He knows.”

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

I heard Lou and Henry. Pretty smart. Didn’t give me much to work with though it probably means he’s on the other side of the door to the dining room. Either that or he’s coming into the kitchen from behind me. I scattered a couple stacks of pans with strings connecting them as warning devices behind me so I’ll concentrate on the door in front of me. I grab a broom, turn off the kitchen lights and scuttle up the short hall to the dining room door, turn the knob to open the door, then carefully push it open with the broom while staying back away from it. It’s hit by four scattered shots before it opens a foot.

He’s not taking any chances.

“Not bad, Lou.”

“Thanks, Conner.”

“You really want that fifty thousand.”

“You know it.”

“Enough to die for it?”

“All part of the job.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“Yeah … it does.”

“You’re gonna be difficult, aren’t you?”

“As difficult as I can be.”

Nuts! He’s not planning on playing by my rules. Got a wife and two kids. No way am I killing him. Let him sweat a little. I swap out my partial clip for a full one, then reach up with the broom handle and switch off the light in the hall.

Be quick. Don’t give him time to think. There are two light switches for the dining room, one on this wall just outside the door and one on the opposite wall. Lying on my back, feet resting on the base of the door, I kick it open and take out the far light switch with two shots. Lou starts shooting at the open doorway but they’re over my head. I roll out and shoot the near switch, plunging the dining room into darkness.

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

”What the fuck just happened?” asked Gomez.

“She took out the lights,” I answered.

“Why?”

“Because she’s better in the dark. What’s Lou doing?”

“He’s stopped shooting, no muzzle flashes.”

“Can’t you hear them?”

“The mics were in the light switches.”

“Wonder if she knew that … what the fuck was that?”

“How the hell would I know? It looked like something flying through the air.”

We can’t hear anything and see little more. I don’t have a lot of choice. I click the radio on.

“Lou?”

Nothing.

“Lou?”

Still nothing. I reach for my rain gear.

“What you doing, man?” asks Gomez.

“We’ve worked together for over fifteen years. I gotta know.”

“Well take this with ya’.” Gomez pushes an AR-15 across the table towards me. I stare at it for a few seconds.

“No, I got a better chance without it.”

“Your funeral, man.”

He’s probably right about that.

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

I slip the brass knuckles back into the pocket on my pant leg. They’re hardly fair but tonight’s got nothin’ to do with fairness. Lou would choose a badly bruised jaw over a ventilated head any day. He’s not gonna bother me for several hours, assuming I’m still alive to be bothered.

I open the dining room door a crack and peer out. Looks like the gunfire hasn’t attracted any attention. I pop my head out the door, quickly look around then pull it back in. Didn’t see anyone in the hallway. On to Hobbes’ office.

Bursting out of the room, I spin right, then left, my gun pointed straight ahead of me at arm’s length but there’s no one there. Putting my back to the wall on my right, I ease down the hall, pivoting to check out each room as I pass it. No activity anywhere, the place seems empty. Don’t hear anything upstairs, I hope to God that Gretchen’s not around here anywhere.

Moving slowly, switching sides of the hallway when necessary, gun at the ready, I approach Hobbes’ office. I can see light streaming into the hallway, so the door’s open. I’d rather talk to Hobbes face to face than through the door, it’s more dignified, but it could also be a trap.

Squatting next to the doorframe, I pull a metal rod from a pocket on my pant leg. There’s a small, round mirror mounted on the end which swivels. The rod telescopes to two and a half feet. I extend it all the way then push it along the floor past the door so that I can get a limited view of the room.

“That won’t be necessary, Patricia. There are no tricks,” says Hobbes.

Guess it’s now or never. I firmly grip my gun, step back away from the door, then dive in towards the right, roll once and immediately dive left, roll twice and come up onto one knee, my gun pointing directly at Hobbes, who is sitting at his desk, responding in kind, though his gun is bigger.

Big surprise. Men almost always go for the biggest gun they can handle, sometimes bigger than they can handle.

Phallic symbol, anyone?

“Very impressive, Patricia. I’ve been following your progress … at least as well as you permitted us to follow you.”

“Thanks. You haven’t made it easy.”

He shrugged. “That was other’s doings. I’ve never paid much attention to the security details. So … here we are. Obviously, you did not take my advice to disappear to heart. Unfortunate.”

“Sorry, I can’t leave a job unfinished.”

“What is there left for you to do, kill me?”

“No … I’m just here to talk. I have a proposal.”

“A business proposal? I hope it isn’t like the one made by your Mr. Lipscomb.”

“He’s not my Mr. Lipscomb. Dealing with him is next on my to do list.”

“I’m afraid that I can’t permit you to kill him, much as I might like that. The consequences would be very bad for my business.”

“What if it wasn’t? What if I could show you a way out of Lipscomb’s blackmail? A way out of these constant battles between the assorted Cartels and gangs? A way to restore peace and profitability to the drug trade? More importantly, a way for you to be free of this compound, to be free to ride a horse beneath an open sky again, go where you want, do what you want, free of fear of assassination or arrest?”

He cocks his head to the side, though the muzzle of his handgun doesn’t waiver. “Are you in the miracle business now? What you are talking about is impossible.”

“It isn’t. It’s actually quite simple … the idea that is. Execution could be a bit tricky and there’s no guarantee that it’ll work … but I like the odds.”

“So … you are asking me to …”

“Trust me.”

He smiles, at least his mouth does. His eyes stay hard. “An odd request from someone pointing a gun at my head. Someone who has already killed one of my men. Someone who accepted the hospitality of my home and then threw it back in my face. Someone who …”

“OH GET OVER IT, HOBBES!” I yell.

He looks astonished. He actually pulls back a little.

“You think you’re the only one with a beef here?! I was killed! KILLED! Left to burn to death! Your boy Cardoza was raping me! And YOU handed me over to him! My mother was shot to death. My assets were signed over to the guy who betrayed me. I’ve got NOTHING but the clothes on my back! You hear me complaining? NO! I came here with nothing to gain for myself and am offering to pull your ass out of the fire AGAIN!”

“But you were the one who did all this too me.”

“Pish posh. Those were the rules of the game. I just beat you and Cardoza. You didn’t hear me bitching and moaning when I was betrayed, did you? I took it like a man.”

“But you were just …”

“Only because you wouldn’t let it go! Who the heck am I going to turn you into? My contact with DOJ was a crook. I’m not working for anybody but me now.” I slam my gun on the desktop and leave it there, stepping back away. “Now, are we gonna talk or what?”

Hobbes is clearly confused, most anyone would be. And, of course, I stretched the truth a bit, what with Mom being alive and all plus our thirty five thousand dollars, which to Hobbes would be like having nothing. I just need an opening. If he doesn’t buy it, he doesn’t. Had to take a shot. The muzzle of Hobbes’ gun wobbles, then swings away.

“You just want to talk? That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“And you believe that you can deliver all you promised?”

“That’s the plan.”

He pops the muzzle up so that his gun is pointing at the ceiling, then he slowly lays it on the desktop next to mine.

“Alright Patricia … impress me.”

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

I knew Hobbes wouldn’t shoot her.

Not Patricia Conner.

Once it became clear that she wanted to speak with Hobbes, I knew it was simply a matter of time before she would try to see him. Somehow, some place, she was going to try. The fact that she practically announced the day and time was unexpected but, in hindsight, just the thing she would do, if only to impress Hobbes. She’s had him wrapped around her little finger since the first day she arrived.

It took awhile for me to decide how best to use her. Thank God those idiots Escaban found failed to kill her. If they had succeeded, today would not have been possible. I shoulder my AR-15 and step through the doorway of Hobbes’ office.

“Everyone stay still, no one move.”

“Enrique!” shouted Hobbes. “Everything is fine! Put the gun down. It is just a colossal misunderstanding.”

“Not yet, Raymond. Conner … raise your hands and back around the desk until you are standing next to Hobbes.”

She eyes me but does nothing until I motion with my gun barrel. She slowly starts to move.

“Enrique, this is all completely unnecessary, I assure you. I am in no danger! She voluntarily gave me her gun.”

Just then, she reached Hobbes.

“Very good, Ms. Conner. Well done. Now … Raymond, please hand me both guns.”

Hobbes picks up both handguns by the barrel and hands them across the desk, all the while talking.

“Enrique, I am unhurt. There is no need to take these precautions.”

I take each gun, one at a time, placing them on a table next to me.

“I’m afraid they are necessary, Raymond. Now back up and stand next to Conner … if you please.”

“Why would you want me to …”

Conner smiles, nodding her head. “That’s why you made that stupid offer. You needed me to get here, didn’t you?”

She was always smarter than I liked.

“I … I don’t understand, Enrique.”

Hobbes, on the other hand.

“Cardoza plans on taking over the business, Mr. Hobbes. I kill you and he kills me, isn’t that right … Enrique?”

Hobbes shakes his head. “No, Patricia, you don’t understand …”

I interrupt Hobbes. “Something like that … Patricia. It may be better if you kill each other. I haven’t decided yet.”

Hobbes is stunned. “Enrique … after all these years … why?”

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

I need to use a flashlight once I get inside. Before I walk ten feet inside the kitchen, I knock over a bunch of pans. Conner had stretched a string from the stove to a counter and tied it to the pans. Guess she wanted to know if anyone was following her.

Now she knows.

Though it’s too late, I start looking for more booby traps and find two. They’re obvious when you start looking for them. It takes me several minutes to reach Lou. He’s lying on his side, jaw swollen and turning red. His rifle is several feet away, field stripped. I bend down and shake him.

“Lou? Lou? Wake up you moron.”

He jerks his head and snorts, then coughs a couple of times.

“Uuggh … aaahhhh … wwhhhaaa … hhaapp … oooo …”

I pull him upright so he’s sitting, back against the wall.

“Come on, idiot.”

He blinks several times as I move my light back and forth across his face, then slowly reaches up and touches his swollen jaw.

“Mother fuck … that hurts. What hit me?”

“Conner hit you.”

“I had her, Henry. She was … right behind that door. It opened and I fired … the lights went out … fuck, my head is killing me. Did I get her?”

“Don’t think so. Gomez is pretty sure she’s at Hobbes’ office.”

“Crap. Let’s go.” He tries to stand up but groans and slides back down. “God damn! My head.”

“Stay put you old fool, I’ll handle it.”

“Old fool? You’re older than me, asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m smarter. Stay. Here.”

“Fine, but be careful, she’s …”

“I know, the Terminator with tits.”

When I step out of the dining room, I’m pretty sure I can hear a conversation down the hall. The thunder seems to be fading away. The storm must be passing.

I don’t get paid enough for this shit.

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

“She’s why.”

Cardoza flicks the muzzle of his rifle towards me. I’ve got a back up gun strapped to my left ankle but I’ll never get to it, not with him being as close as he is. If he leaves the room, I’ve got a chance.

“What does Patricia have to do with this?” asks Hobbes.

“She’s another strong willed woman that you’ve fallen for” answered Cardoza.

“Are you saying that you think she and I have a sexual relationship?”

“I don’t know or care … though she is talented.”

OH YUCK!

“Your problem, Raymond, is that you let women like Conner and Anna influence you. Anna had you ready to get out of the drug business. Conner was leading you down the same path, though she was much more subtle about it. You’ve been neglecting the business for the last few years. We could be dominating all the other Cartels in Mexico if you would simply use the resources available to us. We could control so much more territory if you would simply reach out and take it!”

“So you have argued, Enrique.”

“And you have ignored me, Raymond. You have grown complacent. The business is like a shark, if it doesn’t keep moving forward, it dies. Our competition will eat us if we do not eat them first. You used to understand that but, somewhere along the way, you forgot. I’ve been able to keep us moving forward despite your resistance but it is now time for me to take charge.”

“And what will our associates say about this?”

“Nothing. You have been hiding in this compound for so long, most of our associates think I am already in charge.”

“And of course, it was your idea that I stay here, for my ‘safety’. How long have you been planning this, Enrique?”

“A very long time. Conner’s appearance and betrayal gives me the opportunity I have been looking for.”

“And Lipscomb? Was he also part of your plan?”

“No, but his cost is a minor annoyance, worth the price … for now.”

There is nothing here that I can use, Hobbes keeps his office too darn clean. If only … wait, the bolo, three fist sized rocks bound with leather. It’s only three feet away. How fast can I get to it? I haven’t got the arm strength to just pick it up and throw it from here with enough force to do any good. I’d need some kind of leverage … and a diversion.

“So … you will just kill me, in my own office?”

“There are no cameras here, no microphones. There will just be two bodies and my story.”

“No one here will believe you.”

“You believed me when I told you how Anna died.”

“You … you … killed my Anna?”

“As I said, she was leading you down the wrong path. What choice did I have? Lucky for me, she was an addict. An extra strong dose was easy to arrange. She killed herself, I just provided the tool she used. But this one …” he again flicked the muzzle my way, “… she gave me nothing to work with and was causing more damage than your wife ever did. If Lipscomb hadn’t turned on her, she may have forced me to do something more obvious and heavy handed. As it is, everything works out for the best.”

“Excuse me if I don’t agree with you.”

“It will be the last disagreement we ever have, X-ray.”

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

What the hell is going on in there? Cardoza has Conner covered but why is Hobbes standing next to her, his hands in the air too? This makes no sense at all. Better find out.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hobbes. Is there anything I can do to …”

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

Cardoza’s head snaps right to look at Henry, who’s standing just outside the door.

I leap for the bolo, grabbing the leather loop and roll off the front of the desk, letting my arm swing forward as I fall, releasing the bolo at the peak of the arc, like a trebuchet.

Cardoza turns back just in time to get a face full of granite.

One bird. Three stones

The rifle falls from his hands as he collapses to the floor. I scramble to my feet but Hobbes has vaulted the desk. He is between me and Cardoza, who appears to just be stunned by the blow to his head.

Cardoza tries to get up off the floor, rolling to his side as Hobbes steps over him, grabs his pistol from the table where Cardoza had put it, steps on Cardoza’s shoulder with his right foot which forces him onto his back, points down at Cardoza and shoots him three times in the chest and once in the face. Hobbes then turns towards me.

“What is this idea you wish to discuss?”

Severance Pay (Chapters 67 through 72 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Patricia is now a totally free agent. She pursues her own agenda with ruthless efficiency. Elements and Themes listed apply to entire story, Rating to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for editorial assistance. My heartfelt thanks to those who have stuck with this rather lengthy story. The final chapters will be posted either very late Friday night or Saturday morning.

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN

I wake up to the ringing of my phone. Picking it up off the bedside table, I notice that it says it 9:38 a.m. I’ve been sleeping in too much lately.

“Yes, Walter?”

“Daniel?”

“Who else would it be, Walter?”

“Just wanted to make certain it was you. We’ve received some reports that there was some kind of fight or something at Hobbes’ compound last week.”

“When?”

“Three days ago, the night of that big storm, with all the power outages.”

“I remember. Why are you just getting this information now?”

“Because it was investigated, if you can call it that, by the local police. Hobbes wanted everything hushed up and you know what that means.”

“It was hushed up.”

“Exactly. A couple of the beat cops talked to one of the FBI liaison reps, who passed it on to us.”

“So what happened?”

“It’s not clear. Apparently someone broke in by jumping the wall with a motorcycle, if you can believe that.”

Unfortunately, I can. “Was she killed?”

“Was who killed?”

“The woman who jumped the wall with the motorcycle.”

“Who said it was a woman?”

Fuck. “Didn’t you say it was a woman?”

“No. We don’t know one way or another.”

“I’m sorry, you’re call woke me up, I thought you said it was a woman. Go on, what happened next?”

There’s a pause before Walter returns to the story. “As I said, we don’t know much. There was a lot of gunfire, though there was also a lot of thunder and lightning so many of the neighbors didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. At least that’s what they told the cops. Anyway, two people were killed, one outside the house and one inside. Neither one was Hobbes, he survived, darn the luck.”

“Yes. What a shame. Do we know who actually died?”

“Yeah, let me check my notes … Tony Escaban and Enrique Cardoza. Neither one rings a bell with the Drug Taskforce, though Escaban has some old gang convictions. I called to give you a heads up and see if you recognized any of the names.”

“Sorry, not off the top of my head, though I will check my records and get back to you if I discover anything. Did the killer get away?”

“Unclear. Hobbes may have taken care of it himself and not want us to know. I’ve seen pictures of his place. Hard to think someone could break in let alone get out alive. It’s an urban fortress. If someone did, they’d have to be very, very good … man or woman.”

She is. “Thanks for the warning, Walter. Is there anything else?”

“Yes, though not sure if it’s related. A day or so after the firefight, there was a lot of chatter about a summit meeting of some kind between the big three cartels. It floated back and forth for about twelve hours and then nothing since, not a peep. Must have fallen apart or it was just a rumor that burned out.”

Or it’s happening and someone working for Hobbes took charge of security, making it disappear from the radar.

“You’re likely correct Walter, not important and not related. Any further news on the arson investigation?”

“No. They’ve gone through everything with a fine tooth comb and found no evidence of a third person, though the experts say it’s not definitive. Not finding something doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.”

Since I put a bullet in her head, I know she was. I should have been less efficient with the fire, left some kind of remains for them to find.

“Alright, thanks again Walter. With this incident at Hobbes’ compound, I may need to speed up my plans for temporarily leaving the area, maybe leaving the country.”

“Hobbes has connections everywhere. I can better protect you in the US than in France or Germany or Tahiti. Keep that in mind. I’ll be in touch. You can go back to sleep.”

Very funny. When I get established, I should use Hobbes’ connections to get him fired. That would be fun to see. For now, I need to start making plans.

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

It’s one hell of a view from the window of the conference room. The bay, the beaches, the swaying trees, the rising hillsides that eventually become mountains. A picture post card come to life. Of course, you can’t see the slums from here but that’s part of the price people pay to stay at a place like this. You pay the big money to see some things and not be bothered with other things … or people.

Conner put this together faster than I thought was possible. Waiving Hobbes’ name and money around helped a lot but getting the space was the easy part. Getting the Potosis and the TJs to show up, that was a miracle. Don’t know what she told them or threatened them with, but it worked.

Hobbes has got the top floor of the hotel. The Potosi Cartel has the next one down and the Tijuana Cartel has the next one down. The helipad is neutral territory so everyone can come and go. All three of us have security there but Hobbes is first among equals so we’ve actually taken charge. The other guys are just sitting around and watching. And swaggering. And bitching.

Conner has been everywhere, though she doesn’t look a thing like the little girl I know.

Or knew.

Officially, she’s Hobbes’ new assistant. She dyed her hair this reddish brown, auburn color and is wearing brown contacts. She’s got all these professional suits with tight skirts that are below her knees but have slits that reach about half way up her thigh. The suit coats are all one or two button, the blouses white or cream color and show just enough of her breasts to make a man stare and wish for just a little bit more … or a lot more.

Her hair and makeup are styled to make her look more like she’s in her twenties instead of seventeen. Or maybe it’s just her attitude. Or that she speaks Spanish fluently. And Portuguese. And French.

Or maybe it’s those high heels she wears and the way her ass gyrates and boobs bounce when she walks. You can hardly hold a conversation with another guy when she hurries by. Everything gets put on hold until she’s cleared the room, though the subtle smell of her perfume still lingers but just for a few seconds because every guy in the room is snorting it like coke.

Hobbes has pretty much stayed on his floor but Conner has been his representative, dealing with the other Cartels, the hotel, the staff, whoever. You got a problem, Conner is Johnny on the spot, soothing and charming until the problem is solved or doesn’t seem like it’s that big a deal. And not only the men but the women too. Some of the other Cartels brought wives or girlfriends or both and she arranged all these activities to keep them busy and out of my hair.

And the kids also. That’s what’s more amazing than anything else. Watching her with a bunch of little kids. She’s a natural. She wriggles into the room a complete stranger and a half hour later, two or three will be crying because she has to leave. Must be those boobs. I’d cry too if that potential meal walked away.

She never screams, never snaps, is always pleasant and makes you feel ashamed for causing her a problem. And then she smiles. Or giggles. Or double teams you with both. I’ve seen her completely disarm total bastard killers with a few words then that smile and giggle combo.

Thank God I’m immune.

I’m pretty sure everyone outside our group assumes Hobbes is fucking her. I would if I was them. He’d be crazy not to … if things actually were as they seemed. This probably gives her protection from the guys who might try to make a move on her. Or the psychos who might try to rape her. They may be crazy but not crazy enough to take a shot at Hobbes’ bitch. Of course, if they did, they’d discover fast enough that Conner don’t need anyone’s protection. From anything.

It’s taken almost two weeks but the big meeting is finally about ready to start. Every group has scanned the room for bugs individually and now all together to make sure no one planted something while scanning for someone else’s bugs. The tech guys have just left, leaving me in the conference room with one security man from each of the other two Cartels.

That’s the rules. Each Cartel has one security man and two representatives. That’s it. Nine people total.

The first one in is Arturo Carrillo, head of the Tijuana Cartel, the TJs. Everyone man here is mean as a snake but Carrillo is a snake that eats snakes, a bastards’ bastard if ever there was one. Fifty years old, plus or minus, with a pot gut and graying hair. They say he’s not the smartest guy on the block but he’s smart enough to still be alive after leading the TJs for over fourteen years. Luis Moreno is right behind him. Moreno is the next guy in the TJs, maybe a little smarter than Carrillo but still a damn tough nut. He’s younger than Carrillo, thinks he’s a ladies man. He actually took a shot at Conner but she blew him off, politely but blew him off. With his money, he’s probably not used to that. Moreno goes back to the bar and gets a couple of drinks while Carrillo sits down at their side of the triangular conference table.

Conner’s idea.

The Beltran brothers are next, Vincente and Hector. They’re not twins, Vincente is older, but they damn well act like twins. Both dark haired with full moustaches and beards. Hector’s a little taller but other than that, you could mistake them for twins. They’ve been running the Potosi Cartel for the last five years, since their old man died in a car explosion. Most people in the know say the brothers did it themselves, though, publicly, they blame the Zetas. Either one is a good theory. They go straight to their side of the table, with the security guys sliding in behind their respective employers. Both of them are young and buff, probably work out and shit. No weapons are permitted in the room but no one would submit to a search so they’re both likely packing.

I know I am. Conner doesn’t need to.

Hobbes doesn’t wait long to make his entrance. He hurries in, smiling, immediately followed by Conner, who’s using a different name -- Brooklyn Grey, Brooke for short. She’s wearing her usual all business suit and blouse but this time she’s got a small diamond pendant on a fine gold chain with matching earrings, the pendant sitting smack in the middle of her cleavage. If you had a hot secretary fetish, your dick would be an iron rod right now.

Neither Hobbes nor Conner … I mean Brooke … sit, but he gets right to business.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice, though I doubt anyone objects to being in Acapulco this time of the year.”

“Get on with it, Hobbes,” grouses Carrillo.

“As you wish, Arturo. Does anyone need a drink before we start? Ms. Grey makes an outstanding Manhattan.”

No takers. “Very well. For those who have not met her, this is my personal assistant, Miss Brooklyn Grey. She will be taking notes, if no one objects.” Notes are a lot safer than electronics. There was no lack of smiles and smirking in the room when Hobbes said “PERSONAL assistant”.

“I don’t care what you have her do, Hobbes,” says Vincente. “What I want to know is, where is Cardoza?”

Hobbes smiles tightly. “Enrique decided to take an early retirement. It will be difficult to replace him. If you will all turn your attention to the screen on your left, I will begin. Ms. Grey, if you please.”

“Yes, Mr. Hobbes.” She presses a couple of buttons sitting on the table next to her. The curtains slide shut and the lights dim while a large screen drops from the ceiling, as does a projector. She flips up the screen of a laptop computer and a test pattern is immediately displayed on the screen. “Ready, Sir.”

“Thank you, Brooke. First slide, please.”

A big graphic appears on the screen, a kind of bar chart.

“Gentlemen. This would be our losses in the last several weeks due to seizures by the US government. Tijuana; four Billion, Potosi; five Billion. Myself, I lost two billion and change.”

“Where did you get these numbers?” demands Carrillo.

“Mostly the newspapers and cable news plus my contacts with the US Department of Justice. Are they wrong, Arturo?”

“Not exactly,” he grumbles. “Though I do notice that we have been hurt much more that you.”

“Luck of the draw, I assure you. Besides, I was hit first and the most seized in one single day is my record. I have hardly remained undamaged. The end result of all this is skyrocketing prices due to the same demand and lower supplies. Am I correct?”

There’s a general nodding of heads in the room.

“What we have is worth more but we don’t have enough,” says Hector.

“None of us do,” adds Moreno.

“I do,” says Hobbes. “Brooke.”

Another image appears on the screen.

“Gentlemen. This is my current inventory inside the US border, ready for distribution.”

They all stare at the screen for a few seconds before reacting.

“How ..”

“Impossible!”

“Lies!”

“All true, I assure you. Six billion at today’s prices, though when I release it, today’s prices will be a thing of the past. What was our estimate concerning prices, Brooke?”

“A minimum of a seventy five percent reduction, Mr. Hobbes. A maximum of ninety percent.”

“Very good, Brooke. And this is just what I have ready to distribute. There is more waiting to move across the border and my transportation network is fully functioning.”

“As is ours!” shouts Carrillo.

Hobbes chuckles. “Arturo, you lost two tunnels last week alone. This has been going on for almost two months. First Tijuana then Potosi, the Zetas and the Pacific Cartel, a new seizure in the news every other day. It’s become so common that the papers hardly bother to cover it anymore. And why is it happening? Each of you are turning the others in to hurt the competition. You are cutting your own throats to cut someone else’s throat deeper. It is madness!”

“And how have you avoided this ‘madness’, Hobbes?” demands Arturo.

“I was the first one injured. The others saw what happened to the prices and decided to do the same to their competitors with the idea of being the only one left standing. You all concentrated on each other, assuming I was fatally wounded. I wasn’t but didn’t feel the need to brag to the world. I kept my head down and rebuilt my supplies. I’ve had more time to recover than the rest of you and the higher prices have kept my profits intact.” Hobbes looks around the room. “I have more than enough inventory to supply my dealers … and yours.”

They all realize what that would mean.

“You know that would mean war!” cries Hector, jumping to his feet. “We will wipe you out!”

Moreno joins in. “As will we!”

“Now, now Luis, I don’t think our good friend Raymond really plans on doing that,” soothes Carrillo. “There would be no reason for this meeting if that was his plan. He would simply do it, wouldn’t you, Raymond?”

“Yes, I would. You are correct Arturo, I have something else in mind. I’ve come to believe that there is too much competition in our business. Too many people trying to take slices from the pie. Worse than that, they treat the drug trade as a way to glory or fame by the gratuitous use of violence for the sake of violence. Narco music, narco books, narco telenovelas, what’s next, narco Disneyland?”

“You do not understand the Mexican culture, Hobbes. You are Argentinean,” says Vincente.

“And I thank God I am,” answers Hobbes. “Multiculturalism is all well and good as long as it doesn’t hurt profits. We cannot afford to indulge in this macho foolishness any longer. Someone must take charge!”

It’s clear that they don’t like that ‘macho foolishness’ crack.

They look back and forth at each other before Carrillo speaks. “What are you proposing, Hobbes?”

“Our three organizations control almost sixty percent of the world’s drug trade. Sixty percent. The remaining forty percent is divided among, what, eight, ten cartels?”

“The Zetas are almost twenty percent themselves. Why aren’t they here?” asks Hector.

“Because they are the worst of the worst,” replies Hobbes. “Utter mad men! No sane human being could work with them! You, on the other hand, are reasonable men. You can read the handwriting on the wall.”

“And what does this handwriting say?” asks Carrillo.

Hobbes sits down next to Conner. “Brooke.” A picture of a coca farm is projected, then a marijuana farm, then a marijuana processing plant. Hobbes starts to talk while more pictures come and go. “My organization is vertically integrated. I control every step of the process from the plants to the street. Production, processing, transportation, storage and distribution.”

Now the pictures are of his planes, ships, and subs. Then the tunnels and warehouses. I’d never thought about how big the total operation was. When you put it all on one long slideshow, it’s pretty damn impressive. Hobbes lets a few more pictures go by then starts again.

“I have no middle men so the profits are all mine. My business is the most efficient drug cartel in history.”

The last picture is of stacks of cash in a bank vault. As it fades away, the lights come up, the screen and projector return to their spots in the ceiling and the curtains open, restoring the stunning, distracting view.

Vincente slowly, sarcastically applauds. “Wonderful, very impressive. Next meeting, I’ll bring my vacation photos. My children are extremely cute.” Hector enjoys the humor, slapping his brother on the back.

Carrillo is more serious. “I believe our good friend Raymond is making the case that his cartel is superior to ours, Vincente. Yes, very impressive, but we also make a great deal of money. We have taken a different approach but we are also successful. Who is to say which is the best way? But, I assume that we do not have to all follow the same business model to join together. That is what this is all about, is it not? You wish to create some kind of super cartel alliance with you in charge.”

“Of course he does,” snorts Vincente. “It was obvious from the start.”

Hobbes smiles broadly, looking at Carrillo then the Beltran brothers, savoring the moment.

“No, my friends, not at all. My business is for sale, lock, stock and barrels of meth. The first one who pays me twelve billion dollars gets everything. Except my home.”

Conner touches her left ear with her left index finger then taps Hobbes lightly on the forearm. He leans down and she whispers something in his ear. He quickly nods then sits up.

“I am also offering my people a generous severance package, should they not wish to work for whoever purchases my business.”

“We’re buying your equipment but there’s no one to run it? How does that make any sense?”

“Arturo, if you were to buy me out, would you want people in your organization who weren’t loyal to you? Of course not! This way, we quickly find out which of my people would become security risks for you and remove them from the business. Frankly, I expect most of them to remain in their jobs but it is best we take care of the potential problem now. The cost will be my expense.”

Carrillo nods his head in agreement. “I see … reasonable … but twelve billion dollars! We don’t have that kind of money! No one does.”

“You ask too much, Hobbes,” says Vincente. “Carrillo is right, no one can afford that price.”

“I know that each of you have almost one third of that in cash stored in the US that you’re trying to get back across the border. I’ll take it and credit it at face value, not a discounted laundered price. As for the rest … you have banks across Mexico that you control. A loan against the future profits is hardly unreasonable. Careful management of the inventory could practically pay the entire purchase price itself, the other assts would be nearly free!”

The other cartels are in shock. Whatever they thought was going to happen here today, a garage sale wasn’t one of ‘em.

“What happens if neither of us buys you out?” asks Hector.

“I will have no choice but to release my inventory on to the market and keep doing so until the price is driven into the toilet and I control the American drug market. Yes, there will be an expensive, destructive war, but in the end, economics wins and there will be peace and prosperity. My peace, my prosperity. Or it can be your peace and your prosperity. All for only twelve billion dollars.”

“Only!” Hector snorts.

“Raymond,” says Carrillo, “You know that none of us here can make such a decision on our own. You may have sole control of your organization but neither of us does. We have others we must consult.”

Conner again touches her left ear then touches Hobbes’ arm. After a brief, quiet consult, Hobbes looks up, smiling.

“I understand. I had forgotten how difficult it is to be a member of a group. Would an hour break be adequate?”

“Yes, certainly for me,” answers Carrillo.

“An hour is fine,” adds Vincente.

“Then it is agreed, gentlemen. We will reconvene in an hour. Remember to tell your associates, this is a rare opportunity to acquire enormous market share without spilling one drop of blood. Such an opportunity is a once in a lifetime event.”

The others file out followed by their guards. Hobbes turns to Conner.

“How do you think things are going … Ms. Grey?”

She picks up her note pad. “Let’s talk upstairs.”

I follow them to the elevator and we ride together up to the top floor. Riley and Jackson meet us as the door opens, both armed with AR-15s. Conner marches off with Hobbes following closely behind. I can tell the guys have questions but I can’t say anything. I just shrug and have a seat.

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

Patricia thought it was best if I came with her to Acapulco, particularly since I was supposed to be dead. We had imposed on Randi’s goodwill long enough. Hobbes had put us up at a swanky hotel while he and Patricia planned this conference. I tried to stay away from Hobbes as much as possible but some contact was inevitable. Needless to say, it was uncomfortable, at best. He knew who I really was and why I did what I did. My head is still bandaged where Lipscomb shot me, though my burns are healing.

Patricia goes out of her way to keep me informed as to what’s going on and she spends her free time with me. It’s unfortunate that Gretchen can’t be told the truth. She still believes we’re missing. Naturally, she’s still very worried about what happened to us but Patricia is convinced that she needs to be kept in the dark, at least for now. She says that there are too many loose ends that need to be tied up before she’s ready to go back to being Patricia Conner, though she won’t say what kind of life she’s talking about.

What’s going to happen to us? Lipscomb’s still out there and who knows what he’s told the police about us, other than I’m dead. I don’t know what Patricia and I are going to do after this thing with Hobbes is finished. She’s clearly changed and can’t go back to the way things were. Thomas is dead and he was the only one who knew how to take care of Patricia’s body. Ignoring the changes in her brain, how much longer can she physically continue? But I can’t ignore what’s happened to her brain.

She still seems to act the way she did before the nanites rewired everything but it’s just that … an act. Sometimes, when she doesn’t know I’m around, she relaxes. The difference is subtle but it’s there. I think she does it so I won’t worry. Like we don’t have too many things to worry about already.

I’m in the atrium, enjoying the sun, when Patricia comes in, followed closely by Hobbes.

“How’d it go, honey?”

“As best as could be expected. Mr. Hobbes did a good job of selling it.”

He bows in appreciation. “Your slide show helped a lot, Jessica. I was impressed and I’d seen it twice before.”

They’d asked for my help in crafting their presentation, wanted my professional opinion as to what images and sequence created the greatest impression of power and success. It wasn’t that difficult and kept me busy. Patricia likely could have done it herself. I’m afraid that there’s little she couldn’t do now … for good or ill.

“What’s the next step, Patricia?”

“They’re consulting with their other members. Neither group can afford for the other to buy out Mr. Hobbes; the buyer becomes the dominant cartel in the world. Likewise, neither can afford twelve billion dollars, not cash on the barrel head. They haven’t got it and it wouldn’t be easy to raise. When we reconvene, they’ll try to talk the price down.”

“But we won’t budge, will we … Ms. Grey.”

“Just a little, Mr. Hobbes. To prove we aren’t unreasonable, but the price will still be too high for one cartel. If they haven’t figured it out for themselves by then, we’ll suggest that they join forces. Carrillo is a cagey one; he may beat us to the punch. If they do decide to join forces, that’s when it gets tricky. Now, there’s no bidding war. All we have is the threat to destroy the market and drive them both out of business.”

“That seems to be a powerful argument on your side, honey.”

“It is. We’ll just have to squeeze as much money out of them as possible. If you don’t have anything else you need from me Mr. Hobbes, I’d like to get some rest.”

“No! Not at all! By all means.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me.”

Patricia strides out of the atrium, vigorous and purposeful, not appearing tired at all but I know how hard she’s worked these past few weeks. Both Hobbes and I watch as she goes.

“Remarkable” Hobbes mutters.

“How so?” I know why I think it; I want to know why he does.

“All the work that she has done, all the planning. Never once has she asked me to pay her. If this works, I become a multi-billionaire, one of the richest men on the planet. And yet, she has asked for nothing.”

“Don’t remind me. Have you offered her anything?”

He looks away. “No. I haven’t.”

“Maybe she thinks you’ll be fair with her.”

“She has not discussed it with you?”

“Not once. I’m more interested in putting you all out of business, one way or another. What she’s interested in is hard to say.”

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT

“Hobbes, you must be reasonable! Eleven billion dollars is just impossible. You could not raise that kind of money and you are supposed to be bigger and more successful than either of us!”

“I have already reduced my asking price, Carrillo, though it is worth every cent of twelve billion. My inventory alone …”

“So YOU say!” cries Hector. “Why should we trust you?”

Hobbes sighes. “We have already covered this Beltran. The winning bidder will have a chance to inspect whatever he wishes, do whatever inventory check he wants before I am paid. The money will be in escrow in the Bahamas. Your satisfaction guaranteed.”

“Well, we are not satisfied. Four and a half billion is our final offer,” says Vincente. “It does not matter what it is worth, we can raise no more money.”

“Nor can we, Raymond,” said Carrillo, regretfully.

Hobbes smiles. “If I did not know better, I would suspect collusion. Are you willing to risk your futures on a coin flip, gentlemen? Assuming I would even accept such pitiful offers, if neither of you can do any better, then it would be random chance as to who wins the day. Are you ready to accept that fate? If I were you, I would …”

Conner touches her ear again and taps Hobbes arm. They’ve done this dance at least four times since the start of the second meeting twenty minutes ago. The other two guards are looking bored. They huddle and whisper back and forth for over a minute before Hobbes straightens up.

“It has been suggested … by Ms. Grey, of course,” Hobbes gestures towards Conner with an open palm, “That there is perhaps a compromise position that may solve all our problems. The winning bidder will control the major share of the world drug trade but not all of it. The losing bidder remains a formidable opponent, not to mention the lunatic Zetas and all the small fry. What if the winning bidder could control nearly seventy percent of the world market? Such a near monopoly could soon become a complete monopoly with a little work and clear planning. Eleven billion for a monopoly is a fair price.”

“What are you saying?” askes Carrillo.

“The Potosi and Tijuana cartels should join forces. Combine your money and resources, pay me my eleven billion dollars, use the inventory to destroy the competition and rule the world,” answered Hobbes.

Carrillo lookes towards the Beltran brothers, thoughtfully scratching his chin. “That is something I had not considered.”

“Neither had we,” addes Vincente, a little too quickly and eagerly. “It never crossed our minds, did it Hector?”

“Never! I swear!” Hector chimes.

Yeah. Of course.

“Then we should all thank Ms. Grey for thinking of it, shouldn’t we?” says Hobbes.

“Yes, certainly,” says Carrillo. “A brilliant suggestion from such a lovely young woman.”

“Agreed!” enthuses Vincente.

“Wonderful! Would you both consider it?”

They others look at each other for a few seconds before Carrillo speaks.

“I, for one, would be willing to discuss it, if you are willing, Vincente.”

“There is no harm in talking, Aurturo.”

Hobbes claps his hands together. “Excellent! We will leave the room, to give you an opportunity to talk, a neutral ground, so to speak. There are secure phones next to the bar if you need to talk with your compatriots.” He reaches into his pants pocket, fishes around for a couple of seconds, then pulls out a small device that looks something like a garage door opener. “This is a pager. Push the large button and I will return. I’ll be on my floor until you call.”

Hobbes sits the pager in the middle of the conference table and then we leave. Just as the door closes behind us, Conner stops, pulls a small rectangular box from her suit coat pocket that matched the one Hobbes left on the table. She pressed a button. It squawks for a moment, then I could clearly hear voices.

“Did you see what the girl does? Every time, she touches her ear, like there’s an ear piece, then she touches Hobbes and they talk.”

“What are you suggesting, Hector?”

“I don’t think Cardoza has taken any kind of retirement. He’s using the girl to talk with Hobbes. They think that if we believe he’s no longer around, we’ll all relax. You know he has been the power behind the throne for years.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Hector. How does that change anything?”

“Cardoza would not think twice about putting our prices into the toilet.”

That’s one way to bug a room.

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

The Potosi and Tijuana Cartels had already decided to work together, splitting Hobbes’ business between them, hence the agreed upon price of four and a half billion dollars. It doesn’t appear to be a complete merger but close enough for my purposes. The real question is how hard can I push them on price? In theory, they each had about four billion to start so doubling that gets me eight billion. Can I realistically get more for Hobbes? Maybe not directly. And not without some help.

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

They buzzed Hobbes five minutes ago and everyone is back in the conference room.

“Raymond,” says Carrillo. “We have taken Brooke’s suggestion to heart and agreed to an alliance between the cartels. Unfortunately, together, we can only offer seven billion dollars. Take it or leave it.”

Hobbes looks left and right, then at Conner, who nods her head once.

“My friends, this is my final offer. It is not a negotiating ploy or a game of some kind. This is my bottom line. Ten billion dollars in two installments. Eight billion now and Two billion in a year. Plus interest at four percent. If that is not agreed to, then we will let the market declare the winners. Do you wish to discuss it among yourselves?”

Carrillo stares at Hobbes with narrowed eyes, then glances at the Beltrans, who nod their heads in unison.

“We will discuss it.”

Hobbes returns his “pager” to the center of the table and we troop out again.

Conner has the receiver out as soon as we turn the corner.

“We can’t afford ten billion.”

“We won’t have to. We pay the eight now and nothing in a year.”

“What do you mean, Arturo?”

“What can he do about it? We will control his troops, his empire. He has nothing to force us to pay. What will he do, sue us?”

We can hear the laughter without the receiver. Conner turns it off.

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

“Then it is agreed,” says Hobbes. “Eight billion paid into an escrow account in a mutually agreed bank, to be released after an inspection of my assets to make certain they are as advertised. After one year, an additional two billion plus four percent interest is to be paid direct to an account of my choosing.”

“Yes, Raymond. That is our agreement,” answers Carrillo.

Conner touchs her ear and taps Hobbes’ arm. Everyone else in the room froze. After consulting, Hobbes sits up.

“Thank you, Brooke. A very good point. Gentlemen, Ms. Grey has raised a minor but I believe important issue. If you were paying one payment and we were done, it wouldn’t matter, but since I am relying on the future success of your business for the payment of the balance of the ten billion dollars, it is only fair that I also inspect your assets, to assess your credit worthiness, as it were.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust us?!” Moreno yells.

“If I did not trust you, Luis, we would not have reached this agreement but you demand an inspection of what you are buying before you pay for it and that is a reasonable demand. Likewise, I am, in essence, a silent partner with all of you until the balance is paid in a year. It is hardly unreasonable that I know who I am getting in bed with. It is you who need that year to raise the money. I am entitled to an inspection and an opportunity to determine if I believe you will actually be able to pay me.”

“Let him see what he wants,” says Hector. “It means nothing!”

“I agree,” says Vincente.

Hobbes turns towards Carrillo.

“Arturo?”

Carrillo looks at Hobbes but he’s watching Conner, who’s just sitting there with a completely bland, if not slightly bored, expression on her face. Something is worrying him but he can’t put his finger on it. Finally, he shakes it off and answers.

“You are right, Raymond, it is a minor thing.”

“NO! Arturo! How can you allow …”

“Quiet Luis! It is only fair. We are all laying our cards on the table. There shall be no secrets, eh Raymond?”

“Yes, Arturo, no secrets.”

There was some final haggling over how long each side had to do the inspections. They finally settle on ten days and exchanged contact numbers. Hobbes produces some champagne from behind the bar and there’s a lot of toasting and handshakes before Conner breaks it up, reminding everyone that the wives’ daytrip is about to end and they will all be back to the Hotel in a few minutes. Spas and shopping. The men need to find out the damages.

Hobbes is the last to leave and he’s all smiles and back slaps. He even grabs my hand and wallops me on the back in the elevator, thanking me for all I have done and that my loyalty will not be forgotten. When the door opens on our floor, he positively dances out the door.

I had to know.

“Conner, can I talk with you. Just a sec.”

“Sure. Mr. Hobbes, I’ll be with you in a few.”

“No rush, Patricia. I am retired. Plenty of time on my hands.”

I lead Conner to a secluded room on a back hallway and close the door.

“I don’t get it.”

“Get what, Henry?”

“Hobbes knows he’s not getting that second payment. He’s getting screwed out of two billion dollars and doesn’t seem to care!”

“They didn’t have ten billion. They barely had eight. This way, we get to see everything they both have, their factories, their farms, their planes, ships, subs and tunnels. Their warehouses and distribution networks. We already know what Hobbes is selling them and where that is. Once we’re all done, I will know practically every major drug production and delivery asset in the world.”

“And what’ll you do with that information?”

“Hand it over to the Feds and Hobbes collects ten percent for helping destroy the drug trade across the world. Hobbes’ cut will probably be a couple billion after all … if they’re smart.”

She’s got all the angles figured out. They won’t know what hit ‘em. Amazing.

“What’s this severance pay thing?”

“This is everybody’s second chance. You want out? You get three years salary, up front. You have to leave the drug trade to qualify but this gives you enough money to escape, if that’s what you want to do.”

“Does that apply to …”

“Guards? Yeah, it does. Though, with Hobbes out of the business, technically, so are the guards, if they decide to stay on. Here’s your chance, Henry, to start a new life, if that’s what you want.”

“What do you get out of all this?”

“Redemption.”

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

We didn’t stay in Acapulco for very long after the meeting. Flying home on Hobbes’ private jet, we’re in Miami the next day, using the new IDs provided by Hobbes. I’m now Jessica Grey and Patricia is Brooklyn Grey. We’re still mother and daughter, though Patricia is twenty two instead of seventeen. She’s been dressing and acting older. I assume she still remembers most everything from her life as Peter Harris so that shouldn’t be very difficult for her.

Hobbes has put us up in a small, secluded office building he owns and Patricia starts work on finalizing the sale. She spends her days contacting Hobbes’ people all around the world and scheduling the required inspections. Hobbes wants to handle the money transfer himself. Patricia doesn’t object, she wants the information from the inspections.

I don’t have anything to do so I spend my time making the space a little more home like. Patricia doesn’t think we should come in from the cold until after we’ve dealt with Lipscomb. She hasn’t said exactly what she plans to do but I made her promise that I would be there when she does.

Six days after we got back, Patricia walks into the office I set up as a living room. I was watching a movie online. She drops into a chair and tosses a DVD case onto my lap.

“That’s it.”

I pick it up and open it. There’s an unlabeled DVD+R disc in the case.

“That’s everything?”

“Absolutely everything, even their list of bribed officials and cops.”

“How did you get that?”

“They got Hobbes’ list. We agreed to an equal swap. I’ll deliver this to Hobbes later today and he can collect his money.”

“Eight. Billion. Dollars. It doesn’t seem fair that he walks away with that kind of money, scot-free.”

“You’re right, it isn’t, but we both know that life isn’t fair. It takes him out of the game though, along with Gretchen, Henry, Lou and the rest of the guys. What he does with his second chance is up to him.”

“He doesn’t deserve a second chance.”

“Maybe not, but it’s for the greater good. That disc in your hand could lead to the total disruption of the world-wide drug trade in a year. And we wouldn’t have it without the deal Hobbes got. If we’re lucky, Potosi and Tijuana will wipe out the smaller cartels before their deal falls apart and they start fighting among themselves.”

“Do you really think that will happen?”

“Potosi and Tijuana fighting each other? There’s no doubt about it. Carrillo might be able to take control of Potosi but I doubt it. The two of them should decimate the competition before they try to kill each other though. If the timing’s right, the Feds should be able to take both of them out of business before things get too bad. The real question is, how long can they prevent the next super cartel from developing?”

“You don’t sound optimistic, Patricia.”

“I’m not. As long as there’s a demand, there will always be a supplier. The only question is at what price. If the world’s governments are motivated, coordinated, united and smart, they may be able to delay the inevitable ten or fifteen years. If they aren’t …”

“Which is the reality as of today.”

“Then it’ll be less than five years. Five bloody years.”

“So … what have we accomplished here?”

“The same as for everyone, a second chance to get it right. With the current get tough policies, no one will even consider demand reduction until there’s supply reduction. We’ll give them their supply reduction. The next move is theirs.”

Patricia pulls her legs up and pulls off the heels she’s been wearing, rubbing her feet with both hands, eyes closed. After several minutes, she brings her knees up to her chest, hugging them, slowly rocking forward and back in her chair.

“Sweetie … is there something wrong?”

“No mom … I’m fine … I’m …” She pauses for almost half a minute. “Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“What am I?”

I’ve been waiting for this. Still don’t know what to do about it. “Why do you ask?”

“Why do I ask? I put that DVD together. I can tell you exactly what is on there … word for word. Is that normal?”

“Some people have abnormally good memories …”

“Do some people have the memories of two different people in their heads, plus about a pound of silicon? Oh, don’t forget the little robots circulating through my body. They were originally just in my brain but a few escaped after one of my concussions and they’ve replicated. Now they’re everywhere.”

“My GOD! Patricia, are you alright?!”

“Probably. I still have a certain amount of control over them. They mostly just do routine maintenance. How many people can say that?”

“None that I know.”

“Which means that I’m not people.”

“What?”

“People. A person … human.”

“Honey, you can’t think that.”

“Why not? There’s no one like me out there, nothing like me. I’m totally unique. How could I possibly be human?”

She rubs tears from her eyes with the back of her hand but they don’t stop. I jump up and hurry to her side, sitting on the arm of the chair while I reach out and hug her.

“Patricia … of course you’re human. You’re as human as I am. People for centuries have used technology to improve or save their lives. Eyeglasses, contacts, hearing aids, all just simple tools.”

“My brain isn’t just a tool. I can’t take it off and sit it on the nightstand next to the bed.”

“Alright, alright … what about pacemakers or insulin pumps? They don’t come out at night. You remove them and the person dies. Are they not human? What about artificial hearts?”

“There aren’t any permanent artificial hearts yet.”

“But there will be … someday. Does the first recipient of a permanent heart replacement cease to be human when they switch the heart on?”

The tears slow.

“No … I guess not.”

“Of course they’re still human. And so are you. You’re just the first person to get the technology. Who knows, ten years from now, nanites and brain implants could be as common as nose jobs and breast implants.”

She laughs softly then gets serious again. “What about Peter Harris, Jenny Jo Hamilton and Patricia the computer program? All three of us put in a blender and frapped.”

I caress her cheek with the back of my right hand.

“What happened to you, sweetie, was a terrible accident. No one wanted it to happen. You have an extraordinary will to survive. It all might have killed you, but it didn’t … you wouldn’t let it. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here. As you’re so fond of pointing out, life is choices. You made your choice. The end result was a beautiful, talented, intelligent, young woman. A human woman … who’s sometimes a big pain in the ass. You can’t be anymore human than that, Patricia.”

She sighs, looks up at me and smiles.

“Thanks, Mom … I needed that.”

“Anytime.”

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

Something is up.

No one will talk to me about it but I know when something big is happening around here. Father is scarce, the guards are on the alert, you can feel the tension in everyone. Normally I wouldn’t care but anything that takes attention away from looking for Patty is not acceptable.

Father knows something but he’s not telling. Lately, whenever I ask about what he’s doing to find her, he says everything that he can but that I shouldn’t worry, that she’s a smart girl and can take care of herself.

Of course she’s a smart girl! Everyone knows that! But bad things can happen to any girl, smart or dumb.

Nobody else has had any luck either. Nothing in the daily police reports, no tips from the website that Cassie and Debbie put together, zip from the Facebook page, other than a lot of sympathy messages … and a few really crappy anonymous ones. If I could prove who sent those, I’d track them down and have a talk with whoever the hell did it. Sick bastards.

Through it all, Gary’s been my rock. He’s probably tired of me talking about Patty all the time but he’s soooo understanding. He and some of his teammates have even gone around to different stores and other places putting up flyers, “Have you seen this girl” type things. He couldn’t be more supportive. Terri keeps telling me that he’s a good catch. I can’t think about things like that, not until I find out what happened to Patty -- good or bad.

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE

Hobbes was paid yesterday. I was at the house when the confirmation came in from the bank. Gretchen was at school. I’ve hated keeping her in the dark but too many people know I’m missing and I can’t afford for the world to know I’m back just yet. There are a couple of loose ends that need to be tied up before I can officially return. Until then, Gretchen can’t know anything.

Hobbes was absolutely giddy, making all sorts of plans. First thing he said he’s going to do is visit the old ranch owned by his great uncle. He wanted Gretchen to see it and meet that side of the family. He planned to invest in the ranch, restore it to its former glory. He’ll settle down in a few weeks. Freedom can be intoxicating.

I’m far from free yet.

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

I promised Mom that she could be there when I confronted Lipscomb. I didn’t promise that she’d actually be in the room when I did it.

I know she’s got just as much a beef with him as I do, maybe more, but she’s got no experience with this kinda thing. She might freeze at a crucial moment or balk at doing what needed to be done. Mom’s just a regular person. There’s no reason that she should have to get her hands dirty cleaning up this mess.

It’s amazing what I can “remember” about Lipscomb’s plans now. If I had this recall from the start, we’d be talking about a totally different situation. Matthews would still be alive for one thing. So would Peter Harris.

And Hobbes would still be a drug dealer. Just because I was able to make lemonade out of lemons doesn’t mean Danny Boy gets away with it.

I’d been casing his condo for the last two days, making sure he was there and that he was alone. He didn’t go out much so I’m just going to have to force my way in and take him at gun point. I’m really going to miss this little .22. It is very sweet, but I can’t afford to keep a gun with two recent killings attached to it. They might not find his body in the Everglades but I can’t count on it.

Mom drove the van. It’s a rental in her “Jessica Grey” identity. We won’t need the aliases in a couple weeks, if we’re lucky. We’ve been sitting outside Lipscomb’s place for the last half-hour. Mom yawns and I check my watch. 1:18 in the morning. Time to move. I grab my black shoulder bag and pop the door open.

“You stay right here, Mom. We talked about this. You stay in the van until I bring Lipscomb out, swing around to the front of the building, we get in and you drive away. Simple and straight forward.”

“What if you have trouble?”

“Then you head for home. Let me deal with it.”

She reaches into the brown paper bag beside her and pulled out the double barrel .410 I had given her earlier.

“I can’t leave you if there’s trouble, not now.”

I reach out and push the gun down and out of sight.

“MOTHER! Put that away! Someone may see it! There won’t be any trouble. Lipscomb’s probably asleep and I’ve checked out the locks on some of the empty condos. I can pick them, eazy peazy. The bolt cutters will take care of any chains on the door. Once I’m in, it’ll only take a few minutes for me to roust Lipscomb, hustle him downstairs and out the door.”

“What if he won’t cooperate?”

“You know Danny Boy. He’ll do anything to keep talking, figures he can talk his way out of any situation if he gets enough time. Cooperating buys him that time. He’ll play along until it’s too late. Stay here and keep that howitzer out of sight.”

I jump out, closing the van door quietly behind me. Running around the front of the van, I pause to let some traffic pass. Mom drops her window as I wait.

“Be careful, Patricia,” she hisses. I wave and nod before sprinting across the road to the building’s entrance.

There should be an electric security lock that prevents just anyone off the street from walking in but it’s broken. I broke it yesterday. I scoot in and pause to check out the lobby.

No one around. Lipscomb’s on the fifth floor. I hurry over to the stairwell and push open the door, pausing first to check for the sounds of anybody else and then to check to make sure I’ve got all my equipment ... the lock picks, the folding bolt cutters and the silenced .22 mag. Everything being in its place, I quietly climb the stairs, hesitating at each floor, checking for activity.

There is none. I enter the fifth floor, again checking for any kind of activity. Dead silent. It only takes a moment to reach his door and unlock it. Slowly turning the doorknob, it clicks open and I swing the door into the room until pulled to a stop by a chain. The bolt cutter makes quick work of that and I close the door quietly behind me and pull my gun.

The only light in the room was from the fish tank. So, he stayed with the fish tank. It’s very impressive. I tap the glass side of the enormous tank twice with the barrel of my gun and then collapse to the floor, all control of my body gone.

I keep breathing and can see but can’t move, can’t speak. I dropped the gun as I fell and my hand is only inches away but I can’t make it move even a fraction of an inch. I hear footsteps approaching.

“Aaaahhh, there you are. Hoped it was you. I’d thank Thomas if I could. This really worked well.”

I can hear Lipscomb but can’t move my head to look at him. What is he talking about, what worked well? This isn’t part of the Balancer, it’s gone. I hear him move closer to me, then his shoes move into my line of vision. His hand reaches down and picks up the gun.

“Nice. Very nice. Good workmanship. No serial numbers. Bet you had this hidden good and deep. Shame you won’t be using it on me.” He grabs my shoulders, pulls me upright and leans me against a couch, my butt on the ground, my shoulders resting against the seat cushion. A pillow is placed next to my head, propping it up. Lipscomb has a seat opposite me, my gun in his right hand, a small blue box with a black push button and a red flashing LED in his left and a big grin on his stupid face. “I knew that this would come in handy.” He fingers the box, rocking it in the palm of his hand. “You probably want to know what it is.”

Of course I do, you ass! And you can’t resist telling me.

“Thomas called it the Neutralizer. I just told him what I wanted but he couldn’t resist naming it. After my time in the Construct, I saw the potential problems if we lost control. Matthews assured me the Balancer was enough but I insisted on a failsafe. I realized that a man with your experience could exploit the situation. I couldn’t risk having you in there without some kind of off switch so Thomas, reluctantly, installed an electric disrupter at the base of your skull. It has an electric pulse of some kind which disrupts the signals getting to your spinal cord. Frankly, I don’t know all the details but Thomas assured me it would do the job. It appears he was right.”

Lipscomb chuckles quietly, sounding relieved. “I don’t mind telling you that I’ve been pushing this button at every creak and groan I’ve heard in the last few days, all false alarms until tonight.”

He stands up, slips my gun into his pants waist at his back and walks to the door. “Now, I’ve got to do something with you. There’s a part of me that would like to have a little fun first … I’ve been cooped up in here for some time, but Cardoza made that mistake and he’s dead now. That kind of thing really kills the mood. So, you just stay right there. I’ll bring my car around to the elevator in the basement parking garage, bring up a body bag I’ve got stashed in it, stuff you in and we’ll be off.” He examines the cut chain for a second then opens the door.

“Hello, Daniel.”

Lipscomb freezes, his hands away from his body at his waist. He slowly backs into the room and away from the door, mom pushing him with her sawed off shotgun against his chest.

“Jessica! How … how did you? Uhhhhh … thank … Thank God! You survived! It was all Hobbes’ idea! He made me …”

“SHUT UP, LIPSCOMB!” she hisses, kicking the door shut behind her, then she looks down at me then back up at Lipscomb, who has his hands raised next to his shoulders.

“I can explain this, Jessica,” he says, smoothly. “Peter was trying to …”

“Open your mouth.”

“What?”

“Open your God damn lying mouth, Lipscomb!”

Lipscomb paused a second but she poked him in the chest with the twin barrels. He opened his mouth.

She poked him in the chest again. “Wider.” This time, he opened his mouth as widely as possible. She stuffed the barrels of her gun in it and he involuntarily clamped down on them. “Now, Dan, I’m going to ask you some simple questions, I want a nod yes or no as an answer. You don’t answer, I pull the triggers. You got that?”

He nodded yes.

“Good. Did you do this to Patricia?”

He nodded no.

“Do you know what happened to her?”

Again, no.

“Can you fix her?”

A third no. She raises the barrels, forcing Lipscomb up on his toes.

“If that’s all true, I don’t have any use for you, Lipscomb. See you in Hell.”

He starts to nod no wildly.

“Do you wish to amend your answers to the last questions?”

He vigorously nods yes. Mom smiles.

“I thought you might. Can you fix her?”

He glances down at me but doesn’t answer. Mom pulls a hammer back with her thumb. He nods yes. She eases the hammer back down.

“Do it. And I don’t have to remind you what happens if you try anything funny.”

Lipscomb slowly bends at the knees, straining to reach for the blue box, which is sitting on a coffee table where he had left it. Mom follows him down, the shotgun never budging from his mouth. He finally reaches it with the tips of his fingers on his left hand. He quickly scoops it up and pushes the button with his thumb. The red light stops flashing. Immediately, my control is restored. I lift my hands and flex my fingers, then my arms at the shoulder, then elbow.

Mom glances my way. “Are you alright, honey?”

I slowly stand up, testing muscles as I move. “Yeah. I think I am. Thanks, mom.”

“You’re welcome. As for you, Daniel, do you remember the last thing you said to me before pulling the trigger was ‘sorry, Jessica’?”

His eyes grow wary as he barely nods yes.

“Good. I’m not.”

She pulls both triggers and there’s a muffled boom as the back of Lipscombs’ head blows out, spraying blood and brains against the wall behind him just before he drops to the floor in a heap.

“MOTHER!! Why did you DO that?! I told you that I‘d take care of him!

She wipes the bloody barrels on Daniel’s shirt. “I couldn’t let him get away with it. Killing Matthews, killing Peter, shooting me. You weren’t there, I was. I couldn’t stop him then. I had to now.”

“I wasn’t going to let him get away with anything … Aww CRIPE! We can’t discuss this now, someone may have heard that shot and called the cops. We might not have much time. I’ll find the hard drives, you collect the diamonds.”

“Why do we need the hard drives? We already have the information.”

“Yes, but we don’t want the police to get them, they’re our get out of jail free cards.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be copies in the hands of someone else in case he dies?”

“You just thought about that NOW?! He was bluffing. Lipscomb never planned on losing control of those drives, he never trusted anyone other than himself.”

“How do you know that?”

“It was his plan from Day One, the details of which are still in my mind. You get the diamonds.”

“Where are they?”

I point to the fish tank. “In there.”

She turns and looks at the tank. “What kind of fish are those?”

“Piranha … and he keeps them hungry.”

“How am I supposed to do this?”

“We could just shoot out the glass but that might attract even more attention so we’ll do it his way.”

I hurry over to the smaller tank with goldfish, scoop up two with the short net hanging there and grab a large rectangular piece of Plexiglas that was under the base holding the large tank. I drop the goldfish in the far left hand side of the tank, immediately drawing the attention of the four dozen or so piranha, which swarm the helpless goldfish. As soon as they are all concentrated at the left end of the tank, I slide the Plexiglas into two channels on either of the long sides of the tank and push it down into the water, dividing the tank into two sections, one much smaller but now holding all the piranha.

Mom nods her head. “Not bad. You knew how to do that because …”

“All part of the plan. Get something from the kitchen and unload the diamonds.”

“I don’t see anything big enough in that tank to hold fifty million dollars worth of diamonds.”

“It’s the gravel in the bottom of the tank. Hurry! I need to find that box of hard drives and then we’ll have to deal with the body, if we have time.”

“What are you going to do with the body?”

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

I got the call around 2:37 in the afternoon. Apparently there was some delay in informing my office that Lipscomb’s body had been discovered. I arrived at the scene just as the Coroner’s wagon was pulling away. I thought about stopping it to confirm the identity of the body but decided it wasn’t necessary, at least for now.

There were still a lot of local cops around, keeping the curious at bay. FBI was there too, not surprising since Daniel was a Federal Prosecutor. I had to flash my ID several times before finally reaching the apartment.

There were two techs with nets, trying to catch and bag fish in a red tinted fish tank that had to be at least one hundred gallons, maybe more. There was water all over the floor. Other techs were dusting for prints and doing other crime scene stuff. I haven’t been to an actual crime scene in years. I step up to the nearest plain clothes cop.

“I’m Walter Tyson, head of the Federal Prosecutor’s office. Who’s in charge here?”

He points to an average size black woman who is examining the tank.

“Thanks.”

I walk over to her but she introduces herself before I get a chance to say anything.

“Detective Robin Armstrong. Daniel Lipscomb was one of yours?”

“Yes. What happened here?”

“Was he working on any particularly important cases?”

“Not at the moment, Detective. What happened here, if you please?”

She flipped through her notebook. “Dispatch got a 911 call, anonymous naturally, about a disturbance. The officers who investigated found water outside in the hallway coming from this condo. No one responded so they entered and found Mr. Lipscomb’s body half stuffed in the fish tank along with forty seven very full piranha. His body was … wait a sec. Hillary? Bring your camera. See for yourself, Mr. Tyson.”

A young woman in a jumpsuit handed me her camera and pushed a few buttons until a picture was displayed on the screen in the back. Then another photo. And another. And another. It was all I could do to keep from throwing up in front of the two women.

Daniel’s naked body, at least I assume it was his body, was pushed halfway into the tank, bent at the waist over the short end on the right. From the waist down, he had been tied to a chair with electrical cords to raise him up enough to get the rest of him in the tank. The rest of him … was a skeleton. Bright, white and clean, except for the bloody water it was immersed in.

“Was he alive when …”

“We don’t think so” answered the tech. “See the wall over there?” I look where she’s pointing. “There’s a lot of blood and flesh there, mostly brain. And see … excuse me.” She takes the camera from me and scrolls through some more gruesome pictures, stopping and handing it back to me. “See the missing parts at the back of the skull? First impression is that it was blown off, likely a shotgun of some kind since there’s no single bullet hole, at least we haven’t found it yet. Those little fish did a nice job of cleaning the bones.”

“Thanks, Hillary.”

“Sure thing, Detective. Any time.” She returns to documenting the scene.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Tyson. The techs are a little narrow in their perspective, if you know what I mean.”

“I understand. I’ve seen worse.” But not by much. “Anybody hear or see anything?”

“Not much from the neighbors. There was some kind of noise early this morning after 1:00 a.m. but no one bothered to report anything. It’s that kind of neighborhood.”

“I get it, so the anonymous 911 was likely by the killers.”

“Good chance of that. What I don’t understand was stuffing a dead guy in the piranha tank. It wasn’t to hide his ID, his pants were right there, wallet in the back pocket, driver’s license, federal ID card, the whole nine yards.”

“Anything taken?”

“Not that we can tell. Place wasn’t tossed. There was some stuff laying around. No worse than your average bachelor condo, better than most. Lipscomb wasn’t gay, was he?”

“Far from it.”

“Maybe he was just naturally neat. You have any idea why he was killed?”

“Yes. A very good one.”

“Care to share?”

“Not at this time.”

“One of THOSE cases.”

“Something like that. The FBI will be wanting everything you have. We’ll be assuming jurisdiction as soon as possible. Killing a Federal Prosecutor in the line of duty is a federal offense.”

“You’re welcome to it. Got plenty on my plate. You asked if something was missing … I don’t know … it’s odd.”

“What’s odd, Detective?”

“You have fish as a kid?”

“No, bulldog. Your point?”

“I had fish, Neon Tetras. Where’s the gravel in that tank?”

“Gravel?”

“Every fish tank I can ever recall seeing had little colored pebbles in the bottom. Sometimes multicolored, sometimes one color, sometimes natural tones, but always something. Where’s the gravel from that tank?”

“Is it required?”

“Don’t know, but it’s always there.”

“Are you suggesting my man was killed over fish tank gravel?”

“All’s I’m saying is that it’s odd. Your FBI experts can decide if it’s important.”

“We’ll take it under advisement, Detective.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY

I hadn’t slept well the last two nights. Daniel Lipscomb’s death kept replaying in my dreams. I didn’t have second thoughts. The man deserved to die; several times over. He’d killed twice, attempted a third and would have killed Patricia if I hadn’t given in to my desire for vengeance and been there when he opened the door to his condo.

But even a righteous shooting can cause sleepless nights, at least that’s what Patricia says. She wanders in to our kitchenette after I’d been there for about ten minutes, sipping store bought instant hot chocolate after waking in the dead of night. Stretching and yawning, she ambles over to the counter, grabs a packet of cocoa, tears it open, dumps it in a foam cup, adds hot water from the coffee pot and stirs it while shuffling over to the table, dropping into the seat. She takes a sip then grimaces.

“Welcome to my world, mom. You should have let me do it.”

“I saved your life.”

“You did, and I’ve thanked you. Several times. Thanks again. But, after saving my life, you should have let me handle it. You’d be asleep right now if you had.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Eventually, but it’ll take awhile. You ever want to talk about it, let me know. I’ve seen a lot of shrinks.”

“I’ll think about your generous offer. Why didn’t you remember the Neutralizer?”

“Because it wasn’t requested by Lipscomb until after he had spent his time in Patricia’s head. I can’t remember what wasn’t there. It did remind me that I’m not untouchable.”

“Or infallible. What are you going to do about it?”

She sips and grimaces again. “Already taken care of. I sent the nanites. It’s gone. But not forgotten. Please, from now on, let me do the dirty work.”

“Honey, we’re in this together. I can’t let you get hurt anymore. I’m your mother. It’s my job.”

“Not yet, it’s not. We’ve got one more loose end to tie up and then we’ll pull a Lazarus. You can be mom and I can be your loving daughter. And that loose end is all mine.”

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

I don’t recognize him at all.

Father’s been acting completely different since he came back from his trip. No reading reports during breakfast, no lengthy meetings during the weekends, no secret phone conversations, no long talks with Enrique … no Enrique at all. I haven’t seen him in days. That’s not unusual, he goes on trips by himself a lot but everyone talks about him while he’s gone. This time … not a peep, not from the guards, not from Father, no one. And still nothing about Patty!

If I’ve learned anything from Patty, it’s nothing happens unless you take action. Time for action.

When I reach Father’s office, he’s leaning back in his chair, feet up on his desk, reading travel brochures. His door was wide open. It was never open before. There’s got to be a pod around here somewhere.

“Father, I need to talk with you.”

He puts the brochure down and drop his feet to the floor. “About what, Gretchen?”

“About a lot of stuff. Where’s Enrique?”

“He’s gone.”

“Where?”

“Gretchen, you know that I don’t discuss business issues with you.”

“What business? I haven’t seen you do any work in days.”

“Aren’t I entitled to a vacation now and then?”

“Sure, but you’ve never taken one before.”

“Then it’s about time I did, don’t you think?”

Gotta find that pod. “It’s not like you. Nobody’s acting normal. The guards are relaxed, at least the ones who are here. I haven’t seen Gomez or Jackson since you came back from your trip.”

“They retired.”

“Retired? They weren’t even thirty years old! Father, I’m not stupid. Something’s going on. If Patty were here, she’d figure it out and tell me but she’s not here, so I have to ask you. Please Father, just tell me. I’m not a child. Please.”

Father looks at me, tapping his fingers on the top of his desk, considering something. Finally, he stands up.

“No. You are not a child.” He walks around his desk, closes the door then returns to his seat. “You deserve the truth, at least as much as I can tell you. I sold my business.”

“WHAT?!!”

“I sold my business. I no longer … sell what I used to sell.”

“Why?”

“There were certain developments that made future profits less likely and an opportunity presented itself. I had grown tired of the limitations I had to live under. It was so much fun to attend your basketball games. I wanted to do more things like that.”

“Is Enrique running it now? Did he buy it?”

“No.” He returns to tapping his fingers on the desktop again. “Enrique and I … I discovered certain things about Enrique, his past, things he had done. Gretchen … he killed your mother.”

“MY Mother was killed? I thought it was an accident.”

“It wasn’t. He admitted he killed her and tried to kill me. Patricia was able to distract him and I shot him.”

I have to sit down, this is too much.

“Enrique is dead?”

“Yes.”

“You killed him?”

“Yes.”

“And Patty was here when it happened?”

“She was.”

“Was she hurt? Is she alive?”

“Yes. Very much so. In fact, she is the one who made the sale of my business both necessary and profitable.”

“SO WHERE IS SHE?!”

“I don’t actually know right now but she should be back soon.”

“Where has she been all this time?”

“With me a part of it, here in Miami for some of it.”

“I don’t understand. What has she been doing all that time?”

“For the first two weeks, she helped me sell my assets to my competitors. After that … I am not certain. I believe that someone else had tried to kill her and her mother. She was dealing with it.”

What has Patty been doing? Who would want to kill her or her mother? This makes no sense.

“How could you take advantage of Patty?”

“I did nothing of the kind! She came to ME! You know how she is. When she decides to do something, nothing stops her.”

This is all too much to take in at one time. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this before now?”

“We needed to keep the sale a secret. As for the rest of it, Patricia insisted you not be told about anything until she had … I believe she called it tying up loose ends.”

“Why couldn’t she trust me?”

“I don’t know, Gretchen. Perhaps she thought there was some potential danger for you. She was worried about the effect on you of keeping everything secret but decided the best choice was to complete everything before telling you. I agreed to follow her wishes.”

“So why are you telling me all this now?”

“I think you are mature enough to keep her secret. Also, she underestimated how much her absence would affect you.”

“Okay. Thank you. If you sold your business, will we need to move? Can we afford all this now?”

He laughs as loudly as I think I have ever heard him. “That is not a problem. I did very well. Very, very well. Your future is secure.”

“What did you pay Patty for her work?”

“Uuuhhhh …”

“Father?”

“We never discussed … she never asked …”

“Faaaatheerrr.”

“Nothing.”

“FATHER!!”

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

No wonder Patricia hates snow and cold! We’ve been in Wisconsin for three days and I can honestly say I haven’t gotten warm yet. I don’t know how the natives survive it.

Patricia insisted we buy our clothes when we got up here, used and with local flavor. We’d stand out less. I’m afraid my chattering teeth will give me away. We aren’t staying at Rice Lake, Jenny Jo Hamilton’s hometown. Patricia picked a highway exchange about seventy five miles away with a couple of motels and a strip mall. We’re still using our “Grey” fake ID’s.

Rice Lake is a small town just off of a big lake, also named Rice Lake. It’s mostly a tourist town that shuts down for the winter, though Patricia says that there’s a lot of ice fishing and snowmobile trails, so the town’s still somewhat alive in February. Alive enough to have three bars open at almost midnight.

We found him at the Trophy Rack Bar and Grill, his favorite. He’s parked at the bar with a couple of friends. At least they seem friendly. I’m sitting at a booth four spaces away, facing him. Not near enough to hear what he’s saying but close enough to keep tabs on him. I’m wearing slacks, blouse, hiking boots, a nylon parka, barely unzipped due to impending frost bite, and a blue tooth ear piece for my phone concealed by my loose hair.

“Patricia … how are you doing?” I whisper.

“Fine. No one’s spotted me. Thank God for the clearance on Daddy’s truck. It’s easy to work under here. Any sign of him leaving yet?” she asks through my earpiece.

“No. He seems to be swapping stories with a couple of locals. Did you recognize them?”

“Sorry, not in my recovered memories. How many people in there now?”

I look around the room, the décor dominated by an enormous stuffed elk’s head, complete with over six feet of antlers. There’s several other mounts, all White Tail Deer. None as big as the Elk but impressive in their own way. There’s about ten people scattered around the room, some drinking hard and fast, others just relaxing. Those relaxing seem better dressed and hanging together. The Tourists. The hard drinkers appear to be locals. They spread out around the bar as if they own it, very comfortable, very loud.

“Ten, give or take. How much longer will you be?”

“I don’t know, mom. You getting cold feet?”

“Ha ha.”

She could be right. He doesn’t look evil. Just an ordinary looking guy, a little shorter than average, kinda stocky, no better or worse than all the other men we’ve seen around Rice Lake. Or Miami. Why must he die tonight? I know what Patricia said he did to Jenny Jo and I have no reason to believe that she’s not telling the truth but there’s no death penalty for just rape … as much as women might wish there to be.

“Patricia … are you certain you want to go through with this?”

“Don’t wimp out on me now, mother. You got Lipscomb. I told you I’d take care of it but that wasn’t good enough for you. Had to be your way. Well this is my target, my way! Besides … I promised Jenny Jo.”

“Do we have the right to do this?”

“Did you?”

“He was a murderer! He killed you and tried to kill me. And was planning on killing you again.”

“Stan Hamilton is a serial rapist who will rape again. What’s the difference?”

What is the difference? Is it just because I was the victim? Peter Harris also died that day but he also lives on. Jenny Jo was raped, driven from her family into the waiting arms of abusive pimps, to an intolerable existence and an untimely end. She also died but lives on. What price should her father pay for that? Patricia doesn’t want to talk about it, simply saying that it’s her responsibility to put an end to it and that she promised to take care of it.

I can’t exactly preach from the moral high ground here.

“There has to be another way, honey.”

“What … ughh! … do you suggest? We can’t go to the police.”

“Maybe we could scare him off. Confront him, say we know what you did and if you try anything funny …”

“Then I’ll kill you? He doesn’t scare off. Strictly a ‘my way or the highway’ kinda guy. We warn him, he takes Penny and runs. He had his chance. I begged him. No dice. Got it! Finally. That should do it. He still there?”

“Yes, but I’m very uncomfortable about this.”

“I understand. Lipscomb was in the heat of the moment, that’s always easier. If there’s one thing we don’t have now, it’s heat. You want to bail, that’s okay. I’ll do this myself.”

“No, no. I can’t let you do that. You’re my daughter, I’m responsible for you.”

“And I’m responsible for Penny. Promises were made.”

“Not by you.”

“Some were made by me, some I accepted, all part of the deal. If I have to make a choice between my innocent little sister and my scum bucket rapist father, guess who wins.”

It’s clear I’m not talking her out of it so my choices are simple: stop it, support it, or ignore it. I can’t stop her, it wouldn’t be fair, not after all she’s done for me. I can’t ignore it and leave her alone. That leaves me one, very uncomfortable, option. Hamilton stands up and starts to pay his tab.

“He’s on the move, Patricia.”

“Slow him up! I haven’t gotten the back door open yet.”

“How?”

“I don’t know! I just need a few seconds.”

“I’ll try. Hurry.”

I stand up and walk quickly towards the three men. As I get closer, I can hear their conversation.

“Why so early, Stan?”

“Going on the lake for some ice fishing in the morning. Gonna spend the night in the camper, get an early start.”

“Won’t it be awfully cold in that rust bucket of yours?”

“Naw, I got a gas heater. Gonna do the same next week but I’ll take my daughter with me. Time she learned how to make a man happy.”

“Never too soon to teach a girl how to clean and cook fish … and such.”

“And such. See you guys later.”

Hamilton starts to head towards the door so I walk right into him, grab him and spin away, still holding onto him but I end up between him and the door.

“Excuse me! I’m sooo sorry! My fault entirely!” I say.

He looks me up and down, a scowl on his face. “Yeah, it was. What the hell is wrong with you, lady?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. I just tried to stop and slipped on some melted snow back there.”

He pulls his arm from my grasp. “There’s a lot of that around this time of the year. Be more careful.”

He starts to walk around me to my left but I slide with him, keeping between him and the door. “Would you happen to know the safest way back to the Interstate? With all that new snow out there and the way it’s coming down … I’m not used to that kind of winter driving.”

He gives me a disdainful sneer. “Do I look like triple A? What the hell you doing up here if you can’t handle a little snow and ice?” He glances at his companions. “That’s all we need … a bunch of women drivers who can’t handle even a couple of inches.”

They all laugh at the double entendre. Hamilton again moves to get around me. I’m just about to grab his arm and confront him about his unhelpful attitude when Patricia calls out.

“I’m in. Let him go. Follow us as far as Walleye Drive. Stop at the turn off and wait for me.”

I let him pass, hurry back to pay my bill, then nonchalantly walk out and around the corner, searching for his beat up Ford truck with a camper in the bed. I finally see him through the swirling snow just as he opens the door to the cab of the truck, climbs up and closes the door. I slip and slide over to our rented SUV, jump in, attach the seat belt and start it, pulling out of the snow-covered parking lot with a minimum of fish tailing back and forth in the city street before I slow down enough to regain control.

Not a good way to be inconspicuous.

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

The smell makes me sick to my stomach. It’s surprising how smells seem to trigger the most vivid memories.

Or horrors.

I’m back in my daddy’s camper, literally and figuratively. All the terrible memories and feelings come flooding back as we bounce down the road, the paralyzing fear. I was prepared for some negative reaction but nothing this bad. It takes me several minutes to bring my trembling under control.

Yes, I’m back at the scene of the crimes but the roles are reversed. I’m the predator, not the prey.

It took me longer than I thought it would but I finally managed to run the rubber hose from the camper, under the frame and back into the cab of the truck behind the dashboard. My end is attached to a scuba tank full of Carbon Monoxide. The other end is near his feet. Since it’s lighter than air, the gas will rise, filing the cab of the truck from the top down. I don’t know how long it’ll take to knock him out so I need to be careful, don’t want him killing both of us in a car accident. Nothing gets turned on until we get out of town.

The part of me that was Jenny Jo has calmed down, focusing on revenge instead of fear. I can see the passing scenery through the louvers of the side window while keeping my head down below the sliding window connecting the cab of the truck and the camper. We just passed the McDonalds on the edge of town, time to begin. I reach down to the tank sitting next to me and open the valve a quarter turn. The hiss of the escaping gas is inaudible, hidden by the squeaks and groans of the old truck and the drone of country music coming from the staticky AM radio.

Daddy loves his music.

We’re twenty miles from the fishing cabin but the roads get worse the closer we get. I can’t afford to look to see if mom is following us and I don’t want to try and call her on the phone. Doesn’t really matter. No matter what … Daddy dies tonight.

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

There’s practically no traffic on the road, which makes it easy to keep track of the truck ahead of me but it also leaves me no place to hide. I’m not used to driving in the snow but he is. Sometimes, I just have to grit my teeth and hold on while I slide through a turn in the road. I’ve got to stay behind Hamilton, Patricia is counting on me. I can’t let her down. No matter what.

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

We pulled off the main road about a mile back. Daddy was doing pretty well up until then. Now, he’s swerved several times in the last few minutes. He’s a better driver than that. The gas is likely getting to him.

We’re not going to make the cabin.

I need him at least out of it enough to not put up much of a fight when I confront him. Problem is, he’d put up a fight if he’d lost both arms and one leg.

Switching the gas off, I disconnect the hose and connect the scuba mask. As soon as I settle back down below the connecting window, the truck starts to slide sideways.

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

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod! They’re going to crash! The whole truck is sideways, sliding down the road! I can’t really see the truck that well through the twisting, coiling streams of snow but I can see where their headlights are pointed, illuminating the trees lining the road as the truck swings back and forth, finally settling back pointed in the right direction.

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

Good save Daddy! I was waiting for the thump. Can’t take anymore chances though. Grabbing my equipment bag, I pull out my trusty .22 mag, slide the connecting window aside and stick the muzzle against the back of his head.

“Stop the truck, Daddy.”

He doesn’t react immediately, but his head slowly turns towards me and away from the road. His eyes are red and glassy.

“Jenny Jo?”

“Yes, Jenny Jo. Now stop this truck, right now.”

“Jenny Jo?”

“Yes, yes, I’m Jenny Jo, your long lost daughter. Stop the truck now or I’ll blow your brains out.”

His head wobbles side to side slightly as his eyes shift but he finally turns back to the road and the truck comes to a slithering halt.

“Good. Well done. Now, slide over to the passenger side.”

His head drops down momentarily, then he jerks it back up and looks my way. He seems drunk. The alcohol and Carbon Monoxide aren’t a good mix, probably why he reacted more quickly than I had planned. He squints at me through his left eye.

“Why?”

“Because I’m coming in through this window.”

“Is this a dream?”

“No, it’s not.”

“I think it is. It’s a dream.”

“Alright, yes. It’s a dream. Slide over.”

“Oookay.”

As he slowly moves over to the other side of the bench seat, I turn the gas back on, hang the scuba mask on the window frame, then climb through the window, head first, making sure to keep the gun in my left hand and as far away from Daddy as possible. It’s a tight fit, made tighter by my winter coat, but once my hips are in the cab, it’s easy to pull my legs through and spin to face him.

“Daddy, in this dream, instead of catching the fish with a pole, you’re going into the water after them.”

“Won’t it be cold?”

“No, not at all. I’ve got this special mask here that’ll make it easy to breathe and keep you warm. Here, put this on.”

“Why?”

“Because then, you won’t have to wait for the fish to come to you, you can go get them yourself. Chase down those damn fish, show ‘em who’s boss! Right?”

“Right!”

He struggles to get the mask on over his head. He gets close but I have to make the final adjustments. Once the mask is securely strapped to his face, I roll my window down, letting the gas in the truck cab escape, along with the heat. I adjust the seat, start the truck and drive off, keeping the gun in my lap. Pointed directly at him.

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

The truck is moving again, Patricia at the wheel. I can get closer now but not too close. I’m afraid I’d run into her. We go along until she turns off the two-lane road we’d been on for several miles onto a single lane path into the woods. This is where I’m supposed to stop and wait for her.

I’m pretty sure that won’t happen.

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

He doesn’t say anything at first, just sits there, eyes closed, the sound of his breath venting from the mask being the only indication that he’s still alive. A series of tremors shake his body and his eyes slowly open.

“Girl … what happened to you?” he croaks.

“You mean after you raped me for months? After I was forced to run away? After I had to trade sex for rides all the way to Miami? After I was grabbed off the street by an abusive pimp? After they pumped me full of drugs and traded me around with the other pimps? After I was forced to earn my keep by having cheap degrading sex with any piece of shit man with a few spare bucks and a couple of free minutes? After all that … what happened to me? Is that what you’re asking, Daddy?”

He doesn’t answer, just nods his head numbly.

“What happened, Daddy, was that I died … but I’m feeling much better now. You just sit back and think about all the Muskie and Northern Pike you’re going to catch when you go swimming in the lake. They won’t be able to hide from you now.”

He slumps back against the passenger door, breathing heavily.

“You … were a … fucking crappy … daughter.”

“I still am, Daddy. Just relax, we’ll soon be there.”

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

I keep the engine idling so that the heater works. I’ve got both the temperature and the fan on high. The SUV is barely off the road, I’m not confident of my ability to get back on it. There’s been no traffic since Patricia drove down the path towards the lake, which is good. I’d have a hard time explaining what I’m doing here.

Surely she could use my help. If I hadn’t followed her into Lipscomb’s building, it would have been a disaster. He’d have escaped and likely have killed her in the process. I saved her life. She knows that and thanked me but still tries to keep me away from the uglier parts of our activities. I should be the one protecting her … or at least helping her.

I zip my parka all the way up to my chin, pull the hood over my head, tying it tightly into place, then push open the door against the swirling winds. I climb out and let them blow the door shut. I trudge into the woods, stepping into the tracks left by the truck.

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

Pulling into the fishing camp, I look for a decent sized snow bank. There’s several to choose from so I back into one about two feet high, burying the tail pipe of the truck. I set the parking brake but leave the engine running.

“Stay right here, Daddy. I’m not going far.”

Climbing back through the window into the camper, I pack all my stuff into a duffle bag, push it into the cab, then carefully follow it with the scuba tank, making sure not to dislodge the mask from Daddy’s face. I wipe down the window frame and any other surfaces I might have touched.

After climbing back into the cab of the truck, I slide the window shut, latch it and wipe it down too, along with the steering wheel and the other controls. I look over at Daddy. He seems to be unconscious but still breathing.

“You stay put, I’ll be right back.”

I push the door open and step out into the deepening snow, staying close to the truck. I reach back into the cab and grab the duffel bag, sling it over my shoulder, close the door and slide around to the front of the truck. I throw the bag onto the damp hood of the truck and carefully retrace my steps back to the door, open it and climb back in.

“See, that didn’t take long.”

His breathing is slow and ragged, taking several seconds between breaths. It shouldn’t be long now.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, Daddy, but if you can, I’d like to tell you that … part of me still loves you. Despite all you did to me, you’re still my father. It wasn’t always terrible living with you, there were a few good times, but it was mostly bad. I don’t know whose fault it was, maybe it was how you were raised, can’t say for sure. If things had been different, who knows? But I couldn’t let you do to Penny what you did to me. We both know you were going to do it, just a matter of time. At least one person in this family should be spared a trip to hell. I’ll see you when I get there.”

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

Patricia was waiting for me when I reached the truck. She tossed me the duffel bag.

“Figured you wouldn’t wait.”

“What if something went wrong?”

“Then you’d have to save me again.”

“Is he …”

“Yeah, about five minutes ago. He went peacefully, which is more than he deserved but should keep anybody from investigating too hard.” She slings the scuba tank over her shoulder, the mask swinging in the rising winds. “We better get on the road, conditions are getting worse. Did you walk in the tire tracks?”

“Yes.”

“Good, we go out the same way. The first person to pull in here looking for Daddy will wipeout any tracks we leave, assuming the snow and wind don’t do it for us.”

“Honey … are you okay?”

“Are you?”

“Not really.”

“Same here. I’ll lead.”

I followed her closely as we slogged back to the road, one foot in front of the other, in the partially snow filled tire tracks left be the truck. It may have been a trick of the wind as it wound itself through the trees but, occasionally, when it fell away, I thought I heard Patricia crying.

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE

There were a number of cars parked around the small, ramshackle house. Apparently, the local custom is to visit the house of the deceased after the funeral service and to bring enough food to feed an army brigade. When Patricia and I walked in, there wasn’t a flat surface anywhere that didn’t hold a dish, bowl or plate of something rich and fattening.

People up north must put on extra fat for the winter like bears.

There were mismatched metal and wooden folding chairs lining every wall in the living and dining rooms. I’m guessing different neighbors brought them in to help. Mostly older people were sitting, holding plates of food in their laps. All together, I saw about two dozen people sitting or milling about, talking in subdued tones.

No one said anything right away when we entered the room but the whispers started very quickly, spreading around the room like people doing the wave at a football game. A young girl in a simple dark blue dress and an older woman dressed in black sitting in padded chairs near the fireplace looked up as the crowd moved slightly away from us. The young girl’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open as she sprang from her chair, running towards Patricia. They met in the middle of the room, each hugging the other so hard that God himself would be forced to consider his ability to separate them.

“Jay Jay,” sobbed the young girl.

“Hey, Peanut,” answered Patricia. “It’s alright.”

They held each other past the point when the crowd got uncomfortable watching and returned to their quiet small talk. I came up behind Patricia and touched her shoulder. She didn’t react right away but after a few moments raised her head from the girl’s shoulder and looked back at me.

“I know. Peanut, I need to see Momma.”

The girls unclenched but held each other’s hand in a death grip. Penny led Patricia to the woman sitting next to the fireplace. She was small, with sandy blonde hair, worn features and eyes as hard and cold as cinder blocks. I followed behind the two girls. Everyone else kept talking but it was as if they were on a tape loop, all real attention was on the four of us. Patricia spoke first.

“Momma, this is Jessica Conner, she’s a friend of mine. She flew up from Miami with me.”

“Miami! Flew!”

Clearly, she wanted to say more but couldn’t, not in front of her neighbors. I held out my hand.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Ms. Hamilton. Pa … Jenny Jo has told me so much about you.” A number of the older ladies coughed several times. “I am very sorry about your husband’s death. I understand he was a fine man.” More coughing, Momma gave them a hard look. She didn’t take my hand but did thank me. Penny sat down in the chair nearest Momma and pulled Patricia down into the seat next to her, still attached to her hand. Patricia looked up at me. I arched my eyebrows, silently asking if this is what she wanted to do. She nodded her head imperceptibly and twirled her left index finger, telling me she was okay and I was to circulate.

As I moved away towards the dining room, a number of people watched me. They all knew each other and I was the stranger. The table was packed with assorted stews, sliced meats and casseroles. I didn’t recognize some of the meat initially but then I realized that it was probably venison. There’s a lot of deer hunting in rural Wisconsin. I put several small servings on my plate and then tried to find a place to sit. Two older ladies, clearly contemporaries of Momma Hamilton, quickly separated, leaving me an open chair between them.

“Is this seat taken?”

“No, no not at all. Sit, take a load off.” As soon as I was down, they introduced themselves. “I’m Sissy Torvald and this is Olga Gunderson.”

“Hello Sissy … Olga. Pleased to meet you. I’m Jessica Conner.”

“Is that Jenny Jo Hamilton?” asked Olga.

“Yes it is. We came together from Miami.”

“Florida? Must be nice down there this time of year. How do you know Jenny Jo?”

They were going to pump me for all the information they could so I might as well return the favor.

“She works part time in my office. Our boss didn’t want her to fly home all by herself so she had me come with her, just to be safe. A young girl, traveling on her own, anything could happen.”

“Goodness! What a generous boss! I wish mine would send me the other way,” said Olga.

“It’s just for a few days, we have to get back as quickly as possible.”

“What do you do?”

“A Public Relations firm. Promotions, advertising, that sort of thing. Jenny works in the office. She’s very good, comes in every day right after school.”

“She’s in school?”

“You sound surprised, Olga.”

“Well, the way she left town, we all thought…” whispered Sissy, her voice trailing away.

“Thought what?” I whispered back.

“You know. A runaway girl, on her own in a strange town. You read about that kinda thing in the newspapers.”

“Oh not Jenny. She’s a model student, straight A’s. Wonderful girl. Why do you think she ran away, Sissy?”

Sissy looked around to see if anyone was listening that closely to us. Of course, everyone nearby was trying so Sissy leaned in closer.

“Her father is … sorry, was a bit of a rough character. A nice man, may he rest in peace, but he had a bit of a temper.”

“Do tell? A temper?”

“A bad one,” added Olga. “Kids these days need discipline, otherwise who knows what they’ll get into, but her dad sometimes went a bit too far, if you know what I mean.”

Sissy nodded along while Olga spoke.

“So, you’re saying that he beat her.”

“We never saw anything, you understand,” said Sissy, “but you could tell things weren’t quite right.”

“Did he do more than beat Jenny?”

A guilty glance passed between the two women.

“Did he, ladies? He’s dead now.”

“We can’t really say,” said Olga. “There were rumors, nothing more. Who can you believe?”

“I see.”

They knew, or at least suspected, but did nothing! Likely almost everyone in this house knew or suspected!

“How did he die? The obituaries never offer much information.”

They were happy to get off the last subject. “The Sheriff doesn’t know for sure. He’d had a lot to drink …”

“Though not too much for him,” added Olga. Both ladies smiled at speaking ill of the dead.

“Anyway, they think it was Carbon Monoxide poisoning.”

“Why’s that, Sissy?”

“Well, the ignition switch was on but the gas tank was empty, so he’d run it dry. The tailpipe was in a snow bank, up against a tree. Plus, they found a crack in the exhaust just below the cab, which was full of rusted holes.”

“Is rust a problem around here?”

“Oh yeah, we call it car cancer. It’s all the salt on the roads in the winter, eats a car right up. Can’t find a decent used car in five states up here in the North. You probably get a lot of salt in Miami, what with the ocean and all.”

“It does cause problems with the paint. So, how do all the things you said add up to Carbon Monoxide poisoning?”

“If the tailpipe is partially blocked, the exhaust backs up and leaked out the crack beneath the cab and floated right up through them rust holes. Probably broke the exhaust hitting a big rock or something driving through those woods. Men and their trucks!”

“You got that right” Olga chimed. “Out in all kinds of weather, to go fishing or hunting or some such. A little I can understand, puts food on the table, but they go out all the time when they’re not working, hang the chores!”

Sissy took back the lead. “Doctor couldn’t find anything else so he probably stayed in the truck cause it was warm, the gas knocked him out, the engine kept running till it ran out of gas but he was long dead by then.”

“Such a shame! You two ladies seem to know a lot of details.”

“It’s a small town, dearie. Not much else to do round here in the winter than pry into other peoples’ business,” said Olga.

They both laughed quietly.

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

Penny had my hand locked in hers. Not that I minded, I kept a pretty good grip on hers too. People kept coming up to Momma, offering condolences, saying what a wonderful man Daddy was, how he had gone too soon, that he’d be missed and that he had gone to a better place.

Not too soon for my taste and any place was better than here. I kept an appropriately sad expression on my face and thanked anyone who spoke to me for their kindness. Some faces were familiar, neighbors, parents of ex-classmates, Daddy’s buddies. Some looked at me like I was a ticking time bomb, not sure what I would say or do, but I played it cool, faking recognition when necessary.

Whenever there was a break, Penny was full of questions. I told here what I could, enough to temporarily satisfy her curiosity. I also got the feeling from the way she reacted to the way everyone was saying nice things about Daddy that I didn’t get back here any too soon.

The crowd began to dwindle quickly after a few of the older ladies left. It was safe to go now and not be the subject of gossip. Several offered to stay and help clean up but I assured them I’d take care of it. It didn’t take too long for the house to empty out, leaving just family and Jessica. Just after the last person left, Momma turned on me.

“Who the hell is she?” she asked, jerking her head towards Jessica.

“A friend.”

“Ooohh, a friend! What kind of friend?”

“Just a friend. She came with me so that I wouldn’t be alone.”

“You think you need someone here to face me, do you?”

“No Momma, I don’t. Jessica, would you take Penny back to her bedroom so that Momma and I can be alone for a bit.”

I tried to release Penny’s hand but she wouldn’t let go. I put my free hand on top of our clasped hands.

“It’ll be fine, Peanut. She’s a very good friend. I need to talk with Momma alone. It’ll be fine.”

She slowly released my hand. Jessica came over, putting her hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s give them a few minutes alone. I’ve got some things I need to tell you about your big sister.”

As they slowly walked away, Penny looked back at me, worried. I smiled at her, giving her a little finger wave. As soon as they clear the room, I turned to face Momma. She’s standing there, arms crossed.

“What do you want, girl?”

“I want to make sure that you’ll take better care of Penny than you did me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You never stopped Daddy from … raping me.”

“Rape! That was just your duty as his daughter!”

“It wasn’t my duty, it was rape. He shouldn’t have done it and you should have stopped him. He didn’t hurt Penny, did he?”

“Not that way, but she was just getting old enough.”

THANK GOD!

“Why’s it any of your business, girl? You left, you didn’t care what happened to us, what your father would do without you to … satisfy him. What he expected me to do.”

“You thought that I should take your place in bed?”

“It’s what your father wanted and I didn’t want to do it anymore.”

“Unbelievable. You let my life become a living hell because you had problems with sex.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

She swung her arm back, prepared to slap my face. I let her strike, catching her wrist just inches from my cheek.

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

It’s a sparse room, mostly old furniture, thin curtains and several old blankets. I can feel the cold draft coming from the windows, the curtains actually stirring from the moving air. There are no pictures on the wall but there is a well-worn little teddy bear on the bed resting next to her pillow. Penny sat on the bed. I pulled the wooden chair from her desk and sat down next to her.

“I’m very happy to meet you, Penny. Jenny Jo has told me a lot about you.”

She had her head down but looked up at me. She was tense about something.

“Are you guys lesbians?”

“You mean Jenny Jo and I? Together? In a relationship?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Oh my goodness no! Absolutely not!” She relaxed but still didn’t look squarely at me. “Your sister wanted me to tell you some things about what happened to her. To both of us.”

“Why won’t she tell me herself?”

“She will, what she can. She’ll answer any question you’ll ask, if she’s allowed.”

“Why wouldn’t she be able to talk with me?”

“That’s a long story Penny but I can give you the short version. My name isn’t really Jessica Conner, it’s a false identity given to me by the United States Government while I’m undercover. Your sister also has a false identity. Her name is Patricia Conner, my daughter. Here’s her driver’s license.”

I took Patricia’s license and handed it to Penny. She stared at it for several seconds then looked up at me, confused.

“I can tell you have a lot of questions, Penny. Some I can answer, some I can’t, I’m not allowed to talk about some things, neither is Patr … sorry, Jenny Jo. I keep forgetting. We’ve both been undercover for some time and still are. She took a risk coming here but she had to do it.”

“Is that why she hasn’t called or written me?”

“Yes, that’s part of it. Another reason is that she was hurt while we were working, badly hurt.”

Penny gasped. “Is she okay?”

“Pretty much, but it was a head injury, her brain was damaged.”

“OH NO!”

“Don’t worry, she got better but there was some memory loss.”

“She doesn’t remember me?!”

“No, of course she does, how could she forget the most important person in her world? She remembered the promise she made, to fix the problem, to take care of you, to protect you. She came back to do that. But there are other details of her past that she doesn’t remember and maybe never will.”

“That may not be a bad thing, depending on what it is.”

“From what I know, you’re likely right. I just wanted to prepare you for that.”

“I can help her remember the good things.”

“I’m sure you can. Speaking of good things, Jenny Jo has set up a trust so that all your financial needs are taken care of.”

“What’s a trust?”

“That’s where you put a lot of money in a bank and the bank manages it, earns even more money and then they send some of it to another person for them to spend on whatever they need.”

“A bank is going to send me money?”

“Not you, not right away. For now, it goes to your mother but she’s supposed to use it to take good care of you and we’ll be watching to make sure it happens. When you get older, then the money will come to you.”

“How much older? I’m thirteen now.”

“I think it’s at least eighteen but that’s a worry for the future. For now, you can have some nice clothes and good food and a warm room to sleep in and, maybe, if things work out right, you can come to Miami to visit your sister.”

“Reeeeally?!”

“Yes, really but there are some details that need to be worked out first. She and I have a job to finish.”

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

Momma starts to struggle, trying to pull her arm from my grip but I tighten my fingers and start to work my thumb into the nerve bundle on the underside of her wrist. It takes a few seconds but when I hit pay dirt she stops twisting and gasps in pain.

“Stop it! Let me go! Oh … OH … God.”

I dig in further with my thumb.

“Stop what, Momma?”

“Let me go! Let go of my … arrgh … OH GOD!”

“I didn’t hear the ‘P’ word, Momma.”

She glares at me, fire in her eyes. I press the nerve bundle again and the fire is extinguished.

“AAAUUGH! Please let me go! Pleassse!”

I stop digging at her nerves but yank her closer.

“When Daddy died, he was quiet, almost peaceful. I wanted there to be pain, lots of pain but that kind of death would have raised questions. I needed something simple and clean and, most of all, not suspicious.”

“You … you … killed your father?!”

“I killed the man who raped me. There are only three people in the entire world who know this. If you behave, it’ll stay that way. You don’t behave, it’ll be down to two people. Understand?”

The anger was long gone from her eyes, replaced by rising fear.

“What do you want?”

I release her wrist. She immediately grabs it and steps back away from me.

“Like I said, for you to behave, Momma. Right now, you don’t have much of an income. I can take care of that. I’ve set up a trust fund in Miami for you, managed by a bank there. They come highly recommended.”

“Where did you get the money to set up a trust fund?”

“Momma, I can either answer that question or I can give you the money. It’s your choice. Money or information. What’s it going to be?”

“How much money?”

That’s the Momma I know.

“Fifty thousand a year. You pay the taxes.”

“I need sixty thousand.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Momma. It’s what I’m giving you. You want more, go earn it. There is a contingency.”

“A what?”

“A requirement. You have to take good care of Penny or the money’s gone. You take good care of her and the money continues, even after she leaves.”

“Who decides if I’m doing a good job?”

“I do.”

“How will you know? Moving back to Rice Lake are you?”

“Hardly. I’ll keep in touch. I don’t mean that you indulge her, I mean be an honest to God good mother. Watch over her, take care of her, make sure she goes to school and gets good grades. Do what’s right.”

“What if I tell the Sheriff about you?”

“Good luck with that. I’ve got a pretty good alibi, a local, well respected businessman in Miami. Plus, that type of thing would fall under the heading of not behaving and you know what that means.”

The fear’s back. “What happened to you, Jenny Jo? You’ve changed.”

The things I could tell you, Momma.

“You’re right, I’ve changed. You and Daddy had a big hand in that. We reap what we sow. There’s Jessica and Penny.”

“What can I tell her?”

“Nothing. She already knows all she needs for now.”

Jessica and Penny walk back into the living room and Penny hugs me again.

“Jay Jay … can we go for a walk? I gotta talk with you.”

“Sure thing, Peanut. Let me get my coat.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO

Patricia has been very quiet since we flew out of Chicago headed for home. I gave her the window seat and she’s spent most of the flight just staring at the passing clouds. I brought my iPod and have been listening to music since take off. I’m just about to nod off when I feel Patricia flop back in her seat. Opening my eyes, I look over and see her with her hand over her eyes. I pull the earphones from my ears, “Honey, is there something wrong?”

“I just sat there and watched him. Peter Harris would never have done that. Jenny Jo wouldn’t have had the patience. Where did that come from?”

“Wasn’t that part of the plan?”

“Yes but neither of them would have ever made a plan to do something like that.”

“We both know that Peter Harris has done that kind of thing in the past.”

“Not planned it. It was always self defense and spur of the moment. Maybe he was ready to do what was necessary but not that cold blooded.”

“The original Patricia could easily have done it. Jenny Jo provides the why, Peter provides the how and Patricia provided the execution.”

“In more ways than one. Is that what I am now, an unfeeling unemotional, hyper-rational … person?”

“What did you feel when you and Penny hugged?”

“Like a missing piece had been returned to my life.”

“Where you happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Honey, you don’t need to worry about anything, you’re perfectly fine, better than fine. We all have different aspects to our personalities, our emotions. You seem to have strong control over what aspect is displayed at any one time. It’s all in there, you just choose which one is in charge at a particular time. That may change over time, we can’t be certain about anything, but for now you have an extraordinary ability, something that I’m a little envious of to tell the truth.”

“So I’m emotional when I need to be and rational when I need to be?”

“That’s what I’ve seen. You treated Penny with nothing but sisterly kindness. She was pretty happy with that cell phone and unlimited call plan.”

“How else was I going to keep track of how she’s being treated? How’d I treat Momma?”

“Better than she deserved.”

“You were pretty nice to Penny too.”

“It was easy. She looks so much like you, same smile.”

“I know. I appreciate you letting me use some of the diamonds to fund the trust account.”

“We’re not keeping any of them.”

“We could certainly use ‘em.”

“They’re blood money and I won’t have anything to do with them. We’ll get by. I can get another job. We’ve still got the rest of your thirty five thousand.”

“You’ve got a problem with fifty million swindled by Lipscomb but no problem using my emergency money skimmed from drug busts. Kinda of a fine line.”

“He killed Thomas, he killed Peter, he tried to kill me. I won’t benefit from that money and neither will you.”

“Fine. Then we give it away.”

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

“Ms. Larson?”

“Yes, Mr. Tyson.”

“Have we received any recent reports from the FBI about Lipscomb?”

“No, Sir. Not since last week.”

“Still nothing then.”

“It would seem that way, Mr. Tyson.”

It’s been almost a month since Lipscomb was murdered and the FBI knows as much today as they did twenty four hours after they found his body.

No suspects. Beyond the obvious one, of course, but there’s no evidence against Hobbes. Not the slightest scrap. His people just don’t talk! The Mafia wishes their people were as disciplined!

When I get back from lunch, I’ve got to call the Director and stoke the fire under the local agents. We can’t let him get away with killing one of our own. I turn my computer off, grab my coat and lock my door behind me.

“I should be back regular time, Ms. Larson.”

“Have a nice lunch, Sir.”

“You too, Ms. Larson.”

The elevator is crowded but reaches the ground floor quickly. Everyone hurries out when the doors open as the crowd sweeps out of the building. I step to the side once outside to get away from the other workers and slowly walk towards the plaza, looking for George’s Wiener Wagon. He’s been my Johnsonville brat supplier since Lipscomb introduced us. He’s saved my life or, at the very least, my marriage, what with the wife trying to have us go vegetarian. I can put up with a lot as long as I know the brats are still there. I spot him near the fountain and pick up my pace.

“Afternoon George.”

“Hey, Mr. Tyson. The usual?”

“Absolutely. Have I told you that you’re a lifesaver, George?”

“Every week, Mr. Tyson.”

He hands me my three brats and a beer. I pay, giving him a decent tip and go looking for an open bench. They’re easier to find this time of year. It’s not really cold, just in the sixties, but it’s all about what you’re used to and folks in Miami think this is cold. I was born and raised in Indiana, so this is balmy as far as I’m concerned.

I grab the nearest bench, unwrap the first brat and take a big bite, savoring the taste and the crunch. Oh man, are these good! Taking a swig of beer, I can’t keep my mind from turning to that first meeting with Lipscomb.

“Excuse me, can I share this bench with you?”

I look towards where the voice came from. It’s a young girl. She’s wearing a school uniform, nice but modest. There are other open benches.

“Sure but there are a bunch of open ones.”

“I know, but if I’m sitting with someone, guys leave me alone.”

Makes sense. “Sure, have a seat, Miss.”

She swings her bag off her shoulder, sits primly on the bench as far from me as she can, puts her bag on her lap, unzips it and takes out a brown paper sack. She notices I’m watching her. She smiles, opening the sack. “It’s my lunch.”

I heft the tray with my brats. “Mine too.”

“Yours smell good.”

“Well, bratwursts are like hotdogs, you don’t want to know how they make ‘em.”

She giggles then takes a dainty bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly as she looks around the plaza. Cute kid. Really cute kid.

What’s a girl like that doing downtown at lunch? There’s not a school around here for blocks, though there is a medical complex around the corner. She could be visiting someone but they have a cafeteria. Well, since it’s lunch, she’s probably not playing hooky.

Whatever. Really cute kid.

We both continue to eat in silence. I’ve almost finished my last brat. Checking my watch, I’ve got twenty five minutes before I need to get back to the office. Plenty of time.

“Excuse me, Mister.”

She’s tucking the empty, folded sack into her bag. It looks well worn. She likely reuses them. Cute and thrifty.

“Yes, Miss?”

“I was wondering if you could answer a question for me.”

“I will if I can.”

“Thank you. Do you have any new information on the Daniel Lipscomb case?”

WHAT?! No one should know anything about that! She’s just sitting there, a pleasant smile, like she just asked about the next bus.

“Sorry, Miss. Afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But you do, Mr. Tyson. You’re the man who authorized Daniel Lipscomb to use a completely secret undercover operation to go after Raymond Hobbes. Now there are three people dead and one missing, presumed dead.”

CRAP! What the hell is going on here? She can’t be the media. What newspaper or television station would send a little girl looking for a scoop? Could she actually be a student reporter of some kind who stumbled into something over her head? No. That’s impossible.

“Look, Miss. I don’t know who you are or what you think you know but I can assure you that the United States government would never …”

“I don’t mean to be impolite, Mr. Tyson, but to save time, let me introduce myself. I’m the fifth member of Daniel Lipscomb’s four person team. That lady sitting at the next bench with the gun pointed at you is Jessica Warren, the presumed dead member of the team. Trust me, she’s a crack shot.”

What the FUCK have I stepped into?! I slowly turn my head to look at the next bench and recognize the woman sitting there, a newspaper in her lap. She looks just like her picture in the file on my desk. She lifts the paper in her lap slightly, letting me see the gun she’s holding in her right hand. It has an unusually large barrel. She drops the newspaper back down, covering the gun.

“I see. What do you want, Miss …” I pause, hoping she’ll fill in the blank.

“Conner. Patricia Conner. That’s the ID Lipscomb got for me from Witness Protection. Same for my mother, Jessica. Not our real names, obviously. As for what we want, we’re here to do some business.”

“So this is a kidnapping or am I a hostage?”

“Neither, Mr. Tyson. The gun is just to make sure we have your full attention. After you’ve heard what I have to say, I’m sure you won’t want to leave.”

“Okay, since I don’t have a choice, I’ll play along.”

She chuckles lightly. “You have a choice, Mr. Tyson. You simply made the right one. Where to start? Lipscomb said that he never told you any details of his plan. Was that true?”

“Yes, that was our deal.”

“That’s a shame, it makes this harder. Oh well, can’t be helped. I’m going to tell you some things that are, frankly, unbelievable. I thought the same thing when I first heard them but they were all true. Before we’re done, I’ll give you something that should help convince you I’m not lying but, for the sake of argument and to save time, let’s agree not to argue those points, okay?”

“No, not okay. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fair enough. Here it is. Daniel Lipscomb had a mad genius scientist who stole the body of a young girl on the verge of death, performed a long list of illegal and unapproved operations on her and, ultimately, transferred the mind, if you will, of a retired male undercover cop into that augmented young female body. The cop was to pose as a high school student, befriend the daughter of Raymond Hobbes, penetrate his household and acquire information about his criminal empire.”

“That’s impossible. And insane.”

“No, it happened and was brilliant. And successful. The girl is a runaway from Rice Lake, Wisconsin named Jenny Jo Hamilton. She suffered near brain death from a drug overdose. The doctor was Thomas Matthews, deceased. The cop is, or was, depending on your point of view, Peter Harris, retired from the Miami police department. The woman who became the mother of the school girl is Jessica Warren, nearly deceased. She’s also the woman with the gun.”

“And you expect me to believe all that?”

“You know most of those names already, so that’s true. As for the rest, I expect you to keep an open mind. Proof comes later. As I said, we were ultimately successful. The first bit of information was that spreadsheet you used to raid a large percentage of Hobbes’ drug warehouses.”

How the hell? She unzips a pocket of her bag, pulls out a thick packet of paper and hands it to me. After I’ve unfolded it, I can see that it’s the same spreadsheet Lipscomb gave me … but it’s the original, not a copy. How did she get the original? Could she be telling the truth? Wait a minute.

“What do you mean a large percentage?”

“You got about eighty five percent. Which was a good thing, it gave me something to work with but that’s for later. I also was able to access his computer system decrypt and copy all his files. The information was given to Lipscomb … and that’s where things went a little haywire.”

“Lipscomb told me you weren’t able to get to deliver the information, that Hobbes found out about you before you could hand it over.”

“He lied, which ultimately was one of his lesser sins. After we gave him the hard drive with Hobbes’ data, he killed Matthews, shot Jessica and burned Peter’s barely conscious body by setting fire to the lab. Mom was too strong to go that easily and escaped.”

“Why would Lipscomb do all this?”

“Because his plan all along was to get enough information to blackmail Hobbes, not to prosecute him. He wanted more power than being a successful prosecutor or even a successful politician would get him. He wanted money and influence. He could get both from Hobbes. Besides, he knew there was no way you’d ever be able to use the data in court. And you knew that too.”

Uh-oh. “Look, I had no idea what Lipscomb was really planning. What he told me he intended to do, it made sense. The secrecy, all of it, I figured it was worth a shot. Nothing else was working.”

“I agree, that’s why I signed on but you put the wrong guy in charge. He was a psychotic crook. Your psychotic crook.”

“Okay, but he’s dead now.”

“I know. I killed him. Two .410 shotgun shells to the mouth.”

“YOU?!”

“Yes, me. I killed Lipscomb and a few others. Lipscomb thought he had killed everyone else and he gave me to Hobbes as a sexual slave. Lucky for me, he wasn’t interested. Unlucky for me, I was passed on to someone who was. Unlucky for him, I escaped and then came back. Enrique Cardoza and Tony Escaban are two more that I killed, though they were more like self-defense. I was trespassing at the time but the homeowner ended up not objecting.”

“Anymore people you’ve killed recently?”

“One, but I’ll get to that. Lipscomb wanted fifty million in uncut diamonds, which Hobbes paid. The threat was to give the information to the other cartels. They’d have used it to attack his assets and destroy his organization. For an assortment pack of reasons, I decided that Lipscomb wasn’t going to get away with it, so I talked Hobbes into selling his organization to the Tijuana and Potosi cartels, removing Lipscomb as a threat.”

“So why kill him?”

“Thomas Matthews and Peter Harris. You couldn’t do anything about it so I did.”

“We in the Justice Department frown on vigilantism. Why shouldn’t I charge you?”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove I did any of this. You have no evidence of any kind. The only thing you have is this conversation. Even if you had enough evidence to prosecute, all that your boy Lipscomb did would come to light. As you said, he’s dead but you’re still here. Could you be convicted as an accessory to his crimes? Probably not, though an aggressive prosecutor might try. Wouldn’t really matter though, your career would be over, both as a prosecutor and the law in general. Nobody would hire you, you’d be totally toxic.”

My God! Even from the grave, Lipscomb’s a pain in my ass.

“So, you’re saying you can’t be convicted of anything and my future goes down the toilet if I even try.”

“That’s about it. You’re quick.”

“Thanks, apparently not quick enough. There’s still no proof that your story’s true.”

“I’ve got three proofs for you. The first is that drawing I gave you. You know that information was completely legitimate and I had the original. Here’s my second proof.”

Again, she returns to her bag. This time she removes a tablet computer and turns it on. “An iPad Three. Very sweet. You familiar with Skype, Mr. Tyson?”

“We use something like it in the office for remote conferences.”

“Good.” She touches and swipes her screen for several seconds. “Mr. Tyson, meet Raymond Hobbes.” She turns the computer so that the screen is facing me.

It’s him. There’s no doubt it’s him. I’ve seen pictures and videos over the years. I’m actually talking with Raymond Hobbes!

“Hello, Mr. Tyson.”

“Mr. Hobbes.”

“I assume you’ve heard Patricia’s story.”

“I have.”

“Do you believe it?”

“I have … doubts.”

“Then I vouch for her. What she told you is exactly what happened. She did steal my data, Lipscomb attempted to blackmail me with it, he admitted to me that he had killed Thomas Matthews and he thought he had killed Jessica Conner. Thank God he was wrong about that.”

“Why thank God?”

“Have you met Jessica Conner?”

“Not formally. She’s currently holding a gun on me.”

He smiles. “Truly a remarkable woman of many talents. Not unlike her daughter.”

“Why should I take your word as gospel, Mr. Hobbes? Your reputation precedes you.”

“As it should. I have sold my business, as I’m certain Patricia has told you. I am going straight.”

“When pigs fly, Mr. Hobbes.”

“Time will tell, Mr. Tyson. My point is, believe me or not about turning over a new leaf, I have no reason to lie about what she has told you.”

“I’ll take your statement under consideration, Mr. Hobbes.”

“That’s all I can ask. Patricia?”

She turns the screen back her way. “Yes, Mr. Hobbes?”

“I need to see you. At your convenience, of course.”

“I’ll call tomorrow, okay?”

“Excellent.”

The screen goes blank.

“Raymond Hobbes is hardly the most reliable source, Miss.”

“I understand that but he’s the best source for proof number two. Number one was the drawing that showed I was the source of reliable information. Hobbes told you where I got it from and how. This is proof number three.”

Again she returns to her bag, this time removing a hypodermic syringe. She pulls off the plastic cap, flexes her left hand several times, extends her left arm and sticks herself in an engorged vein.

“WAIT! What are you doing?!” I shout.

She slowly pulls the plunger back, filling the syringe with blood. “This is to prove the technology.” She removes the syringe from her arm, recaps it, wraps it in a napkin and hands it to me. “You get that analyzed, put a rush on it. Your techs will find things that have never been seen in any human’s blood. They’re looking for nanites, microscopic machines. By the time you get that to them, they won’t be active any longer but they’ll find bits and pieces.”

She put a second napkin on the spot where the needle entered her arm but there was hardly any blood there. Something stopped the bleeding very quickly.

“Those are my three proofs, Mr. Tyson. They’re not iron clad but pretty strong. If we reach a deal and you need more, I’ll let you x-ray my head. That’ll put any doubt to rest. Now, let’s talk business. Do we need the gun?”

She’s not made any explicit threats and there is security around, not enough to keep them from killing me but enough to make it hard to escape. My gut tells me that she knows that.

“No … no, let’s talk. What do you have for me?”

The older lady slips the gun into her purse, then sets the purse on the ground between her feet. She can still reach it, but not quickly.”

“Satisfied?” asks the girl.

“For now. Let’s get down to brass tacks.”

“Sure. I’ve got the original data that I stole from Hobbes, his entire organization, all his assets, his drug smuggling tunnels, warehouses, planes, boats, manufacturing plants, subs, farms, everything.”

“Which he sold, according to him.”

“Oh, he has. I also have the same information for both the Tijuana and Potosi cartels, representing about seventy percent of the world’s drug trafficking.”

MY GOD! What I could do with that! It boggles the mind! But is it legitimate? “Assuming I can verify that, what do you want?”

“But wait! There’s more!” She gestures towards the other woman, who removes what appears to be a CD or DVD from her coat pocket. “My mother is holding a DVD that has the name of every dirty cop, judge, prosecutor, FBI, DEA, ATF, immigration agent, court clerk, senator, congressman or other public official who took a bribe from Hobbes or the other two cartels anywhere in the world, including what they were paid and when. A compilation of corruption. That’s what sold you on Lipscomb’s plan in the first place, wasn’t it?”

She’s right about that. The prospect of cleaning up the system was more appealing than anything else Lipscomb promised to deliver. Crooks are crooks; you know where you stand with them. It’s the supposed good guys who change sides that make me sick … like, apparently, Daniel Lipscomb.

“Fine. What do you want?”

“You’ve got a real good poker face there, Mr. Tyson. You get the list of traitors now and the inventory of assets in one year. For that, Mom and I get Presidential pardons. Totally clean slates.”

“Does Hobbes get a pardon too?”

“No. There’d be too much hell to pay once it came to light. You promise to do nothing to him for the next year. He’s on probation, if you will. After the year is up, assuming he behaves, and we give you the rest of the information, he gets immunity and the whistle blower’s fee on the assets you recover.”

“Wait, that could be …”

“Billions, I know, but you’ll get a lot of that back in taxes.”

“What if I want everything now?”

“You can’t do anything with the asset list until you clean up your own house. The people on the take will destroy any plans you make to use the information. But now, you know who to avoid. You can transfer people, fire them, threaten them, heck even turn them. Give the cartels a taste of their own medicine by creating a few hundred double agents. You cut the number of available sources of information but keep enough flowing to keep them from looking for more. You control what they know and when. They’ll bite because it’ll save them money, you just need to be smart about it. All that’ll take time. When you’re ready, then you get the rest of the information. Besides, if you wait, Tijuana and Potosi should start taking out the little guys for you. By the time they’re done, they’ll be the only two cartels of any significance left standing and then, they’ll betray each other. That’s when you strike. I calculate a year should be about right, maybe fifteen months, less if you provide a little help here and there but that’s your choice. If you succeed, you may earn enough brownie points with the country to do something serious about drugs, like finally work on the demand side, accomplish something that’ll actually do some good in the long term. Cause, if you don’t, we’ll be knee deep in this stuff again in five years.”

WHO is this kid?! That’s the most ruthless elevator pitch I’ve ever heard. And why does it sound so reasonable? Better think twice, Lipscomb fooled me once before.

“I need to think about this. Presidential pardons don’t grow on trees, they take time.”

“I assumed you’d want some time, you told Lipscomb the same thing at first.”

“Once bitten, twice shy.”

She smiles brightly, almost made you forget what kind of things she’d just been talking about.

“So, you believe me then?”

“Let’s say I’m less skeptical.”

She reaches into that bottomless bag of hers and removes a thumb drive, tossing it to me.

“This is a taste of what’s waiting for you, should you agree to our terms. It’s an assortment pack of names, places and things you can check out without raising much suspicion. You got five days to say yes and have our pardons ready. If not, the information disappears.”

“Five days?! That’s crazy! Those things get vetted out the wazoo!”

“I killed four people. Cardoza and Escaban, two life long bad guys, in self-defense. Lipscomb because of his two murders and one attempted murder and a man named Stanley Hamilton in Rice Lake, Wisconsin.”

“What’d this Hamilton do?”

“He raped me. I begged him, I warned him. He didn’t listen. His loss. The authorities aren’t even investigating his death, they assume it was an accident. The fact that I’m telling you about his death is a sign of good faith. I couldn’t be convicted of any of this, just don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

“What did your mother do?”

“Helped me. She’s an accessory. Couldn’t convict her of anything either. We’re a package deal.”

I turn the thumb drive over in my hand. It’s a ridiculously small price to pay for so much, when you think about it. If she’s right, three unsolvable murders disappear from the books and we get enough information to restore integrity to the justice system and possibly destroy the world’s drug industry … or at least put a serious dent in it for years to come, which may open up the possibility of prevention programs.

It’s awfully appealing. “I need to talk to some people.”

“Do it quickly, we want to go back to our lives as soon as possible. Five days.” They both stand up. “My phone number is on the drive. Call me any time of day. I hope we can do business, Mr. Tyson.” She walks away but stops and turns back. “I almost forgot. I need one more thing.”

“What’s that?

“Nothing big … just a letter.”

“What kind of letter?”

Severance Pay (Chapters 73 through 78 of 78)

Author:

Meps98

Audience Rating:

Adult Oriented (r21/a)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Adventure

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Patricia and Jessica, having completed what they set out to do, must now try to return home and pick up their lives. Elements and Themes listed apply to entire story, Rating to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for editorial assistance. I appreciate the perseverance of all those readers who stuck with me to the completion of this story. See my authors page for information about my next story and the possibility of a sequel to "Severance Pay"

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE

All my boys are working hard this evening. We got a match in a few days and I want each and every one of ’em at their peak, right on the razor’s edge. Cruz and Javier are sparring in the ring while the others are working out at other stations; the heavy bags, the speed bags and rope work. It’s an old, outdated gym with worn out patched together equipment but we make it work.

“Coach?”

It’s Esmeralda, one of the kids who volunteers in the office. “What can I do for you, Esme?”

“Mrs. Zendahas sent me to get you. A package for you was just delivered. She didn’t know if you were waiting for it or something so she told me to tell you.”

“Thanks. I didn’t order anything and it ain’t my birthday. I’ll be down as soon as I’m free.”

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

“Were you expecting something, Sister?”

“No, Rita, I wasn’t. Unexpected packages always make me suspicious. Particularly ones without return addresses.”

“I hadn’t noticed that. Do you think it’s dangerous?”

“Not likely, but let’s be safe. You have a seat in the reception area while I open it.”

“Sister Carmela! You can hardly expect me to stay out there while you risk your life.”

“It’s hardly life threatening, Sister Rita. Just better safe than sorry.”

“Then I’ll open it.”

”Rita … you know that isn’t happening.”

“Then I’m staying right here.”

I sigh. I shouldn’t have said anything.

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

“What you got there, Coach?”

“Don’t know Martha, let’s find out.”

The box has one of those easy open pull strips so I yank it, tearing down one side. Prying open that side, there’s a padded bag inside. When I remove the bag, I can feel things shifting around inside, kinda like marbles. Better open the bag a bit more carefully.

“Hand me a pair of scissors will ya, Martha.”

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

I cut off the short side of the bag.

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

“What are they, Sister?”

“They appear to be an assortment of clear crystals. Did Mrs. Connelly order some supplies for one of her classes?”

“Not that she told me, Sister Carmela.” She reaches into the bag and removes one of the crystals, holding it up to the window. “It’s very pretty. See how it reflects the light?”

“Very nice. Why were they delivered to St. Ann’s?”

Rita looked into the bag again, moving the stones around with her hand.

“Wait a minute … there’s something else here.” She pulls out a small envelope about the size of an index card. “It was buried in the crystals.”

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

“What does it say, Coach?”

“Can’t say. I need my reading glasses. You read it, Martha.” I hand it to her. She squints as she moves the card closer then further from her eyes. Looks like she needs reading glasses too.

“Ah, here we go. ‘The items in this bag are uncut diamonds …’”

Diamonds?!!

“‘… which are being donated to the YWCA anonymously. The proceeds from their sale should first be used to improve and update the facilities used by the mixed martial arts team. Any remaining money is to be spent at the discretion of the Board of Directors. The current value of the stones is approximately ten million dollars.”

“TEN MILLION!! … SON OF A …”

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

“MOTHER OF MERCY!!”

I look down at the bag in my trembling hands. Ten. Million. Dollars.

It’s a joke. A cruel joke. It has to be a joke.

“My heavens, Sister! Who would do such a thing? Ten million dollars to upgrade our sports facilities.”

“I doubt they’re real, Rita. It’s an elaborate prank, no doubt. Just very convincing glass.”

“There’s one way to tell, Sister.”

Sister Rita walks over to the picture of the Pope, steadies it with her left hand, takes the crystal in her right hand and slowly drags it diagonally across the glass, from the upper left corner to the lower right corner, making an ear splitting, high pitched scratching squeal as the stone cuts a deep groove in the surface as it moves across the Pope’s visage. She casually tosses me the stone.

“I’d say that it’s certainly not glass. Glass doesn’t cut glass like that. Perhaps it’s time to have a little faith.”

I stare at the crystal resting in the palm of my right hand, the size of a bird’s egg. The things we could do with that kind of money. I’m almost afraid to consider the possibilities. Even after upgrading the gym and sports fields, we should have money left over to start a foundation. Looking up at Sister Rita’s smiling face, I begin to catch her fever.

“You’re right, Sister. A little bit of faith is what we need.”

She begins to laugh and shake her head side to side, then does a quick shuffle that I’ve seen her do on the sidelines after a particularly good play by one of her girls. Her good spirits are contagious and I can’t help but join her.

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

“… ‘scuse my French, Martha.”

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

I’m still avoiding Gretchen. It’s been weeks since all hell broke loose but we’re almost finished, assuming Tyson can get us those pardons. I could tell he wanted to. The man is a pragmatist at heart. He wants what we’re selling, the only question is can he convince his superiors. The stuff I gave him ought to whet their appetites but you never know. Politicians are most worried about covering their asses. Since they’ve got nothing on either mom or I for any of those deaths, they’re not giving up much.

Even with Gretchen at school, I’m careful pulling my bike up to Hobbes’ front gate. Took more than I expected to fix everything, it was shot up pretty good. We’ve still got enough money left to get by though. I’ve already given away most of my half of Lipscomb’s diamonds. Mom’s setting up some kind of foundation to fund drug recovery programs. Long term, she’ll probably do more good than I did but I like to reward the people I know.

Mom did send Randi Brown half a million, anonymously of course. Retirement will come a few years early for her. Mom’s really getting into this philanthropy stuff. It suits her.

They buzz me in and the main gate swings open. There are fewer guards around, though Henry and Lou are still here. I’m glad about that. Zipping up the driveway to the house, I swing around to the East side and park my bike in some bushes by the side entrance to the kitchen.

In the past, it was locked and set up as an emergency exit but now it’s propped open. I stick my head in and look around.

“Raul … you here?”

He walks out of the large freezer, a big roast in his hands.

“Patricia! How you today?”

“I’m fine. Mr. Hobbes wanted to see me. You know where he is?”

“No, have not seen him since lunch. You staying for dinner, I hope?”

“’Fraid not. Gretchen still doesn’t know I’m back.”

“You need tell her. She very sad you not around.”

“I’m sad too but it should be soon. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

One thing everyone around here is good at is keeping secrets. If everything breaks right, Mom and I can go back to where we were almost two months ago. What we do after that … we haven’t really talked about.

I’m clearly stuck where I am. Either that or I get a new ID but what good is that? A rose by any other name is still a seventeen year old girl. Mom said she’d stick with me, no matter what, if that’s what I wanted. I don’t want to make her give up her old life for the uncertainty of this one but I appreciate the offer. She doesn’t have much to go back to any way. Though she did say that if she stayed with me, she’d have the chance of grandkids.

I punched her in the arm for that one.

Not hard.

Not too hard anyway.

When I reach the main entrance from the dining room, Henry’s waiting for me.

“Kid! You know the drill. I gotta check you in.”

“Sorry, Henry. Came in through the kitchen. Didn’t want to take any chance that Gretchen was around.”

“Do you think we’re idiots? Of course she’s not around.”

“Just being careful, that’s all.” I hand him my purse. “That’s all I’ve got today.

He tosses it on the conveyor belt and grabs the wand. When he passes it over my head, he pauses, swinging it back and forth in a narrow arc, listening to the quiet warble.

“What would you have done if I’d heard that the first time you came through here?”

“Say I’d been in an auto accident and that they were surgical screws.”

“You always had a lie on the tip of your tongue, didn’t you?”

“That’s my job and I was darn good at it.”

“You were that. He’s waiting for you out on the veranda.”

Not the office? Fine by me. I walk through the main room and out onto the veranda. Hobbes is sitting at a table shaded by a large cantilevered umbrella.

“Patricia! Welcome! Have a seat. Care for something to drink?”

I pull out a chair and sit down. “What’s in the pitcher?”

“Just lemonade.”

“Then I’ll have some.” He pours me a glass. “Can’t have alcohol, I’m driving.”

“How is your motorcycle?”

“Pretty much the way it was, at least mechanically. The bullet holes add character.”

“You should buy a car.”

“We can’t afford that right now. Mom’s gotta find a job and I’ll start looking for something part time once we get squared away.”

“Speaking of which, have you heard anything from Mr. Tyson yet?”

“No, but I’m optimistic.”

“Either way, it was a magnificent performance.”

“Thanks. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes … yes I do. I understand that someone is giving away large quantities of uncut diamonds.”

“Really? Who is this someone?”

“They wish to remain anonymous.”

“How public spirited.”

“Quite. Coincidentally, I paid Daniel Lipscomb in uncut diamonds.”

“I remember you telling me that.”

“Is there a connection?”

“There’s almost always a connection of some kind if you look hard enough.”

“Why didn’t you and your mother just keep them?”

“Too bloody for her taste. Lipscomb killed two people and tried to kill her for them. She wanted some good to come from their deaths.”

“And you agreed?”

“For her sake, yes. I’ve got some money put away. We’ll be fine for awhile, even without work.”

“Which brings me to my second subject. You performed quite a service for me and my family. We never discussed compensation.”

“I didn’t do it for the money. I did it for Gretchen.”

Plus Jenny Jo, Thomas Matthews, Peter Harris and Jessica Warren.

“Nevertheless, I have greatly benefited and, as others have pointed out to me at every opportunity, you deserve the credit for that. You also deserve to be paid, regardless of your motives. I believe the standard agent fee is ten percent.”

“You’re offering me ten percent of eight billion dollars?”

“And not a penny more.”

I don’t want to react right away, pretty sure he’s not joking but there could be more going on here than first appears. Like who’d be telling him he owes me for what I did?

“What does Gretchen know, Mr. Hobbes?”

“Why would she know anything?”

“Because she’s the only person you’d listen to and she wouldn’t say anything unless she knew details. So what does she know? Actually, I’ve got a pretty good idea of some of what she knows. The question is, does she know about the people I killed?”

“No. I told her the truth about Enrique, all of it. You were just there when I did it. I said nothing about anyone else. She needed to know you were still alive. The stress on her was terrible!”

He’s trying to make me feel guilty. Like I don’t already feel bad enough about leaving Gretchen in the dark. “Fine, but we’d agreed to let me tell her when the time was right. Guess it doesn’t matter now, we’re close enough to the finish.”

“What about the money? She will not leave me alone! You should pay her ten percent yourself.”

“Does she know how much money we’re talking about?”

“Not really, but she does know the percentage. Since you know the total and she’ll ask you …”

“Then you’re stuck.”

“Exactly. I know that Jessica may object to taking my money.”

“You got that right.”

“You must convince her, Patricia. My sanity is at stake!”

“I’ll try but can’t promise anything. You know that I’ll take the money. Is that all?”

“No. We need to discuss the right to manufacture your spy camera.”

“You’re really interested in that?”

“Yes. I don’t plan on being part of the idle rich. I need to start a business and that will be a good way to begin.”

“I thought you wanted to be a rancher?”

“That is a sideline. Maybe when I retire.”

“Once we get Walter Tyson’s response, I’ll think about your offer. Until then it’s tough to plan a future.”

“Don’t wait too long … I may find something else to manufacture.”

Already bargaining with me. This will be fun.

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

I found Mom in her bedroom of our current home in the converted office space. She was organizing her meager wardrobe.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hello, honey. What did Hobbes want?”

“Turns out that Gretchen knows a lot more than I wanted her to.”

“How did that happen?”

“Hobbes told her.”

She put down the blouse she had been folding. “You know, I’m not surprised. The more I see of him without that Cardoza man around, the more I suspect that Hobbes couldn’t have been a drug dealer without him. He just doesn’t seem aggressive enough.”

“Well, Hobbes was always the one with the charisma.”

“Oh, he has that in spades!”

“Plus, he’s the one with more of a business approach to things. Cardoza may have been more of the backbone of the operation.”

“I can believe it.”

“Does that mean you’re feeling a bit more … forgiving?”

“Not at all. Why would it matter?”

“Well … it seems that since Gretchen discovered our involvement in the sale, she’s pushed Hobbes to pay us.”

“How much?!

“Ten percent.”

“Of eight billion dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Eight hundred million dollars?”

“That’s what I come up with. Now I know that you’ve got a problem with Hobbes and …”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you’ve got a problem with Hobbes or yes, you’ll take the money?”

“We earned every penny of that eight hundred million. He’d be dead if not for you. Anything we can take from him is money he won’t be able to spend. And we can do much more good with it than he would ever consider. So, yes, we take every red cent.”

“I gotta say, Mom, you still surprise me sometimes. If you’ve got no problem with it then I certainly don’t …”

My phone rings.

“Hello? … I am. Hello, Mr. Tyson … Tomorrow, same time, same place … we’ll be there … thanks.” I flip the cell phone shut. “Looks like we’ll have our answer tomorrow at noon, Mom.”

“Can we trust him?”

“I think so. He can’t afford to prosecute us.”

“Prosecution isn’t his only option.”

I smile at her. “Now that’s the way to think out of the box. We’ll be ready … just in case.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

I’ve been waiting for ten minutes, no sign of them. Maybe they spotted the agents. I raise my right hand to scratch my nose and block the view of my mouth.

“Do you think they made you?”

The earpiece clicks softly. “No, Sir. Not possible.”

“I hope not. That little girl is a handful.”

“We’re completely invisible, Mr. Tyson. We’ve got you covered from all sides and above.”

They’ll probably come from below. I take a sip of coffee from my extra large styrofoam cup and subtly look around the plaza. I have a hard time locating the agents and I know where they are. All except the guy on the fifth floor with a sniper rifle.

It’s another three minutes before I notice anything unusual. There’s a high pitched engine noise, like a high revving motorcycle engine but not one of the big hog types, more like a little one, a motor cross type. Whoever’s riding it is running the engine hot, hotter than just idling in traffic, but I can’t even see the bike.

Suddenly, a large van locks up its brakes as the bike cuts him off, turns hard into the curb and slides to a stop, the woman rider standing high on the footrests. She’s wearing a full helmet but there’s no doubt she’s female as she swings her leg over and steps down. Black leather knee high boots with 4 inch heels, laced tight. Painted on low rise jeans. Cropped black leather jacket, the bottom edge just below her rib cage and just above a fat free tummy. No muffin top in sight. Only the bottom two snaps on the jacket are fastened, displaying the kind of cleavage men my age dream about late at night once the wife is sound asleep.

She strides my way, swinging her hips and slowly removing her gloves, one finger at a time. My earpiece clicks.

“Is that her?”

“I … I don’t know,” I whisper. She’s taller, thinner and … a lot sexier, but she is headed straight for me. Just as she gets within ten feet, she stops and gracefully turns all around as she finishes removing her gloves. She pauses just a moment after completing her turn then continues her march towards me.

Click. “We’re ready if she tries anything, Mr. Tyson.”

I just nod my head slightly, she’s too close for me to risk saying anything. She tosses her gloves underhanded and they land lightly next to me. Reaching up, she quickly removes her helmet, shaking her head briefly, redistributing her curly blonde hair. Posing for a moment, hip pushed to the right, her right hand resting gently on it while the helmet dangles from her left hand, she then smoothly slides down next to me on the bench, reaches over and removes the foam cup from my hand. She brings it to her plump, brilliant red lips, takes a sip, then returns the cup to my hand.

Click. “Damn!”

Damn indeed.

“Do you have something for me, Mr. Tyson?”

“Aaaahhhhhh, that’s a … different look for you, Miss Conner.”

“Thanks for noticing.”

The blind guy running the news stand in the lobby a hundred yards away noticed it.

“Yes … yes I do.” I consciously compel my eyes to stay fixed on hers, though a force of about ten G’s is dragging them towards her breasts, just inches from my increasingly sweaty hands. “I have everything here.” Tapping my right breast coat pocket.

“Can I … see it?”

“In a moment. Where’s Jessica Warren?”

“Mom? She’s around here … somewhere.”

“Where exactly?”

“Now that’s hardly fair. You’ve got at least six people watching over you and I’ve just got Mom to take care of little ol’ me.”

“I don’t know what …”

“The guy in the blue three piece suit, the attractive young woman with the baby carriage, the man and his attack dog, the lovey dovey couple and Joe construction worker over there. Since this is the Federal building, you’re bound to have someone sitting in a window on an upper floor.”

Seven for seven. “How did you know?”

“They were all watching me like a hawk when I stopped and turned around.”

“I imagine a lot of people were watching you.”

“Not the way they were.”

“So, where is mom?”

She reaches up and takes my cup again. Taking another sensuous sip, she swivels up off the bench.

“Tell your people not to freak out.”

She struts over to the edge of the fountain, looks up at a number of tall buildings, carefully places the cup on the concrete lip of the fountain and returns to the bench, once again settling uncomfortably close to me.

“It’ll take just a moment.”

“What’ll take just a … “

The cup explodes, with a pop barely audible over the background noise, most everything ending up in the fountains’ pool. Didn’t hear the gun shot, not even the crack of the bullet, which means she’s got a hell of a gun or it’s subsonic, which means she’s close by.

My earpiece clicks. “Can’t spot her. Sorry, Sir.”

Great. I’m in her cross hairs again. Conner picks a loose bit of Styrofoam off my jacket and flicks it away.

“I told you she was a good shot.”

“Her records indicate no firearms experience.”

“I’ve been working with her, an excellent student. What exactly do you have for me, Mr. Tyson?”

All the agents should have been listening in so they know their covers are blown. Most of them are openly standing at their stations, ready to act. Bull by the horns time.

“I have your pardons, like I said. They weren’t easy to come by. A lot of people burnt the midnight oil researching you and your mother before going to the president.”

“Nothing but good news, I hope.”

“For Jessica Warren, yeah. For Jenny Jo Hamilton and Peter Harris … not so much.”

“Hope it wasn’t a deal breaker.”

“Not yet. The final decision is my call. The President signed them but I don’t deliver them until I’m certain that this is the end of your vigilante activities. No more killings.”

“Can’t promise you that I won’t defend myself in the future. Someone comes after me or Mom, I’m putting them down but I’ve recently come into a little money so I plan on retiring very soon. No more late night raids, no more dusk to dawn stakeouts. A nice, peaceful, quiet life for both of us.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Peter Harris I read about.”

“Does this look like the Peter Harris you read about? People can change. I promise you, we will not go looking for trouble. Someone receiving a Presidential Pardon owes the President the duty not to embarrass him by getting into more trouble. Mom and I understand that. We take it seriously.”

“I need some assurances, Miss Conner.”

“I can’t do any more than give you my word, Mr. Tyson.”

“What about Jessica Warren? She’s sitting out there somewhere with a gun, ready to kill.”

“What about your little army, why are they here?”

What do I say? That I was afraid for my life? That it was just a precaution? The truth?

“They’re here in case I decide not to give you the pardons. We can’t afford to have someone like you roaming around unfettered.”

“Extrajudicial?”

“If necessary.”

“That’s why Jessica is out there, to make sure I leave here, with or without the pardons. We don’t want to hurt anyone but we’re not going to just disappear either. You don’t trust me? Fine. We go our separate ways. You think you can prosecute me? Give it your best shot. But you won’t make us disappear. Did you explain to your superiors how far your ass was hanging out?”

Not in so many words. The way she’s looking at me, she knows that. If I had, they wouldn’t be leaving the choice to me. If I say “No pardons”, I could end up in the same place they do, assuming I get out of this plaza alive and we can catch her. Two really big ifs. I reach into my coat pocket, slowly remove a thick envelope and hand it to her.

“It’s all there.”

She pulls her jacket aside, exposing even more of her boobs, reaches in with two fingers and removes the DVD.

“Just as promised, Mr. Tyson.”

I hold out my hand and she drops it into my palm. It’s still warm. The agent dressed as a construction worker warily approaches us. I pass the disc to him and he hurries over to the one dressed as a businessman. They open his laptop and insert the disk.

“It’s a PDF,” she says.

“They can handle it. Don’t you want to check the envelope?”

“It’s not necessary. I know where to find you if something’s missing.”

A threat without making a threat. I can see why she’s so damn good.

“Mr. Tyson, were you able to get the letter I wanted?”

“Ahh the letter. Yeah, it’s in there. In fact, he enjoyed writing it. Beyond that, he wants to meet you. Turns out he’s a fan.”

“A fan?”

“Your little video. He said he wanted to shake the hand that hit that shot.”

“Well, he should be in Florida sometime in the next few months.”

“You can bet on that.”

“I’d like to meet him too. I’ll be in touch.”

The agent gives me a thumbs up. Conner stands, stuffing the envelope into the waist of her jeans in the small of her back. I’d have bet she couldn’t have done that.

“Guess we’re done for now, Mr. Tyson. When I call about the meeting, we can talk about how to work out the delivery of the rest of the information. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“You keep your nose clean.”

She has her helmet poised to pull down over her head but she pauses and smiles, a bright, innocent, playful smile.

“You sound just like my mother, Mr. Tyson. I’ll be in touch.”

She strides towards her motorcycle, adjusting her helmet as she goes. I signal the agents to back away. She straddles her bike, rocking her hips until getting comfortable. A sharp stomp on the starter and a little wave of her fingers and she was gone, moving quickly into traffic. The lead agent stepped next to me.

“Mr. Tyson, if she’s got a boyfriend, he’s either one lucky bastard or he’s fucking insane. I don’t know which.”

“Probably both, agent.”

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

Mom’s waiting for me in the parking garage four blocks away from the plaza, just as planned. She drove the van I used to block the view of the people on the ground as I rode to the exchange. She’s already got the back doors open and the ramp in place so I pull into the back of the van, jump off the bike, help her slide the ramp into the back and close the doors. We hurry to the cab as I yank the envelope from my pants. Once inside, I scan it with the metal detector Hobbes loaned me. No beeps. I’m looking for some kind of tracking device.

“Did it work?” asked Mom.

“Like a charm. I slipped the charge into his cup and it disintegrated. They assumed it was you out there showing off your inner Annie Oakley.”

“Did you get everything?”

“Give me a minute,” I answer, carefully opening the envelope and extracting the papers. I scan each one individually and then hold it up to the light to inspect it. Nothing that I can see. After inspection, I pass each page to Mom and she starts to read.

“President of the United States … powers invested by the United States Constitution … for services rendered to the United States of America … at great risk to life and limb … blah, blah, blah, … here it is, hereby pardons Jessica Warren, also known as Jessica Conner, for all past crimes and misdemeanors. Signed Barack H. Obama, President of the United States. Very nice. Yours says the same, except for a few additional names. I can’t believe it. We’re done. We’re finally done. How many months has it been, sweetheart?”

“We started in late May, 2011 and it’s now late February, 2012, so nine months, give or take.”

“Only nine months. It feels so much longer.”

“Time doesn’t fly when you’re under stress and we’ve been stressed from the start. You’re done but I’m not. I’ve got two things left to do and I start tomorrow. We’ll stop by the bank, rent a safety deposit. box and stash those two pardons. I’m taking the letter with me.”

“I don’t understand about the letter, surely, you could …”

“Not a chance, Mom, and you know it. Frankly, I didn’t need that pardon. It’s nice and all but they weren’t going to pin anything on me anyway. The same for you.” I take the letter from the pile of papers. “This letter, on the other hand, I desperately needed. I’d have traded everything else for it.” I buckle up my seat belt. “Let’s go home.”

“You mean …”

“Yup, our real home. We can get our stuff from the office suite later. Tonight, I want to sleep in my bed and say hello to my long lost plastic friends.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE

Twenty minutes early should be about right. The team’s still lifting weights in the morning so I want to get there before they get done showering. I know, twenty minutes is hardly enough time to get ready for class but the school puts so many limits on clothes and makeup, it really doesn’t take that long.

I’m glad to see that they haven’t assigned my parking spot to someone else. With the bike, it’s impossible to make a quiet entrance but I kill the engine when I’m almost a block away and just roll in off the hill, dodging a couple of cars that are poking along.

There’s no immediate reaction when I come to a silent stop in my spot. Still nothing when I dismount, hanging my helmet on the back of my seat. In fact, I get almost half way to the gym door before the first girl says anything, shouting “OH! MY! GOD!” I keep moving. A number of girls look my way after the exclamation but they don’t say anything. They’re too surprised. Unfortunately, that doesn’t last long. In seconds, girls are screaming, jumping and running towards me. I could make a break for the gym door but that hardly seems right. A lot of them are my classmates, some of them are even friends. I know a lot of them were worried about me, prayed for me. I can’t ditch them now.

I’m quickly surrounded, tossed here and there, hugged every time I move. Most of the girls are laughing and cheering. Many are smiling and crying. The crowd keeps getting larger. I need to put a stop to this fast. Putting two fingers in my mouth, I give a piercing whistle. It settles things down a bit, just enough for me to yell and be heard.

“THANK YOU! THANKS! I’M REALLY HAPPY TO BE BACK! I GOTTA SEE YOU KNOW WHO AND TALK MY WAY BACK INTO CLASS. WISH ME LUCK!”

I back out of the crowd, waiving my hands wildly. Some girls waive back but most sprint for the front door, wanting to be the first to spread the word of my miraculous return from wherever. I get stopped several times for more hugs but keep moving.

Eventually, I reach the door to the gym and push it open. Walking onto the floor, I can hear the girls in the locker room, talking and laughing. I just stand there, basking in the sound. I never realized how much I missed this place. The girls, the teachers, the nuns, playing ball, my teammates … all of it. Even classes were enjoyable, particularly when you know all the answers. This place just feels like … home.

There’s a couple of balls sitting on the bench so I jog over, grab one and start dribbling. I set up and shoot a three pointer from the top of the key.

Swish.

Aaahh, that’s the stuff. I chase down the bouncing ball but as soon as I reach it, I hear a door bang behind me. Turning around, I see Gretchen running full tilt straight towards me, the rest of the team right behind her. As she gets close, I reach out to hug her.

“You have no idea how … OOOOFFFF!”

She tackles me, knocking me to the floor. Terri screams “DOGPILE!” and the rest of the girls jump on, laughing and screeching. It’s just a mass of arms, legs and boobs. I’d be laughing with them if I could breathe. Right now, I don’t care about that.

I hear Sister Rita scream, “What are you girls doing?!! Get up this instant! Are you mad?! Classes begin in minutes!” The girls start to unpile. “Cassie! Theresa! BeeBee! Suzie! Get up, get up right now! What possessed all of you? Terri! Gretchen! Patricia! Line up here right …” She looks down at me, her eyes growing larger by the second, her mouth wide open.

I stand up, dusting myself off. “Hey Sister …”

She dives in, hugging me as hard as I’ve been grabbed all morning, mumbling “Thank you God! Oh, thank you Lord. Thank you, thank you” over and over. The other girls start applauding. I can hear her sob quietly.

I pat her shoulder “I’m fine Sister, I’m okay, I’m okay.”

She loosens her grip and steps back, reaching into her pocket and removing a handkerchief. She dabs at her eyes for several seconds before stuffing it back into her pocket, sniffing. “We … aaahhh … we need to get you to Sister Carmela right away, Patricia.”

“I know. I was headed that way but I had to see the team first.” All the girls are smiling, some giggling quietly.

“I understand, but we really must see Sister Carmela right now. She’ll be so happy … you have a lot of explaining to do … where’s your mother? Is she …”

“Mom’s fine, Sister. I’m fine, we’re all fine. I know, you’re right. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do. I figured it was best for me to talk with Sister Carmela myself. I’ll get my bag.”

I’d dropped my bag at the bench when I picked up the ball. I sling it over my shoulder and walk towards the exit, Sister Rita falling in next to me, grabbing my arm but not in anger, more like she’s just making sure I’m really here.

“Sister, I’m really sorry about all this. I didn’t have many other options. I did what I thought was best for everyone. If I’d have known how it was going to affect all of you … I’d … I’d … tried to …”

“I’m alright now, Miss Conner. It was just a shock to see you there, back with the team, with my girls … where you belong.”

“How upset will Sister Carmela be?”

“After she gets up off her knees from thanking God for your safe return? I’m thinking … Mount Vesuvius.”

“At least it isn’t Krakatoa.”

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

The news of my return broke a land speed record spreading through the school. I think a few of the girls are actually psychic. Even though classes start in about two minutes, the hallway in front of the office is absolutely jammed. Regardless, they make room when Sister Rita and I show up.

The parting of the Red Sea.

Ms. Jensen’s waiting at the door as we enter, grabbing me and holding me tightly to her chest.

“We thought we lost you. Sister Carmela never gave up hope but I was sure you were … God brought you back to us. Welcome Home!”

“Thanks Ms. Jensen. I’m happy to be back if Sister will let me stay.”

She lets me go. “I’m sure you’ll think of something to convince her. You always do.” She pats my hand. “Good luck.”

I nod my head, acknowledging her best wishes. Approaching the door to Sister Carmela’s office, I pause and look back. Sister Rita and Ms. Jensen are standing shoulder to shoulder, Ms. Jensen giving me a thumbs up with her right hand while rubbing away tears with her left. Girls are practically climbing on top of each other to look in the office window.

Here we go. I grab the doorknob, turn it and push the door open.

Sister Carmela looks like she’s over the thankful stage and has moved on to barely restrained anger. Sorry I wasn’t around for the happy part.

“Have a seat, Miss Conner.”

I deliberately pull out a chair and sit down, dropping my bag next to me. The class bell rings as I move the chair back to its original spot. Wonder how many of the girls out there are hurrying off right now. If they could see what I see, it’d be all of ‘em.

“Your absence was unprecedented. I hardly know where to start.”

“Actually, Sister Carmela, it’s not that …”

She raises her hand, stopping me. “Your persuasive skills are extraordinary, Miss Conner. Permit me to go first. I took your disappearance personally. Not a day went by that we didn’t all pray for your safe return. Every time there was an announcement about an unidentified body being discovered, the mood here fell to the bottom of the barrel, only to rise again once it was determined it wasn’t you. Do you have any idea what you put us through, what you put me through? Girls were out distributing fliers with your photo on it all over town, all over this part of the state! And now, without any advance notice, you show up as if nothing had happened.”

“Safe and sound, just like you prayed for.”

“Don’t interrupt me. Yes, you’re back, apparently unharmed, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be any consequences for this little sabbatical of yours. Unless you can provide me with one whale of an explanation, I will terminate your scholarship and expel you. Don’t think for a second that I won’t. If I let you get away with this, others will try. St. Ann’s has the highest standards and I expect every single girl to live up to those standards. Right now, you are woefully short.”

She sits back in her chair, arms folded. Must be my turn now. I reach down into my bag and remove a plain, white, unmarked business size envelope. I place it on the edge of her desk nearest me.

“I underestimated how my disappearance would affect people here at St. Ann’s. It couldn’t have been helped but, if I had to do it all again, I’d try to think of something that might have made things easier on everyone, though, to be absolutely truthful, there may not have been a single thing I could have done differently.”

“What is that?” she asks, gesturing towards the envelope.

“The last part of my explanation. You remember way back when I took care of your Caitlin McBride problem? You assumed that I’d replace her, be a bit more amiable to your wishes. You remember what I said?”

“Yes, that you had bigger fish to fry.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“There is nothing more important for a girl your age than education. It is the bedrock upon which your future will be built. I don’t know what you have been doing these past seven weeks but you have greatly exceeded the number of unexcused absences permitted by the state.”

“And if I had someone to vouch for me?”

“I’m afraid that your mother’s word will not be good enough. She’s facing criminal prosecution for failing to make sure you were in school. The rules are quite clear, my hands are tied.”

“But there are exceptions, when there are unusual circumstances, like when a student is in an accident or gets sick and spends a lot of time in the hospital.”

“You look perfectly healthy to me. You aren’t proposing some kind of fake illness are you? Because, if you are, St. Ann’s will have nothing to do with fraud.”

“No, I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. It’s just an example. Sister, I want to come back to St. Ann’s. I want to make things right, but I’m not making a general apology. There were some things that I had to do, important things. Things I can’t explain and I won’t be telling anyone about. Not you, not Sister Rita, certainly not any of the girls. I know, if I come back here, they’ll bug the heck out of me about it but that’s my problem.”

“Even if I was willing to allow you to return, the state requires a minimum number of hours. You couldn’t possibly get those hours with the number of weeks left in the semester.”

“Sister, you and I both know that I can handle the academics, no matter how many days are left. Besides, there’s that extenuating circumstances exception.”

“Which you’ve yet to show you qualify for.”

“And if I could? Would you let me back into St. Ann’s?”

She looks at me, calculating the risk I present to her, to the school.

“If I do, what do we get from you?”

“A dedicated student, an outstanding scholar, an opportunity to provide guidance to a girl with lots of potential … and a state basketball championship.” I place the index finger of my right hand on the envelope and slide it slowly across the desk towards her. “This is my extenuating circumstance, Sister.”

She takes the envelope, opens it and removes the letter inside, unfolding it.

Dear Sister Carmela,

Please excuse the recent absences of Patricia Conner from
St. Ann’s. She and her mother have been performing an invaluable service to the United States government at great personal risk to themselves. A number of corrupt officials and police officers have been discovered thanks to their efforts. Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to reveal any details of their activities and would consider it a personal favor if you would refrain from asking either Miss Conner or her mother questions about this, as there is an ongoing investigation.

Any assistance you can provide Miss Conner will be greatly appreciated by both your government and myself. Should you have any questions, feel free to call the number at the top of this page. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Very truly yours,

Barack H. Obama
President of the United States

She lays the letter on her desk, the slightest tremor in her hands.

“My heavens, child. What are you involved in?”

“Sorry, Sister. I’m not supposed to say.”

“I know, sorry, but how … the President? Of the United States? How is this possible?”

“Truth is stranger than fiction, Sister. The big question is … am I still a member of the Class of 2014?”

She looks at me, then picks up the letter, rereading it, then lays it back onto her desk.

“I don’t really have any choice, do I?”

“Don’t say that. I need you to want me back. I’m not going to force my way back into St. Ann’s. You don’t want me, I’ll go somewhere else but I really want to stay here with all my friends. I didn’t realize how much I missed this place until I rode back onto campus this morning. Seeing all the other girls, my teammates, Sister Rita, how they responded to me … all the old feelings came flooding back. I need this place, Sister. I may seem so mature and confident but I’ve seen things, done things these past few months. I’m not the same person who walked through your door at the beginning of the semester. I don’t know exactly who I am anymore. I think you and everyone here can help me find out. Please Sister, help me find my way home. I won’t let you down.”

“How could the government do this too you? You’re a child, for heaven’s sake! These things are too much for a young girl, no matter how gifted, to deal with.”

“I volunteered, Sister.”

“That’s more to your credit than theirs, Patricia.”

“It’s a long, strange story, one you’ll likely never know. It wasn’t supposed to work out this way. I was only going to be here for a few weeks, maybe months and then leave once the job was done. But it took longer. Maybe I made sure it took longer, I don’t know. I got comfortable here.”

“This was planned from the very beginning?!”

“It was, but we were betrayed. I had to improvise. People died, I’m not saying how.”

“Did you …”

“I’m not saying, Sister.”

“I see … well, that’s between you and the Lord, Patricia. Is it really Patricia Conner?”

“It is now. My mother is Jessica Conner.”

“Your mother? The woman who looks nothing like you?”

“Yes, my mother. We have the same nose, if you look close enough.”

“I’ll take your word on that.”

“I’m not looking for pity, Sister Carmela. Like I said, I volunteered and knew that things might not work out. I’d just like to have the chance to try life as a regular girl and figure out what my future will be.”

“You’re hardly a regular girl, Patricia.”

“I know, but I can dial it back and fit in.”

“You most certainly will not, not here. I expect each and every one of my students to give the maximum effort at all times. I expect more from a girl who has been given great gifts by God.”

“God may not have had much to do with my gifts.”

“God has something to do with everything that happens, planned or unplanned.”

“Does this mean that I’m back in school?”

She opens the middle drawer of her desk, removes a small pad of paper, picks up her pen and writes something on the top page then tears it off. She gets up and walks around her desk until she’s standing right next to me, extending the hand holding the paper.

“Here’s a tardy slip. I believe that Ms. Truax is expecting you in French.”

I stare at the slip, tears starting to gather in my eyes. Pushing myself up from the chair, I take it from her hand and look up at her. “Thank you, Sister. You don’t know what this means to me.”

She reaches out, pulling me into her body, hugging me fiercely. “You’re welcome. Don’t ever do this to me again.”

“I won’t. I’m done with all that.”

She loosens her grip, holding me at arms length. “Good, but if there’s more trouble in the future, you’ll always have a home at St. Ann’s. Now, get to class, Miss Conner.”

“Right.” I head for the door as she returns to her chair. I pause at the door as she sits down. “There are a couple more things, Sister Carmela.”

She freezes for a few seconds, then sighs. “What couple of things, Miss Conner?”

“Due to circumstances I can’t get into, I no longer need the scholarship.”

“You don’t?”

“No. Send me a bill for tuition. In fact, add last semesters’ tuition to the bill.”

“That’s certainly good news. What else?”

“I have this cousin. She lives in Wisconsin. She’s finishing eighth grade and probably coming to live with me in the summer. I’d like to get her into St. Ann’s fall freshman class.”

“Is this … cousin anything like you?”

“We look an awful lot alike but she’s much better behaved.”

“I doubt St. Ann’s could survive two of you. I look forward to meeting her.”

“Thanks, Sister.”

She gestures with her hand, dismissing me. As soon as I’m out of her office, I bolt for class.

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

The whole team sat together at lunch. I was the last to arrive.

“Look, guys, I need to tell you a few things …”

“Don’t bother,” says Terri. “Gretchen told us everything.”

“She did? What’d she tell you?”

“That you were safe and were helping her father sell his business.”

“You guys believed that?”

“Why not?” asks Cassie. “We all know what her dad did for a living. The sooner he got out of that, the better for her. We couldn’t figure out why you were involved but Gretchen said you knew about that stuff. We understood why it all needed to be kept on the QT. We were all worried and stuff until she told us.”

“Guess I’m glad Gretchen was able to assuage your concerns.”

“Huh?”

“She’s happy Gretchen told us,” says Linda, translating for Cassie.

“So, what’s happened since I left?”

“We won thirteen out of fourteen games,” says Debbie.

“What happened on the loss?”

“Gretchen got in foul trouble.”

“It was the same crew who did the St. Agnes game,” grumbles Gretchen. “They couldn’t ref their way out of a paper bag. I say they were still pissed at us for that video that proved they sucked.”

“Who beat us?”

“Heritage Christian. They were pretty good,” answers Terri.

“We were better,” Gretchen grouses.

“You’re right, Gretch, we are. We may see ‘em again in the tourney. What else happened?”

“You missed the Valentines Day Dance at the Y,” says Terri with a sly smile. “Guess who spent the whole night with her new boyfriend, ignoring all her friends.”

“I didn’t ignore you!” Gretchen exclaims. “Gary and I sat with you and Javier and the rest of the team for at least half an hour.”

“And the two of you spent the entire time in your own little world.”

Gretchen is blushing so the other girls pile on.

“Don’t get on her case. It’s just new love with a hot guy,” says BeeBee.

“A very hot guy,” adds Lynne.

“With really long fingers,” chimes in Claire. “Have you seen those fingers?”

“What’s his fingers have to do with anything?” asks Gretchen.

The other girls just giggle so I fielded her question.

“It’s an old wives tale. The longer the fingers the bigger … little Gary is.”

“Little Gary?”

Most of the girls are choking back their laughter. Terri doesn’t bother.

“You know … the little guy … down there … the one who gets bigger when excited.”

BeeBee jumps in. “We all hope.”

More giggling.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Gretchen huffs.

I do. “It’s just an old saying. It’s not true, not at all.”

“How would you know?” asks Linda.

“I’ve known a lot of guys with long fingers that didn’t … measure up.”

Several girls howl with laughter, attracting lots of attention. I don’t want to be anymore of a spectacle than necessary on my first day back.

“Calm down, calm down. I can’t afford the heat right now. Was it a nice dance?”

Terri settles down, wiping tears from her eyes. “Pretty good. The band was decent and the food wasn’t as greasy as usual. You’d have enjoyed it, Patty.”

“I doubt if I’d even been there. Stag at a Valentine’s Day dance is not my idea of fun.”

“I don’t know about that,” says Terri, the sly grin returning.

“What?”

“The stag thing. Eric and the French girl broke up.”

“WHEN? HOW?”

“Gretchen did it.”

Everyone looks at her.

“It wasn’t on purpose!” she cries. “It was Terri’s fault!”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What happened?”

The whole team leans in towards Terri, trying to keep the story just between us girls.

“Okay, first off, Claudette DesCartes was NOT a team player. I understand that when you’ve got a new relationship you’re all googly eyed and can’t stand being apart but she was too much. If Eric wasn’t at work, or school, or practice, he had to be with her; and she wasn’t too happy about practice. If the team got together on any other thing, Eric wasn’t allowed to come out and play.”

“And he put up with that?”

“You DID see her?”

“Yeah, you’re right. A girl like that could wrap any guy round her little finger. Go on.”

“Well, right after you disappeared, Gretchen organized everyone to distribute flyers all over the place with your picture on it, ‘Have you seen this girl?’ and all that.”

I turn towards Gretchen. “You did?”

“I had to do something!”

“No, you didn’t. Go on, Terri.”

“She did a great job. We all helped and so did the Martial Arts Team. Eric worked harder than any of them. A lot of the time, it was Eric and Gretchen working together.”

I turn to Gretchen again. “Reeeaaallyy?”

“Nothing happened! I knew he had a girlfriend. We were worried about you, that’s all.”

“I know, Gretch. You’re not that kinda girl.”

Terri continues. “You’re right. You know that and I know that, but Claudette didn’t know that. She’d been giving Eric all kinds of grief about the time he was spending distributing posters but she didn’t even know who he was working with. And remember … she had never met Gretchen.”

“Wait a minute, what about the New Year’s dance?”

“By the time she got there, Gretchen was sitting with Gary and his friends. If she ever saw her, they never met.”

“OOhhh, that’s a problem.”

“A BIG problem.”

“So, Terri … what did you do?”

“Nothing much, just introduced them.”

“And Claudette …”

“Freaked. Totally. It was epic.”

“Ultimatum?”

“Absolutely. Eric told her to drop dead. More or less.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Isn’t it. Someone needs to console that poor boy.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX

Practice was great. I was a little out of shape and got tired at the end but I could see why they had only lost one game since I left. Gretchen had really improved, taking charge inside, getting good position and demanding the ball. The other girls delivered.

They had become a team.

At first, I was afraid my return would screw things up but they wanted me there, to run the show. I didn’t have to shoot every shot, just dish and drive, keep ‘em all involved. They’d all developed more confidence in their shots, their game … themselves.

I was sitting on the bench with Sister Rita while the rest of the team scrimmaged. They were relentless with each other.

“They don’t need me out there, Sister.”

“You’re right, but they want you. We all missed you.”

“From the look of things, not that much.”

“Don’t be fooled. Gretchen had faith from the first that you’d be back. She said that we couldn’t let you down, we had to be strong and keep playing hard. The rest of them ran with it.”

“You know that me … going away … it wasn’t personal. It had nothing to do with you or the girls.”

“I know. I spoke with Sister Carmela. She didn’t tell me everything but she told me enough. Impressive letter.”

“I’d appreciate it if that didn’t get around.”

“Understood. Get in there for BeeBee.”

After practice, I asked Terri to hang around and rebound for me while I worked on my shot. I was more interested in talking with her.

I work around the three point arc, shooting several shots from each position, hitting most of them. After about twenty minutes we take a break, sitting on the bench.

“That thing with Eric. You really shouldn’t have messed with him,” I tell her.

“I didn’t mess with him. Anyone could see it was inevitable. I just sped up the process.”

“Maybe, but you shouldn’t mess with other peoples lives.”

“PLEASE! You’ve done nothing BUT mess with other people’s lives since you walked through that front door in your little home made uniform. Gretchen’s been your pet project for months. I’m not saying you don’t do good work but don’t criticize when other people follow your example. Besides, you know you want a second chance with Eric, now you’ve got it. Don’t blow it this time.”

“I don’t need a second chance with anybody.”

“Whatever.”

Just then, Gretchen comes walking out of the locker room. She’s changed back into her school uniform. While she walks towards us, Terri stands and walks towards her. As they pass each other, they slap hands.

“I got this,” says Gretchen.

“She’s all yours,” Terri responds.

Terri continues walking across the gym, pushing open the locker room door and letting it slam behind her. Gretchen quickly approaches me and sits down on the bench, a serious look on her face.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“An intervention.”

“Doesn’t that usually involve several people?”

“Okay, a mini intervention.”

“About what? I’m not using any drugs and haven’t had a drink since that champagne at your house.”

“We think it’s time you took care of yourself.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“The team. Your friends.”

“Who says I don’t take care of myself?”

“I do. And Terri. All of us. We’re all fine. We can get by for a little while longer without you. Go take care of what you need.”

“What if I don’t know what I need? What if I haven’t had time to decide what my future will be?”

“Like I have? Like any of us have? Why should you be any different? I know you’re super girl and all but you’re more like the rest of us than you’d like to admit.”

Well … now I am. “So then … how does this mini intervention work?”

She puts her arm over my shoulder, pulls me up and we walk towards the locker room.

“We start by me driving over to your house tomorrow after practice, we fix supper together, and we talk.”

“What do you mean you drive over to my house? When do you drive anywhere? You’re always driven.”

“Not anymore. I’ve got a car.”

“Please tell me it’s not one of those gold plated status symbols everyone else around here drives.”

“It’s a used Miata, green. I found it on Craig’s List. Low miles. Very reasonable. You’ll look great in it. We both will.”

“How’d you talk your dad into that?”

“It was a compromise. I started out asking for a Harley.”

“About tomorrow evening … I don’t think my mom will be home. She said she had something to do.”

“Even better.”

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

It’s taken over an hour for me to get home tonight. The neighborhood is great for Janet and the kids but the commute is not fun, particularly with all the new road repairs and detours. I could use a driver if I wanted to but it just doesn’t feel right. As I pull into the driveway, there’s an unfamiliar car parked in front of the house. Janet’s waiting for me at the connecting door to the house as soon as the garage door settles in place. She looks worried. I quickly exit the car.

“What’s wrong?”

She waives her hand, signaling for me to come closer. She doesn’t want to alarm the kids.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“There’s a woman waiting to see you.”

“A woman? Where?”

“She’s in your office.”

“Did she say what she wanted?”

“No, just that she was sorry but that she needed to see you. Said her name was Jessica Conner.”

HERE? JESSICA CONNER?! Janet read the look on my face.

“Is she dangerous?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just surprised that she’s here. Thought I was done with her. I’ll take care of it. You and the kids stay in the kitchen. Confidential stuff.” I force a smile, hoping it’s comforting. She’s not buying it.

“If there’s a problem, I want to know about it and right now!”

“I’m sure it’s fine. I just finished working out a deal for her and her daughter. She’s probably got some questions, that’s all.”

“Then why doesn’t she ask her lawyer?”

“She didn’t have a lawyer, they did it themselves.”

“Isn’t that unusual?”

“The whole case is unusual. I’ll talk to her, she’ll leave, we’ll have supper. In fact, you guys start without me. Okay?”

I think I’ve finally persuaded her that things are under control. Too bad I don’t believe it.

I’ve got a gun but never carry it. I’m a lawyer, for God’s sake, not a cop. Of course, the gun is in my office.

I walk through the kitchen, kissing my kids on the tops of their heads, acknowledging their greetings, then hurry to my office at the other end of the house. Stopping at the door, I have to decide how to approach this, passive or aggressive. If she’s here to cause trouble, passive ain’t gonna cut it. I open the door and charge in.

“You don’t bring this stuff into a man’s home, you don’t threaten his family, Ms. Conner.”

She sitting in one of the padded chairs opposite my desk, head hanging down. She jerks her head up.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Tyson, I just didn’t know what else to do.”

She’d clearly been crying before I came in, her eyes wet, puffy and red. Aww jeez.

“Look, Ms. Conner … Jessica, it’s kind of an unwritten rule in this game. You don’t bring this type of thing to a person’s home. Didn’t Patricia tell you that?”

“She doesn’t know I’m here. I’ve decided that I can’t live with a lie. I can’t be a good mother if I don’t stand for the truth.”

The truth? What the hell does that mean?

“Are you saying that I’ve been lied too? That I’ve given bad information to the President of the United States?”

“Yes, but don’t blame Patricia, she meant well. She was just trying to protect me.”

“Protect you from what?”

She looks away for a moment and sighs. “I killed Daniel Lipscomb.”

“You?”

“Yes, I did and Hobbes killed Enrique Cardoza, who may have been more responsible for the success of his business than Hobbes was.”

“Why’d you kill Lipscomb?”

“The same reasons Patricia gave you. He tried to kill me and he did kill Thomas Matthews and Peter Harris. He also tried to sell Patricia into sexual slavery.”

“And Cardoza?”

“I wasn’t there but Patricia said that Cardoza was attempting to take over Hobbes’ empire by killing him and blaming Patricia for it, also killing her in the process. Hobbes got to him before Patricia did. Also, it turns out Cardoza killed Hobbes’ wife a number of years ago.”

“So everything I was told was true except for who did the actual killing.”

“Yes. I haven’t had a peaceful night’s sleep since I did it.”

“You’re not a dead eye marksman, then.”

“Hardly.”

“How’d she pull off that trick with the cup at the …”

“Some kind of water activated thing, like Mentoes and Diet Coke. It expanded until it popped, shredding the cup.”

“What if I hadn’t been drinking that cup of coffee?”

“She’d have gotten one from a nearby trash can. It looked more spontaneous using your cup.”

She had that right. “Why’d she come up with the story where she took all the blame?”

“Patricia said it was a neater package, that prosecutors like everything tied up in a package with a pretty bow, makes their job easier. Anything that complicates issues just makes life harder for everyone. Her story was easier to understand and fit the known facts so she thought you’d be more likely to buy it and be able to sell it.”

“That’s certainly true.”

“I think it’s more than that. She’s trying to protect people. She was doing that earlier and it’s only gotten worse since the … never mind.”

“Since the what?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Jessica, I appreciate what you’ve told me but it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t matter which one of you killed Lipscomb or Cardoza. Pardons were given in exchange for the information and the promise of future good behavior by both of you. As for Raymond Hobbes, we’ll still keep our agreement to withhold prosecution. I’m more concerned about you. I’ve checked into your history, I know about your husband and daughter so it’s easy to see how you got involved in Lipscomb’s scheme. I also know Peter Harris’ record. Thomas Matthews was a little harder to track down. The upshot of all this is that if Lipscomb had told me about your involvement, he would never have gotten my approval.”

“Why?”

“You were much too close to the target to ever be permitted to participate in an operation like this. And Thomas Matthews was the ultimate loose cannon.”

“And Peter?”

“He already had that propensity to protect people. It’s one of the things that made him so successful. His targets all came to trust him because he always had their backs, to the bitter end. His psych profile indicated turning those people in ate him up inside.”

“It bothered Patricia too. Constant nightmares.”

“She calls you her mother and you refer to her as your daughter. I assume you both acknowledge reality on that point.”

“It was our cover and we did our best to live our parts. Now … it’s a matter of choice. Legally, it’s true because we ARE Jessica and Patricia Conner. We both like it and don’t plan on making any changes. That’s why I’m here now. I can’t have her sacrificing her life for mine. That’s my job.”

“I’m a parent too. I understand the feeling, but you still have your own life to live. I’m sorry both of you ever got involved in this situation. Peter Harris didn’t deserve what happened to him. Frankly, I still have a hard time believing it despite what my tech guys say they found in that blood sample. You didn’t deserve it either, nor did Matthews. I know that I’m more than a little responsible. I trusted Lipscomb.”

“We all did … except Patricia.”

“Smart girl. If you continue to have problems, contact me at the office and I can give you the name of someone who can help. All our officers undergo mandatory counseling whenever there’s an officer involved shooting. You’ll need it more than they do. Peter’s already been there a couple of times.”

“It obviously helped him soooo much.”

“Hey, it may have been worse for him without it, who knows. Get help, that’s all I’m saying. I’d have said it earlier if I’d have known the straight story. You and Patricia have nothing to fear from me. The information you gave us is good so far. Internal Affairs has already identified a dozen people in key jobs who are looking at immediate transfers.”

“You’re not going to prosecute them?”

“That comes later, once we build a case. Now, we just want to limit damage and funnel the information through a few carefully controlled double agents. Patricia was right about that too. Wish she was on my staff.”

“You’re not the first person to say something like that.” She stands up. “I’m sorry for disturbing you at home. I wasn’t aware of the rules. It was the only thing I could think of doing without Patricia finding out and trying to stop me.”

“Where is she?”

“At home with one of her friends. They haven’t seen each other for weeks and they’re making up for lost time.”

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

I didn’t plan on spending the evening impaling myself on the strap on that Gretchen was wearing while she lay on her back in my bed, clasping my hips in her hands, driving up as I plunge down, each of us gasping, grunting, and moaning, with the intermittent whimper from me. I occasionally fall forward and spend time massaging and licking her boobs, nibbling and sucking on her nipples but she’s all about the fucking.

It all started innocently enough. She intentionally splashed me while we were washing dishes after supper. I cooked most of it but she did help a little. After we cleaned off the table, she dropped a plate into the sink, splashing water all over the front of my T-shirt.

She said she was sorry but she was smiling. I let it slide.

Then she did it again, smiling all the time. She started to apologize but I wasn’t buying it. I cut her off by flipping a handful of water out of the sink at her, splashing her blouse, causing her to shriek. She answered with a half glass of water right in my face.

I didn’t respond right away. I just stared at Gretchen, her arm bent, hand holding the now empty glass, waiting for my next move. We both just stood there, the floor getting wetter as the water dripped from my head and shirt. She’s still mostly dry. She glanced over at the spray nozzle sitting next to the spigot. She wouldn’t dare …

She dove at it. I moved too but slipped on the wet floor. Usually, she wouldn’t have had a chance of beating me to it but the slip slowed me up so we reached the nozzle at the same time. It started spraying instantly as we both grabbed the handle and yanked it from its base. She got the worst of it initially as I forced the nozzle towards her face but her height gave her leverage so she managed to twist it back towards me as I lost my footing again. She’s wearing sport shoes with rubber soles and I’m wearing leather soled shoes with three inch heels.

I could finish this quick if I wanted to and she knew it but we kept wrestling around, shrieking, laughing and getting totally soaked. I finally managed to get the sprayer out of her hands without hurting her, but slipped again. This time, I’m going down so I released the nozzle so I didn’t rip it out of the sink and I grabbed Gretchen, pulling her down with me, hitting the floor with a loud squelch.

I landed on my back and Gretchen lands on top of me, face to face. We laugh and giggle for a few seconds then I caught my breath.

“Alright … okay … that’s enough … let me up … come on Gretch, get up.”

“No. I like it here.”

“I don’t. I’m on a cold wet floor.”

“Maybe I can warm you up.”

“Don’t be crazy … aaahhHH!”

She slid up my body a little, planting her knee between my legs and nuzzled my neck.

“Come on … uhhuhh … stop it … ahh hhaahh … Gretchen … hhhuhh … mmmff.”

She’d worked her way over to my mouth, gently kissing me. I could feel her arms slide up the sides of my body. Her hands lightly pressed against the sides of my head as her upper body lifted slightly. She rested on her elbows as she broke off the kiss, working down my neck with her lips and tongue.

She’d been practicing.

“Gretchen … what are you …”

“Sshhhhh. Not now.”

“Not now? Why … mmmff!”

She kissed me again, more forcefully this time, tightly gripping my head. With her knee where it was, I was practically trapped underneath her. I could’ve escape in seconds, not hurting her too badly in the process … but I could do that anytime. Right then, I was beginning to enjoy her new found skills.

She pressed harder against my mouth, probing with her tongue. In all the prior times we’d made out, I was more the aggressor but she really took command. It was … different … interesting … exciting.

I worked my arms free and wrapped them around her neck. It only encouraged her to become more driven, forcing her tongue deeper into my mouth. Two could play that game. We fought for dominance a bit before I gave in … you know, for her sake.

She let go of my head and started to pull away, but I kept a grip on her neck as we rose up off the floor. She moved her hands to my waist and lifted me as she continued to stand up. I ended up cradled in her arms, having never broken our kiss, my arms still around her neck. Finally, I pulled away to catch my breath.

“Wow! Who taught you that move?”

“No one. We’ve been lifting weights for over three months. I’m a lot stronger than I was. We’re going upstairs now.”

“Whatever you say, lover.”

And that’s how I ended up doing the bouncy bouncy on the delicious pole of vibrating silicon.

When we got upstairs, there wasn’t any question as to who was going to wear the strap on. Gretchen undressed me then stripped down herself, after getting me a towel to dry off with. I rubbed her dry myself and then actually sucked the strap on, while she ran her hands through my damp hair and called me a good girl the entire time. When the time came, she had me get on all fours and she took me from behind, slowly at first but soon she was pounding away, bent over my back, groping my boobs, grunting and sweating with the effort. I pushed back with everything I had.

We were animals, rutting animals.

After my first orgasm, she flipped me over and we did it facing one another, going at it just as hard as before but this time I could see her face, see the emotion … the resolve … the anger. She was smiling, no … more like leering at me but I caught brief glimpses of anger. That’s when it hit me.

We were having make up sex.

That great, physical sex you have when you and your wife have just gotten over a fight about something but you’ve still got to release the anger and aggression that you felt. That no holds barred, take that you bitch, thank God for endorphins kind of sex.

Except, this time, I’m the bitch.

There’s more here than that little water fight. We were both laughing. Most of the time. I don’t know why she’s doing it this way. I ceased to care why when she reached down and grabbed both my nipples.

After the second orgasm, I got on top and rode her until my legs were rubber, then I’d stop to work on her boobs and rock my hips until I’d get my second … or third … or fourth wind. This time, I made sure Gretchen got off before I did, though she wasn’t far behind me the other two times. She seemed really into the power trip.

After the third orgasm, I was too spent to do anything but crawl up next to her and cuddle close as she put her arm around my shoulder, hugging me, caressing my breast idly with her fingertips.

“Did you like that, baby?”

“Ummmm yeah,” I cooed.

We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, slowly coming off the endorphin rush of repeated, multiple orgasms. It was the best make up sex I’d ever had. Now, I had to figure out what we’d fought about … and do it again as soon as possible.

Gretchen stirred, sitting more upright. I gripped just a little tighter so she wouldn’t go anywhere.

“Patty?”

“Yeah?”

“I know what you did.”

That could be about a hundred different things. Never admit anything, get more information.

“What do you mean?”

“I know who you are, what you are, what you did and why you pretended to be my friend.”

Oh crap.

CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN

I slide out of Gretchen’s grasp and sit up, wrapping the sheet around my breasts, giving me time to think. I could play dumb, I could lie, I could ask a lot of questions to figure out exactly what she knows, but all of those will likely make things worse. She’s a smart girl, I need to treat her like one.

“Alright, what do you know?”

“Just like that? No apology?”

“I’m not apologizing for anything I did, not yet at least. You said you know all about me. Fine, let’s find out.”

“Where do I start?”

“Where ever you want.”

“I know that you’re not … completely normal.”

“That’s hardly news.”

“I mean, you’re different from other girls. You’ve got … stuff inside you.”

“What kind of ‘stuff’?”

“I don’t know! All the guards say you’re like an android or a robot or a cyborg or something.”

“Who told you that?”

“No one. They wouldn’t talk to me. They were told not to.”

“So where’d you get this inside scoop about me?”

“I did what you did. I talked to Raul.”

“Does he believe that I’m some kind of hybrid thing?”

“No, but he did tell me what the guards were saying. You have to admit, you’ve done some pretty amazing things.”

“Fine. What else do you know?”

“So it’s TRUE?!”

“I admit nothing. What’s next?”

“I know that you stole computer files from my father, that you were some kind of undercover agent.”

“For who?”

“The police, I guess.”

“Okay, what else?”

“You’re not going to say anything?”

“Not until you’ve got it all out. Next.”

“You killed Tony Escaban.”

She’s got me dead to rights on that one. “Anything else?”

“Anything else?! You KILLED someone, right in my backyard!”

“It was more like your sideyard, let’s be accurate. Anything else?”

She looks exasperated, like things aren’t going quite as she planned them.

“You’re the one who arranged the sale of my father’s business to the other cartels. In fact, you did most of the work.”

“Is that everything? Don’t leave anything out.”

“You were there when Father killed Enrique.”

“Good thing, otherwise you’d be an orphan now … assuming he decided not to kill you too or sell you into sex slavery. You’re strong, Gretchen, but life on the streets is very tough on a girl. Trust me.”

“How do YOU know that?”

I look up at her, all beautiful and indignant. She hasn’t even bothered to cover herself. This is it. Make or break time. Do I tell her everything? Nothing? Deny it all?

She’s right about some things and she knows it. She’s fuzzy about a lot of other things. That gives me some working room. I can’t tell her everything, not yet. Maybe never. But, sometimes, a lot of truth and a few lies are more believable.

“So, you think I’m not human, a creature of some kind, sent to fake a relationship with you so that I could get in your house and steal information about your dad and get him thrown in jail. Is that about it?”

She seems a bit uncertain about it now. “Something like that.”

“No. Not something like that, it’s exactly that. That’s what you’re accusing me of, isn’t it?”

She sets her jaw, raising her head. “Yes, it is.”

“I see. Good. Alright. Fine. I died December 3rd, 2010.”

“WHAT!”

“Just what I said. I died on December 3rd, 2010 of a drug overdose. I was a street whore, a run away and I was dead.”

“How could you be here now if you died?”

“Because my body was stolen from the morgue and repaired by a rogue scientist.”

“Like Frankenstein?”

“No, the Creature was an assemblage of parts from different bodies. I’m all original equipment with some additions in my brain, though there are some similarities.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Why not? You said you knew it already.”

“I know … but … I didn’t really … I had no idea.”

“You still don’t. One of the additions was a Controller. Whoever had the remote could control aspects of my behavior. It’s not like a robot, more like controlling my emotions and my desires, though it turns out there were a few hard wired behaviors.”

“Like what?”

“Like sex. The scientist and the Federal Prosecutor were men. They saw the potential.”

“Did they …”

“Not right away, but it came up eventually. I was sent to St. Ann’s to become your friend … well you know the rest of my assignment. Of course, nothing worked as they planned.”

“Why not?”

“I had more resistance than they thought I would, more free will. I had to do what I was told but I did it my way.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s hard to describe. Shortly after I got to know you, after I discovered what a wonderful person you are, I knew I had to do everything to save you from your isolation, from a friendless life.”

“What about your mother … she’s not really your mother, is she?”

“No, she’s not. She started out as part of the group controlling me. You’re not going to like this. Your father’s men killed her husband and daughter, a girl a lot like you. They were just innocent bystanders and they were gunned down.”

“NO! OH MY GOD! NO WONDER SHE HATED HIM!”

“Exactly! I needed her help to make my plan work so it took time for me to give her a chance to meet you and learn to like you just like I did. My handlers weren’t happy with me. They wanted results now but I wasn’t ready yet. There was so much I had to do. Get you out of your house, get you on the basketball team, take you to the dance.”

“Why all that?”

“Because you needed friends to turn to when the police came to arrest your father. I wasn’t going to be around anymore so I had to make sure you’d have a chance when everything turned bad. I had almost got everything the way I wanted it when Cardoza tried to have me killed at the New Year’s dance.”

“Now, wait a minute. I was there. Nothing like that happened.”

“Coach Tobey saw it all. He banned me from the Y after it was done. He agreed to keep it quiet so I could try to salvage something from the situation. Talk to him if you don’t believe me.”

“No … that’s alright.”

“You sure? I wouldn’t want you doubting me or anything. Maybe I should call him right now?”

“No! … I’ll think about it.”

“You do that. After Cardoza forced my hand, I finally got the computer data and handed it over to the prosecutor in charge of the operation, Daniel Lipscomb. That’s when he kidnapped me, killed the other guy and tried to kill mom.”

“Why are all these people killing each other?”

“Why do you think? MONEY! Lipscomb was planning on blackmailing your father, threatened to give all the information to the other cartels, destroying his business. He also handed me over to Cardoza to use how ever he wanted.”

It looks like she’d heard a lot more than she wanted to but I wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “That’s when the sex stuff started.”

“Patty … I’m sooo sorry … I didn’t know.”

“Really? I thought you knew all about me, everything I’d done, everything that happened to me. You sure Raul didn’t mention it? Your father?”

“No,” she says quietly.

“Too bad. Actually, it worked out for the best. I managed to break the Controller and escape. After that, I came up with the final plan, how to get your father out of the drug business and set you free. Your father wouldn’t talk to me so I had to break into the compound. That’s when Escaban died. He’d help arrange for the three guys who attacked me at the dance and was shooting at me when I shot him, so I don’t feel too bad about it. I gave him a chance to walk away but he refused. That’s when Cardoza was shot too.”

“By my father. Did you know that Enrique killed my mother?”

“Yeah, but not ’til late in the game. There’s no doubt he was going to kill me and your father. I was going for him but your dad got to him first. You apparently know the rest, we sold the business, making your father a billionaire.”

“A BILLIONAIRE?!”

“Your dad didn’t tell you? Eight billion dollars. You’re the richest girl in school, by far. Thanks to you, I’m probably the second richest. We should start a club. I worked a deal with the feds, they’ll leave your father alone if he keeps to the straight and narrow and rats out his enemies in about a year. We’re hanging on to some information as an ace in the hole. That’s pretty much it. There’s some other stuff but it doesn’t involve you. Want me to tell you about it?”

“NO! No … God no! When you did all this, were you getting paid?”

“At first, yes, but not after it all went to hell.”

“So why do it? Why not just run away?”

“Because of you, silly. I couldn’t leave you hanging out there. I had to save your dad to save you. Mom agreed with me, though, frankly, there were a couple of times I thought she was going to kill him herself. She’s better now but I still wouldn’t leave her alone with him.”

“I think he likes her.”

“Leave it to your dad to pick the one woman on the face of the earth he doesn’t have a snowball’s chance with … though, if they did, we’d be sisters.”

“Then they better not because I couldn’t do this.”

She lunges at me, knocking me back and landing on top of me, kissing me almost as hard as before. I let her go on for a few seconds, reliving our last session before gently pulling away.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Yes but don’t do it again. You could have gotten yourself killed!”

“Several times.”

“That’s right! So no more of that crazy stuff! We’ll just stay here for the rest of our lives.”

“What about school?”

“Who needs school? We’re rich!”

“What about your boyfriend?”

She frowns and rolls off me onto her back. I shift onto my side and prop myself up on my elbow right next to her.

“I like Gary. A lot. We haven’t done anything like this but we’ve messed around a little. I think he’s still afraid of you.”

“I’ll give him my blessing.”

“You don’t like this?”

“Gretchen, if you haven’t figured it out by now, I love this and I love you but there’s no future for us, not as a couple. You aren’t gay. I’ve seen you with Gary. You’re straight.”

“What about YOUR boyfriend?”

“I don’t have one.”

“The hell you don’t. Eric can’t stop talking about you. All the time we were out delivering flyers, that’s all we did, talk about you.”

“You didn’t tell him about us, did you?”

“Gawd no! But, I think he may have suspected. I got a little emotional at times. So are you … straight?”

Good question. I enjoyed all this sex with Gretchen but I also find myself watching boys more and more. Last night, when using my vibrator, I couldn’t really enjoy myself until I imagined a romantic scene … with Eric. I reach out and lightly caress her breast with my fingertips, teasing her right nipple.

“How about, when it comes to you, I’m bisexual.”

“I like that. Maybe, we can get our boyfriends to understand it.”

“Maybe they’d like to join us.”

“No! Are you crazy! I’m not ready for anything like that.”

Not yet. “Fine. Give me that strap on. We’ve got enough time before Mom gets back and it’s my turn to show you some things you can teach Gary when the time comes.”

Gretchen giggles as she scrambles to take the strap on off. No matter what happens to us; where we end up, who we end up with, how long we’re together, I love her and it’s all been worth it.

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

WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED IN HERE?!

The floor is soaked, the curtains dripping water, the countertop’s a mess. I saw Patricia’s motorcycle parked in the driveway next to a cute green Miata when I got home from my meeting with Tyson. I didn’t recognize the car; it probably belongs to one of her school friends. I was hoping to avoid questions from Patricia as to where I’d been. If there’s someone else in the house, she’s not as likely to give me the third degree.

Now, with this disaster, she’s the one who’ll be getting the third degree. I look all around the first floor but don’t find her. Marching to the bottom of the stairs, I grab the railing and inhale deeply.

“PATRICA TAYLOR CONNER!!” I bellow. No response. I take a deeper breath.

“PATRICIA TAYLOR CONNER!!”

I hear rapid footsteps upstairs, running back and forth, here and there. In seconds, Patricia comes pounding down the stairs, wearing her robe and holding a wad of wet clothes tucked against her chest, Gretchen right behind her, wearing my robe and holding a similar bunch of wet clothes against her chest. Patricia stops on the step right below me, lifts up on her toes, leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

“Hey, Mom.”

She runs down the last few steps, giggling, and turns toward the utility room. Gretchen stops right next to me and also kisses my cheek.

“Hey, Mom.”

She follows Patricia, giggling uncontrollably the entire way.

This better be a real good story.

I stalk after them, reaching the utility room just as Patricia finishes turning the timer button on the dryer and pushing the “start” button.

“What’s going on you two?”

Gretchen is standing right behind Patricia, their bodies pressed against each other. It’s always a bit of a surprise as to how much taller Gretchen is than Patricia. It’s amazing that she ever adjusted to the change. I don’t know if I could have done it.

“Gretchen and I … we were doing the dishes and she splashed me. It was an accident and I overreacted.”

“No, it wasn’t an accident. I was mad at her. I did it twice.”

“I see.”

“I got mad too,” says Patricia, a bit sheepishly, having been caught trying to protect Gretchen. Again.

“So what happened next?”

Patricia continues. “After a couple more splashes …”

“And a glass of water to your face,” interjects Gretchen.

“… and a glass of water to my face, we both went for the big gun.”

“The big gun?”

“The spray nozzle.”

“Oh my.” That explains a lot. “Who won?”

“We both ended up on the floor … then we went upstairs … then we … made up,” Patricia explains.

“Made up?” I inquire. Gretchen eases her arms around Patricia, hugging her lightly around the neck as she rests her head on top of Patricia’s, Patricia reaching up and caressing Gretchen’s arms where they crossed below her neck. They both smile shyly. “Oooohh. ‘Made up’. Good to know.”

“So, I guess we both won,” says Gretchen, suppressing another series of giggles.

“What was this fight about?”

“Gretchen was upset because she’d found out about me and you and what we did and why.”

OH LORD! Play it cool. “What we did? I don’t understand …”

“Show her the scar, Mom. Where Lipscomb shot you in the head. Show Gretchen the scar.”

My hair had just recently grown back enough that I didn’t have to take elaborate measures to hide the fact that a small portion of my head was shaved to clear the area for stitches. “Patricia, are you sure?”

“She’d already found out most of it on her own. I told you she was very smart.”

Gretchen’s smile widens and she hugs Patricia more tightly.

“Go on, Mom, show her. It’s alright.”

I hesitantly step closer to them, carefully pulling my hair back to uncover the scar. It’s still quite red and easy to see if you’re looking for it. Gretchen moves closer, not releasing her grip on Patricia.

“OOOOOOooo, gross. Did it hurt?”

SHE’S smart?

“Yes dear, getting shot almost point blank in the head hurts. On a scale of one to ten, I’d say it’s about, ohhh, let’s say, twenty. Crawling through a burning building on your hands and knees right after getting shot in the head was a lot of fun, too.”

“Patty, you didn’t say anything about a burning building.”

“I hit the highlights. We’d have been upstairs for a week if I told you every little detail. You’d already discovered the important stuff.”

“The important stuff?” I ask.

“Yeah. The undercover job, the information we were after, that stuff. I told her how I was a run away from Wisconsin, that I died, that Matthews brought me back from the dead with his illegal tech, how I was controlled by Lipscomb but that you and I were able to turn the tables on him after discovering how good a person Gretchen was and he tried to use the information to blackmail her dad. That’s some of the stuff she didn’t know.”

“I really had no idea,” says Gretchen. “I thought I knew everything but when Patty told me the whole story, I just felt so bad about doubting her and you. I mean, it all really worked out for the best, didn’t it?”

That little … She did it again. Spun gold out of shit. Guess I better get used to it.

“Yes, Gretchen, it did work out for the best. I hope you realize that you can never tell anyone else. Not your father, not your friends, not your boyfriend, no one. If the authorities ever found out about Patricia, they’d take her and tear her apart looking for the secret.”

Gretchen is aghast. “What secret?!”

“The secret as to how she came back from the dead. Ironically, the man who did it is dead and his lab burned to the ground. The only way to get any information is from Patricia’s body. Unscrupulous men would stop at nothing for the secret of immortality. We’re both in the greatest of danger if the barest sliver of truth ever gets out. Understand?”

“Absolutely! You can count on me. No one will get anything out of me, ever!”

“Good. We both appreciate your resolve and integrity, Gretchen. After all, Patty’s very life is at stake.”

“Believe me, I understand.”

“Excellent. We’d better start cleaning up that mess in the kitchen before something is permanently damaged.”

Gretchen jumps, quickly releasing her grip around Patricia’s neck.

“I know where the mop and bucket are! I’ll get ‘em and be right back.”

We both watch as she hurries off. Patricia slides over next to me.

“Laying it on a little thick there at the end, Mom,” she whispers.

“Sorry. I haven’t had nearly the experience you have at pulling stories out of my ass.”

“I’m not complaining. You were good.”

“I’ve spent too much time around you. What did you tell that poor girl?”

“Mostly the truth. Eighty, eighty five percent the truth. I didn’t mention Peter Harris or our Wisconsin trip.”

“Aren’t you afraid that she and her father will compare notes some day?”

“A little bit, but you’ve laid down a good foundation. All I have to do is build on it. Maybe, someday, I can give her the total truth. I’ll have to say something if Penny comes to live with us later this year. We’ll see.”

“The way you manipulate people amazes me.”

“I love her, you know that, right?”

“I know, but it doesn’t stop you from doing what you want with her.”

“What’s best for her, for all of us.”

“You mean, what’s best for you.”

“No, not always. She eventually may decide that she loves Gary Hubertz more than she loves me. She’s not gay, she just likes ME, not other girls, probably because of Peter Harris’ male attitude. Well that’s gone, not exactly gone but less dominant than it was. She could go with Gary or some other guy. I won’t stop her, if that’s what she wants. We’ll hopefully stay friends but not lovers. I did this to save her, not to get the girl or get rich. That I’ve got both for right now wasn’t part of the plan. Maybe Sister Carmela’s right, that God has a hand in everything, planned or unplanned, I don’t know. I just wasn’t going to continue doing ‘the right thing’ and destroying innocent people’s lives in the process. I drew the line at Gretchen … for whatever reason.”

“What about me?”

“You’re not innocent, you bought the package when you signed on with Lipscomb. You were betrayed, you were cheated, you deserved better and I did what I could to get it for you but you weren’t innocent. I’m more innocent than you.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because the computer part of me had no choice about being involved in this case and neither did Jenny Jo. Peter was
the only one with a choice and he rode that choice to the end, not flinching when faced with the final consequences. He took responsibility for his choices.”

“So did I. I told Walter Tyson that I killed Lipscomb, not you.”

“When?”

“Today, that’s where I was before coming home and finding all this.”

“Did telling him change the deal?”

“No, but I had to do it.”

“I understand why, guess I should have expected it. You really should have let me deal with Lipscomb. It would have avoided complicating things.”

“Too late for that now. Tyson suggested I see someone about it.”

“If you’re going to take full responsibility for killing Daniel, he’s right. You thought you were entitled to take his life in vengeance. I know you’re not sleeping well, I recognize the symptoms.”

“What about you and your father? What was that?”

“I did it to prevent a greater harm, to protect my sister. I took over his responsibilities to care for his wife, my biological mother and his daughter, my sister. And I’ll do a better job than he ever would have done.”

“And vengeance had nothing to do with it?”

She holds up her thumb and forefinger separated by a gap of about an inch and a half.

“Just about this much, mother. Escaban was self defense, pure and simple. Gretchen knows about that one, too. Let’s get to the kitchen before she comes back.”

“That’s your problem. You two lovebirds can clean up your own mess. I’m going upstairs to take a bath.”

“UUhhh … there’s a bit of a mess up there too, but we’ll get to it.”

As I climb the stairs, I can hear them in the kitchen, laughing about something. Patricia and Tyson may be right, I need to deal with Lipscomb’s death. I don’t regret doing it, I never will, but it haunts me. I can’t let that bastard ruin the rest of my life. Tomorrow, I find a therapist.

Ugghhh! What did they do up here?
CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT

They’ve already started renovating the place. There’s “Pardon our Mess” signs up and a couple of blueprints plus several artist renditions of the new look posted in the lobby.

It seems like they’re putting Hobbes’ diamonds to good use.

If I’m reading the schematic right, the guys are using a smaller space on a temporary basis but the drawings of the renovated space look impressive. I can hear them working out as I get closer. If I stand on my tiptoes, I can just barely look into the room through the glass in the door.

The ring’s shoved into one corner, there’s hardly enough space between the wall and the ropes for a person to climb into the ring. Or get knocked out it. The rest of the equipment is jammed here and there. It looks efficient but it’s a tight fit.

I take a deep sniff, smelling the mix of sweat, muscle rub and testosterone. It makes me shiver. Better get this over with.

I pull the door open and walk in, dodging a particularly musky boy working on the speed bag. It takes a few seconds for someone to recognize me. Javier’s the first.

“HEY!” he shouts. “SHE”S BACK!”

Most everyone first looks at him and then where he’s pointing at me. They’re all over me in an instant, shouting and slapping my hands.

“Pee!”

“Were the fuck ya’ been?”

“Shit girl! I knews you’d be back, no worries!”

Javier wades into the crowd. “Give her air! Give her air! Back off, bros.”

He quickly gets everyone to back off a little, giving me some room. He ends up next to me, with Cruz on my other side. Both of them are smiling broadly.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

“Gretchen told Terri a couple weeks ago that you were okay. Swore her to secrecy and all but I got a way with women,” says Javier.

“He begged,” Cruz stage whispers.

Javier glares at him. “Whatever. Once we all stopped worrying, we knew you’d get back here eventually, specially when Terri said you were back in school. What the hell happened?”

“I really can’t say …” I don’t see Eric anywhere. “… I need to talk with Coach first. Is he here?”

Cruz points to a door on his left. “Yeah, he’s in his office.”

“That’s a closet.”

“Was a closet, now an office. Did you see the plans out front?”

“Couldn’t miss ‘em. Pretty sweet.”

“Fuckin’ right pretty sweet. We’ll be able to host meets when they’re done. We’ll actually have a home court advantage for once. Still don’t know where all the money came from. You hear about all that?”

“Hear about what?”

“Some dude dropped ten million in uncut diamonds on the Coach, just like that. Out of the blue, no name, no return address, nothin’. Said we were to get most of it, fix up the Y with the rest. Weird shit. Some of us think it’s drug money.”

“Why would someone give drug money to the Y?”

“Don’t know,” says Javier. “Deal gone bad, guilty conscious, who knows. He’s in the locker room.”

“Who’s in the locker room?”

Javier drops down a little bit so he’s not standing so tall. “I seen how you been looking around. HE’s in the locker room. I’ll go get him.”

“No. Let me deal with Coach first.”

“Okay, but Terri’s got expectations.”

“So she’s told me. Thanks.”

Javier turns to the rest of the team. “Back to work, boys. Lady’s got bidness with Coach.”

There’s a few more hand slaps and fist bumps but the guys head back to the various workout stations scattered around the room. Cruz pats my back.

“Good luck, Pee.”

I nod my head and walk to the door, knocking on it.

“Open!” Coach shouts. I turn the knob, open the door and stick my head in the closet. He’s got papers all over a tiny desk that nearly fills the room. There’s barely space for his chair behind the desk or for someone to stand in front of it and close the door. He’s got his head down, staring at the papers.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know what these God damn builders are talking about? I don’t know SHIT about this …” he looks up “ … crap … uhhhh, pardon my French. You’re back.”

I step in and shut the door. “Yeah. What’s you’re problem?”

“With you?”

“With the builders.”

He’s chewing gum. He looks up at me, while chewing, rolling the wad around in his mouth, considering me, then turns the largest paper on his desk around so that I can see it.

“They want me to approve this change to the original plans, something about structural support.”

As I scan the schematics, I feel the silicon parts of my brain become more engaged, like everything speeds up.

“Where’s the originals?”

Coach reaches into the corner, which has a bunch of rolled tubes of paper. He hands me one, which I unroll on top of the revised plans. Comparing one to the other, the changes are obvious.

“There’s not enough structural support in the existing space to increase the load capacity to complete the original plans. They need to add more reinforcement, which increases your costs. If you don’t, you wont be able to have more than … oh, about seventy five or eighty people at a match.”

“Dammit! Pardon my …” I hold up my hand to waive him off. “We really were counting on being a match host but that’s way too small.”

“What’s the big deal, pay the extra …” I look at the two plans again “ … three hundred thousand or so.”

“It’s not that easy. The Board set the budget and they’re not going to just give us the money.”

“What a minute, you guys come first, then the Y gets the rest.”

He squints at me. “How do you know that?”

“Javier told me all about it. The diamonds and everything. I saw the stuff in the lobby. Very nice.”

He goes back to rolling the gum around in his mouth while staring at me over the top of his glasses, then reaches up and scratches his nose.

“Why are you here, Patty?”

“I want to come back, Coach. You’re one of the last things on my list. I need to get square with you.”

“You know what I need to hear.”

“I’m done with it, Coach. All of it. I’m just trying to live my life. I never meant for anyone to get hurt, that’s what I was trying to avoid, but everyone’s happy now. I’ve got no problems with anyone. I’ve got a copy of a letter I gave to my principal, it explains a lot. You can read it if you promise to keep it secret. Really secret.”

“Alright, I promise.”

I drop my bag on his desk, unzip it and remove the copy, handing it to him. He adjusts the glasses and begins to read, chewing slowly. As he reads, he doesn’t react, except, occasionally, the chewing stops. Finally, he lays the paper on his desk.

“It says what you did and I don’t need to know the why, but I do need to know the how.”

“You mean everything I did?”

“No, I mean how you could do everything you did. I’ve accepted a lot at face value, stuff that I probably should have questioned from the start, but I’ve also seen things that I can’t accept, not without some kind of explanation. You need to explain what it is about you that lets you do all that insane stuff you do.”

The same old question, how little detail can I get away with and still succeed.

“Originally, I was a runaway. I did all the things that most teenage runaway girls do.” He nods his head in understanding. The Y’s got a program to help runaway girls. A lot of anonymous horror stories circulate through the building. “Anyway, something very bad happened to me, nearly died. After that, a research scientist managed to get hold of me and he made some changes to my body, my brain. All completely illegal stuff but not reversible either. If you could see an x-ray of my head, you’d understand what I mean. I’m totally stuck this way now. That’s how I can do what I do, those changes.”

“What happened to this scientist?”

“He died and his place burned down, along with all his papers and equipment. There’s no one left to undo what he did and no way for someone else to know what to do.”

He taps the paper on his desk. “How’d you get involved in this?”

“I volunteered. Didn’t have much of anything going on in my life, no future, so what the hell. That’s all changed. I’ve got things to do now, people I care about, a future, though I’ve got no idea what that is. I know I’ve hurt some people and that I’ve made mistakes but I’m trying to make up for that. No one’s perfect. I did the best I could with the situation I was in.”

“There’s a lot you’re not telling me.”

“You’re right, Coach. I’m not and I likely never will. You already know more than almost everyone else. It’s as much as I can safely say. If it’s not enough, then I’m sorry.”

He returns to his gum, chewing with intensity. “If I let you come back, you gotta promise me that if anything new happens, you’ll let me know. We’ve got … I’ve got too much to lose.”

“I understand. I promise.”

He stands up, the chair banging into the wall behind him. He holds out his hand. “Welcome back, Da Pee!”

I grab his hand and we shake. “Thanks Coach, you won’t regret it.”

“Probably will but that’s okay. Right now, you’re the least of my worries.”

I reach into my bag and remove a cloth wrapped bundle. “About that, this may help.” I hand it to him. He drops it on top of his desk and begins to unwrap it.

“What’s this supposed to …” His eyes grow large as he falls silent, the now unwrapped bundle revealing three medium size uncut diamonds. His head snaps up to look me in the eyes.

“YOU?!”

“I held a few back for emergencies. The gift is to remain anonymous but I wouldn’t let the Y’s Board know too much. That should cover your budget shortfall.”

“Where in hell did you … you’re not going to answer that, are you?”

“Nope. Sorry. I tell people they can have the money or the answer but not both. So far, they’ve all taken the money.”

“It’s human nature. Why didn’t you just give them to me at the beginning?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to bribe you. I knew it’d piss you off.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have taken the diamonds. I’ll keep this between the two of us, Patty. I hope you know how much we all appreciate what you did. That money will help a lot of people. The Women’s Shelter, the counseling programs, the children’s programs, the whole damn Y. You sure you want to stay anonymous?”

“I do. If I didn’t, then I might have to explain where they came from and that might be tricky. Cruz wasn’t far from the truth.”

“Gotcha. Your business, not mine as long as you remember your promise. You gonna make the St. Patrick’s Day Dance?”

“Depends on what happens when I leave this office.”

“He’ll be happy to see you. I know that for a fact.”

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

I see Eric as soon as I open the office door. He’s standing at the far end of the room. Our eyes meet and he smiles, walking towards me. All the other guys act busy but they’re all watching. I can feel my face get warm and my pulse start to race, breathing becomes more difficult. Who turned the heat up?

When he reaches me, he pulls me to him, hugging me fiercely.

“God, Patricia, it’s so good to see you! We were all worried as hell!”

I wrap my arms around his waist and hang on, feeling safe and secure.

“Gretchen told me what you did to try and find me. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I put up a lot of flyers too,” says Cruz. He’s standing right next to us, spoiling the moment. Now, I feel self-conscious. Our arms slip away from each other.

“We all did, Cruz,” says Javier.

“I put up more than you did,” answers Cruz.

“No one was keeping count, fool.”

“AAHHEMMM!”

It was Coach, leaning on the door frame to his office. Cruz and Javier stopped arguing.

“I think you two need a little privacy,” he says, stepping away from the door. Eric reaches out and I take his hand, he leads me towards the office. As we pass Coach, he puts a hand on each of our shoulders, leaning down so that his head was between us.

“Now, don’t you two do anything too … physical in there.”

“Coach, there’s hardly room enough to breathe in there.”

“Patty, compared to some of the places where me and the misses have done it over these many years, that place is like a hotel suite.”

He claps us both on the shoulder a couple of times then gently pushes us towards the door.

Before he closes the door, Javier and Cruz start up again.

“I’m just saying, I spent as much time as Eric handing out those things. I don’t see why he gets all the attention.”

“Yeah Cruz, it was a contest. Whoever put up the most posters gets the girl. Idiot!”

The door clicks shut, closing off their conversation. Eric sits on the edge of the desk, spreading his legs. He pulls me close between his legs, hands resting lightly on my hips. I reach up and drop my arms around his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there, smiling at me. It’s a little unnerving.

“Stop it,” I whisper.

“Stop what?”

“Smiling at me.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Say something. Ask me for an apology or an explanation or something. Everybody else has.”

“Not interested.”

“You don’t care enough to even ask?”

“Nope. I prayed to God that if he brought you home, I’d never ask.” He shrugs. “You’re back. Time for me to live up to my end.”

“What if I just told you without you asking?”

“That’d be cheating.”

“What if I really need to tell you?”

“If you have to, I won’t stop you, but I’m honestly cool with it if you don’t want to.”

“Really?”

“Really. I won’t ever ask. I’m just so glad you’re back home. It’s all I wanted.”

I tighten my grip around his shoulders, nestling a little closer to him. “That’s all you wanted?”

“Yep.”

“I heard you broke up with Claudette. I hope it wasn’t my fault.”

“Not exactly. We had some problems; you disappearing sort of brought it to a head. We might have been able to work it out but she wasn’t interested.”

“If we had problems, would you be willing to work them out?”

“I guess so. You think we’d have problems?”

“No doubt. I’m a born trouble maker. Trouble’s practically my middle name.”

He tightened his grip around my waist ever so slightly.

“I suppose, to be certain about it, I’d need to know if it’d be worth it.”

I slide my hands up to the sides of his head and pull him down to meet my lips as I stretch up to reach his. The kiss is gentle and warm, sweet and lingering. He doesn’t push any harder than I do, letting me show him my skills, which are considerable. Finally, I pull back. Eric slowly exhales.

“Oh yeah,” he quietly gasps, “definitely worth it.”

I let my hands fall from his cheeks and rest on his chest.

“You know that Gretchen and I are close friends, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Really close friends.”

“I know.”

“Really, really close friends.”

“Patricia. I know. I spent a lot of time with her right after you left. We talked about you a lot. A whole lot. She never gave me any details, but I could tell. It was the look in her eyes. She’s a very good person. I understand. Anyone who meets her likes her. Except Claudette, of course.”

“Is that going to be our first problem?”

“No, not right now. We’ll have to see. I’m not used to sharing.”

“How about being shared?”

His eyes widen. “I … I … hadn’t thought about that.”

“We’ll have to see. I understand there’s another dance coming up soon.”

“Yeah, the St. Patrick’s Day Dance. Wanna go?”

“With you?”

“Yes, with me.”

“I can’t wait, as long as it doesn’t conflict with a basketball game. We’re going to win state, you know.”

He leans down and kisses me, this time giving me a sample of his skills. Not bad at all.

“Patricia, I don’t doubt that for a second.”

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

We leave Coach’s office, holding hands. Everyone starts to applaud. It’s embarrassing. I try to let go of Eric’s hand but he won’t release it. Instead, he smiles at me, lifts it to his lips and lightly kisses it.

“I’ll see ya,” he says, finally freeing my hand.

“Later,” I say, then he trots off to start his workout. My eyes follow his thin, muscular frame until he’s lost in the crowd. What an ass. I sigh. Our kids wouldn’t be tall but they’d be built.

“Walk you out?”

The Coach startles me.

“Yeah. Sure.”

We walk out the door and side by side through the building.

“This is a different place, thanks to you,” he says.

“Mom had as much to do with the donation as I did.”

“I’m not talking just about that, though it’s a big deal, no doubt. I mean that, since you came through those front doors months ago, this place has had a different vibe.”

“Vibe? Where’d that come from, the 70’s?”

“Forgive an old man his lingo. You’ve had an impact, that’s a fact.”

We walk through the front double doors and around the corner to where my bike is parked.

“You’re still riding that piece of crap Cruz’s brother sold you? Wait … are those bullet holes?”

I straddle the bike and grab my helmet. “Yeah. How cool is that? Adds all kinds of character, don’t cha think?”

Coach just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m regretting it already. You be careful out there, say ‘Hi’ to your mom for me. I expect to see you both at the next dance.”

I drop the helmet over my head, stomp on the starter and rev the engine until it runs smoothly. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I shout over the rumble. Backing the bike up a couple of feet, I gas it and shoot off, popping just a tiny wheelie as I roar away.

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

I hear the familiar pop and whine of Patricia’s motorcycle a block away. I was hoping she’d get rid of it as soon as we were done but adversity has only made their bond stronger. She spent four times its worth to fix it up. Said it saved her life. I might have known. One look at her room should have told me she’s a collector.

She bursts into the room full of smiles and energy, hugging me as I sit on the living room couch then flopping down into the chair next to me.

“I take it things went well?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Coach Tobey lifted your banishment?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You spoke with Eric Spikeman?”

She grins, her eyes sparkling. “Uh-huh.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“You volunteered to work at the St. Patrick’s Day dance.”

“What did I volunteer for?”

“Whatever you want. Coach knows where the diamonds came from.”

“WHAT?! Patricia, we’d agreed to keep that all quiet! It was YOU who insisted! How could you …”

“Calm down. He’s agreed to keep our secret. I only gave him three from my portion of the reserve. They’ve got cost overruns for the renovation.”

“Already? That didn’t take long. They need a facilities manager with a bit of business sense.”

“Like you?”

“Not like me. I’m retired.”

“You’ll have to do something eventually. Retirement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. When the highlight of your day is 'Judge Judy', it’s time to get a life. Trust me, I know.”

“Why did you have them with you in the first place? I thought the remainders were in the safety deposit box at the bank.”

“I kept a few out for emergencies. I was going to give them to him anyway. The man needs a retirement fund.”

“Even though it’s out of your half, we should discuss it, though you’re right. Coach Tobey certainly deserves it.”

“The man was ready to die for me. I can’t forget that, Mom.”

“I understand, sweetie. Debts must be paid.”

She turns her head to read the section of the newspaper sitting next to me on the couch, then quickly leans forward, snatching it up.

“What are you doing with the Real Estate ads?”

“Just looking, that’s all. There’s a lot wrong with this house and we are just renting it.”

“No, Mother. This is home. I fought like hell to get back here, to get back to school, to the Y. I wanted my life back. The life I knew, with my friends and my family. I gave up everything for this. I’m not moving anywhere.”

“I know, honey, but, as you said, you’ll have to do something eventually. You graduate next year. Change is coming, whether you like it or not.”

“Okay, true, but not right now. I need time to adjust, to fill the holes in my life. I have to discover who Patricia Conner is before deciding what she can become. Please, Mom?”

What can I say? No one really knows what she went through, no one’s ever done it before. She gave so much and accomplished the impossible.

“Alright, baby. We can stay. Maybe we can buy this place and fix it up. The neighborhood’s not bad, very middle class.”

“I’m very middle class. All four parents and eight grandparents were solid middle class. Not counting you, of course.”

Smart ass. I look around the room. “We could get the roof fixed, paint the walls, refinish the floors, renovate the kitchen …”

“Yes! The kitchen! And replace that totally icky wallpaper in the bathroom.”

“Yes, that too.”

She hops out of her chair, smoothing her skirt and flicking her hair aside, as natural as you please. No one would ever suspect or believe the truth. “See, Mom. You’ve got a new project already. We get the place fixed up real nice, get rid of that occasional funky smell …”

“The only funky smell is in your room. The rest of the house is spotless.”

She sticks her tongue out at me, then smiles her million watt smile.

“Eric doesn’t have to work tonight so he’s coming to pick me up and we’re going out to eat and see a movie after he gets off practice. Is that a problem?”

“On a school night?”

“We won’t be late.”

“You’re right, you won’t. You’ve got an eleven thirty curfew.”

“MOM! ME?! A CURFEW?!!”

“It’s more for him than you. Eric needs his sleep. He doesn’t have your advantages. You want him to do well at school, keep up his training, right?”

She frowns at me. “I hate it when you’re right, you know that?”

“You’ve made it quite clear.”

“Fine. Eleven thirty. I’m going up to shower and change. If he gets here before I’m down, don’t embarrass him with a bunch of questions. Pleeeassse.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Thanks, you’re not bad … for a mother.”

She turns and pounds up the stairs, unbuttoning her blouse as she goes. The world owes that girl so much and few will ever know it or of Peter Harris’ sacrifice that made it all possible. I owe him because he gave me a daughter to love and guide. Her potential is enormous, almost incalculable. Peter Harris had a Herculean sense of righteousness but a fluid morality. Jenny Jo was a ball of rage. The Program was all logic and no emotion. Combine all that and I don’t know what you get. Neither does Patricia right now. She’ll need a lot of help in the years to come. God knows I’m not perfect but she’s my responsibility and I’m going to do the best I can.

Debts must be paid.