I Can See For Miles

By Tyrone Slothrop- Fourth Story in the Angelverse

Author’s Note: This is the fourth Angel story and he needed lots of help for this mission. Even when I threw in characters from my previous work into the mix, we still needed more. I then reached out to other authors who had created heroic figures with a similar purpose. You will see a series of works attached to this story, all launching off the same assignment detailed in chapter 20. I can tell you we had fun doing it- Tyrone Slothrop

_____________________________________________________________________

Opening Scene: You Only Hurt The One You Love - Cyberspace and points in reality- May

“WELCOME BACK! LollyPop: Member Class=Voyeur, SELECTION=JOHNNIE TO JILL” scrolled across the all black screen of the laptop.

LollyPop bulged in anticipation, a thin stream of saliva slowly dripping from the corner of his mouth until it was stopped by colliding with the PgDn key. He had made sure his account was paid up at TransTalent website since he did not want to be cut off in the middle of the action.

The video window popped up, quickly resolving into clarity over the broadband connection. LollyPop could see the ‘Domme’ level chat level members select the next humiliation from the script options. The girl in leather towered over the quivering victim. The boy on screen broke into tears when she demanded he wear the offered petticoat.

Lollypop guessed that the ‘Domme’ level members had chosen the little girl dress up theme.

The time was perfect for LollyPop with his parents sound asleep and no school tomorrow. The credit card charges had been buried in his father’s voluminous bill. Dad never checked any item under $100.

The money to move to the next level of membership was beyond his means, so he had to live with the passive observer status his $50 per hour purchased. It was so much more exciting than just reading erotic fiction. They guaranteed that the humiliation was genuine and it sure looked like it.

The message board at the erotic fiction site had led him to an email exchange with someone known as Red_Velvet_Usher. They had recommended he try TransTalent and gave him the passcodes after he had paid $10 for a guest membership.

The borrowed lingerie from Mom’s drawer tight in his grip, LollyPop watched and listened to the pleas of the boy on screen as he whined and complained about the curly wig being settled on his head, the exaggerated blush applied to his cheeks and the patent leather shoes he was told to put on over his tights.

The girl began stroking the boy’s crotch under the petticoats and the boy began to respond despite the hormones he had been administered for the last month. LollyPop could not contain himself anymore. His eyes closed and his hands left the keyboard.

LollyPop would be back as soon as he could. He did not want to miss a week of Johnnie’s relentless feminization and submission. As soon as he could hide the next charge on the credit card.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 1: Angel Accepts The Inevitable- Group Facility, Los Angeles, California- June

The buzz of background conversation died a quick death in the locker room. The figure in black leather and jeans slowly made his entrance.

“Is that him?” the cop said, flipping his blonde hair back over his shoulder and having it fall smoothly down his back, right to the bottom edge of his halter top.

“That’s him. They said he nearly died from his last job. He’s been out for most of a year now.” The second agent replied while he applied mascara to his lashes.

Angel, the man in black, walked haltingly past the vanity tables, the hair dryers and changing areas. He saw reflections of reflections in the multitude of mirrors around the room. He was determined not to stumble as he made his way to the lecture hall.

Primary colors are the source of vision. Some people have the ability to detect fine gradations and shades and others were immune to the differences. Angel felt his senses becoming less discriminating as he aged and wondered if it was the distraction of the mind which comes with increased responsibility or a physical loss.

As he approached thirty, he appeared to have aged little, even to those who knew him well. Five foot seven inches, lean frame and delicate hands with brown hair now covering his shoulder blades.

When they looked closer, his eyes had become colder, harder and more distant, and the skin around them had taken on a grayish pallor. A network of fine lines was apparent, the result of many layers of pain endured and observed.

Frank, his adoptive father, had always said of him. “Angel has the face of a beautiful boy and a pretty girl coupled with the eyes of a Marine Corps sniper on a long mission.”

Angel entered the empty lecture hall, empty save for Bob Angelo, former State Attorney General and now special advisor to the Governor. His impeccable Italian suit contrasted with Angel’s black leather blazer, black tee shirt and jeans.

Bob ran to the edge of the platform to provide a steadying grip as he saw Angel struggling up the stairs.

“Dammit, Angel, Carolyn’s going to kill me! I should have known not to trust you when you said you were well enough to come here today!” Bob said, concern evident in his tone.

“I’m fine Bob, and I need to get out and move. I promise I won’t die on you now.”

“I like the hair, kid. You trying to match your Dad?” Bob smiled, changing the subject. Frank was known for his waist length style.

“Carolyn wanted me to grow it out for the wedding. She said one of us needs to have a real elaborate style for the ceremony.” Angel smiled in reflex at Bob’s expression.

Bob shifted topics again to the matter at hand. “They are all here to see the legend today. We’ve got seven in this group and they all have been on at least one solo operation. Two are city cops, three are state agents, one is a fed and one is an Aussie. They have all passed the trust test. And all are on leave for the next week just to attend your seminar.”

“I assume you are getting out before they show up, right?”

“Of course. Need to know and all that. I just wanted to see you in the flesh. I’ll be watching some from the video feed, but then duty calls. It’s good to have you back, Angel. Give my love to Carolyn and Frank.” Bob broke character for a minute and Roberta emerged to kiss Angel on the cheek, followed by Bob hugging him.

A tear made its way down Angel’s face as he watched the man leave. He remembered looking up at the blue uniform and then Bob’s face as he was rescued from his living hell almost twenty years ago. Bob had gone on to become the Operations Chief for the Group, the role he still held .

Seeing Bob let the Face out. The beautiful face of his tormentor that was normally locked away in his memories. He was twelve again and strapped to a wall. She was taunting him but her voice was silenced. Angel summoned the will and she went away.

The students filed in, wearing outfits ranging from teen pop star to classic cocktail dresses. They broke up into the expected groups, local cops, state guys, with the Fed and the Aussie sort of together. The class structure of law enforcement looked very similar to high school girl’s cliques.

A slow scan of the audience proved to be enlightening. Angel smiled and was impressed by how the agents had responded to his first assignment.

The Group was composed of extremes, not averages. It intentionally set out to find the extraordinary not the ordinary. Many crossdressers (CDs) are not driven by pain and abuse. Many victims of pain and abuse are not CDs. A small percentage of CDs can pass effectively as women and boys. Still fewer are skilled and lethal undercover operatives. But from across the planet, they had found the operatives they needed, never large in number, usually less than the fingers on two hands, backed by others less gifted in beauty but no less committed to the mission.

“Welcome, gentlemen. I am glad to see you all got into the spirit of the opening exercise. I asked you to show yourself as your ‘dream’ persona, the one you enjoy the most. I did that because this may be the last time for a while where you get the freedom to pick your appearance. “ Angel opened the session unexpectedly, speaking in a soft voice which somehow carried over and cut through the chatter.

Angel recognized Britney, Christine, Nicole, the two blondes from the CSI shows, Mariah and one gothic type he could not place but was clearly outstandingly beautiful. The guys were obviously very accomplished at their dressing. They had taken their targets as templates for their appearance and had adapted them to their own features and flaws, creating not a clumsy attempt at an impersonation but a very effective and believable presentation.

All were able to pass as women. All were able to pass as young teen age boys. All were extremely lethal. And all were giggling in character.

Angel walked up to the gothic one with long black hair.

“You’ve got me on this one. It’s very good, but I don’t know the reference.”

“It’s Tarja, she sings for a Finnish metal band, mate” said the diminutive man in the long red coat , black boots with heels and very pale face.

Angel assumed he had found the Aussie. “I like it, Mr. Olsen.”

The man smiled and flipped his hair back in a practiced manner.

Angel painfully moved to the podium, grabbing the sides for support.

“You all have arrived here, in those seats, in this room, at this time because you all have some things in common.

“First- you are the victim of abuse

“Second- you are involved in law enforcement

‘Third — you are known to be capable of applying deadly force

“Last- you are able to withstand a lot of humiliation in undercover work” Angel looked slowly at each of the seven, his gray eyes piercing their poker faces.

“Oh, and it seems that some of us who do this work have the same proclivity in our expanded wardrobes.” Angel said dryly. The tension broke and the group laughed in a distinctly unladylike manner.

“You all know the Group targets predators, the ones who remove innocence, the ones who take joy in using people like us for their entertainment. The ones who create people like us. We work in the realm of justice and recovery, which occasionally departs from the boundaries of the law.” An eerie coldness entered Angel’s voice and infected the recruits like a virus.

“For the next week, I will be sharing my case histories with you, in the hope that some of it might be useful as you lead operations either solo or as a team member. Because of your skills and ability to appear as prey to our target predators, you will frequently be working right in the middle of the action. I managed to stay lucky in that role for eight years, but I should not have to tell you how dangerous it can be every time.”

Angel picked up a remote control, dimmed the lights and started his slides on the room screen.

“Girls, this was one of the more challenging ones….”

Every eye in the room was drawn to the body of the small boy shown in large format. Every one of the agents renewed his motivation for their calling.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 2: High Roller Home Entertainment — Cyberspace and points in reality- June

“Oh my, you’re a big one, Matador: Member Class=Super Stud, SELECT=JOHNNIE TO JILL” scrolled across the wall size projection screen. The man known as the Matador looked out at the city lights of Sao Paolo as he pulled on the shiny black plastic sleeve, mindful of the cables connecting it to his USB port and the separate power supply.

The sensuous woman’s voice soothed him as he closed the Velcro seal around his anticipating member. He always loved hearing her personal touch and was happy he had purchased the most expensive service from TransTalent.

Marge Foley, a grandmother of ten spoke into the microphone in her trademark voice, dripping with bedroom allure. She shifted her two hundred and fifty pounds, creating a cacophony of squeaks from her cheap office chair while she reviewed the account file of “Matador”. Telephone customer service is often a difficult and low paying way to make a living. She was happy to find this job, which paid almost fifty percent more than other ones in the area. The customers were sleazy, but very cooperative.

Matador’s profile showed he liked to reserve ‘private’ sessions, where he alone issued the script commands. As an investor in the parent company he had the distinction of being one of the twenty people in the world with the new PleasureJac units. There was a notation he had taken a particular interest in one young boy but always preceded it with a session with a regular girl before his special time with “Johnnie”. There was also a second notation that he had tried to deviate from the script on several occasions.

Green status bars appeared under the Matador Icon on the control screen, indicating he was physically attached to the PleasureJac and ready for his fun. Marge switched him into the general session.

Darla, the first girl in the rotation, appeared in a provocative pose on Matador’s wall screen. The scripts in these sessions were straightforward and most clients dispensed with any verbal interaction.

Darla began the rituals of admiring the PleasureJac unit in front of her. From the customer’s point of view, the camera panned down on her face and the PleasureJac interface appeared where his own member would be if he were present in the room with her.
Matador remained silent as Darla cooed and began to get serious. With every touch of her tongue on the unit in front of her kneeling body, Matador felt a corresponding pressure and moistness inside his device. As he expanded , so did Darla’s unit.

Time suspended until he achieved release. He opened his eyes and saw Darla’s smiling face, her tongue licking the sides of her mouth.

Matador touched the key sequence which signaled customer satisfaction. He was now ready for tonight’s real entertainment, his evening with Johnnie. There, the full hour of precious inflicted humiliation and release would be his.

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

Therapist Private Journal- George Romany MD: Patient: ANGEL-Excerpts From Therapy Analysis

I group these culmination points under titles of my own romantic whimsy. I have no recollection of their significance at the time -GR

“Spring Is The Season of Recovery”-

We see Angel as a shadowy undercover operative, a cop of a State Agency , but also working for our shadowy organization called “The Group”. He is expert at passing as a vulnerable teenager, although he is in his early 20s. When on certain missions to penetrate “forced fem” sadists operations, he kills without mercy.

He is very much a hollow man, driven by revenge and desire to inflict pain on oppressors. The opposite of Stockholm syndrome. If you ever saw Exodus, the movie, the Sal Mineo character, the concentration camp survivor, reminds me of him.

His history is his mother abused him, with a distinct leaning to feminization and sexual abuse, and then sold him to a Domme type woman who planned to make him a sex toy for sale. She used a cattle prod on him as part of the ‘petticoat discipline’, coupled with an unending stream of ‘men are evil, vile creatures’.

At age 12 he was rescued by a street cop, Bob Angelo, who turned him over to Frank and Samantha to raise outside the foster care system. Bob and Frank are the founding members of the Group, and this was their first rescue. All members of the group are related to law enforcement and are victims of abuse, usually feminization. Angel finds unconditional love in the Group. He regards Frank as his Father. (Frank is a committed crossdresser, as are about forty percent of Group members)

“Winter is the Season of Endings”

We now see Angel on an operation, taking out a Judge and Madam J, a woman so ridiculous yet vile she is a real life parody of extreme TG fiction.
Angel is 25, and in his prime. He tries showing mercy for the first time as he sets up Madam J in her New England mansion for kidnap charges and lets the justice system have her committed. He is still a bit sociopathic when confronting oppressors.

We also observe Angel as adopting roles in his life, male or female, and never caring about who he really is. He appears as either sex as required or on a whim. And given his size and build, is very effective.

“Lamb And Lion”

Angel in his late 20s. He defuses a classic “dominate the poor CD, take his money and have him raped” badger game. He has evolved his mentality to a search for redemption in his targets. He hopes they give up their villainy before he has to kill them. He seems to begin enjoying dressing as a woman, in fact, he resembles “Carrie” from “Sex and the City” rather much. He is leaning towards his softer side. At the end of this story, he meets his future wife by chance on the plane home. Angel is getting tired of hate and wants some peace, love and companionship, like Frank and Samantha, his adoptive parents had.

Today-

He now has something to lose, people he loves, which is the kiss of death for a stone cold undercover operative who needs to do anything to achieve his goal. He needs to retire, but circumstances and the threat of many real and potential victims ‘drags him back in”

Who is Angel?

Angel is a series of masks. One day he may find one that does not come off. Undercover people end up with variable identities, and occasionally end up with no core persona, just a series of masks. If you had lost your base personality, or hated it, and had the build and facial features to be whichever sex you would chose, the choice becomes fascinating. Why wouldn't you appear as a woman? It's so much more fun than putting on a male mask. Especially since the victims of sexual abuse occasionally are not very active sexually as compensation. They have lost the ability to trust.

Imagine Carrie of the TV show Sex and City who is really male, can look female at will, is deadly with any weapon , skilled in martial arts, has no fear of humiliation, no compunction about causing pain or death, and believes in Justice as more important than the Law.

He can only find relief from his own pain by rescuing others like himself in pain. He has no fear of his own death. He has a high moral code, and is uncompromising. A beautiful samurai who reveres his saviors.

End Journal entry- GR

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

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 3 : The Love Of A Good Woman —Beach House, Malibu, California- June

The surf crashed quietly on the beach, the sounds removed by the mural sized glass overlooking the Pacific. The house had belonged to Carolyn’s family since the nineteen thirties, and looked very unprepossessing, almost ramshackle from the Pacific Coast Highway north of Santa Monica. The interior was thoroughly modern and was probably the fourth or fifth total tear down and rebuild. The value of real estate right on the beach this near Los Angeles tended to make the exterior appearance irrelevant.

The kitchen was magnificent, one of the best Angel had seen. Simple yet well laid out, with top notch equipment, restaurant grade. Dinner preparations consumed his immediate attention, his tactical awareness was always on, scanning the room for any minute change, while his mind was roaming his life for the last year.

Angel knew he had succumbed. He was in desperately in love. It scared him beyond words. He saw himself as a twelve year old boy again, enduring the pain. And the Face.

Flashback- earlier that day

The dinner celebrated Angel’s recovery from the grenade blast that had almost killed him. The seminar for the Group, his first venture outside this house alone in six months had finished at noontime on Friday, to allow most of the agents to catch flights home. He planned to go shopping on his way home.

Trevor Olsen, the Australian, came up beside him after class.

“So a romantic dinner with your Sheila tonight, Angel?” asked the small agent, now dressed in sports jacket and jeans for his long flight home tonight, his black hair pulled back and clasped at his neck. At five feet tall, he made Angel feel like a giant.

“I think I may be as much Sheila as she is tonight, Trevor. We are both celebrating in a way.” Angel said with a sly smile.

“In that case, mate, I have some time and you have all the facilities here, let me help.”

Trevor had grown up in a family of hairdressers, father, mother and four sisters and he had kept his skills current. Angel realized that no matter how he was dressed, he was going to the fish market and then home en femme. When Trevor pulled out the foot long rods, long, soft spiral curls fell past Angel’s shoulders. Angel decided to add some light makeup and just gave in to the overall look.

After dropping Trevor off at LAX, he pointed the black H2 north and headed back to Malibu. Standing in line at the fish market while Nguyen selected a fillet of Hawaiian Ono, he could feel the looks from the men in the crowd. Nguyen gave him a wide smile as he exchanged cash for the packaged fish. Angel shifted his responsive smile and adjusted his hand mannerisms to full girl mode. He wished he had his breast prostheses on, but knew he could carry it off without them.

Ever since he was very young, people had viewed Angel and made assumptions about his gender, and were usually wrong. His painful history created a person quite flexible in what image he chose to present to the world.

A quick stop at the jewelers came before he pulled the SUV into the garage of the beach house. Angel threw himself in preparing his appearance and the food for the perfect evening.

Treating his new curls with extreme care, he washed and shaved his body. The red puckering in nine areas on his stomach and left side showed the remnants of his encounter with the explosive fragments, and the pain from twisting his torso offered constant evidence that the muscles were still knitting.

The long convalescence had not managed to add more than a thin, soft layer of fat to his abdomen, not enough to increase his dress size. While he was applying the adhesive for his breasts, he thought back to his first encounter with Carolyn, over two years ago.

Flashback- two years ago

They had met on a plane to Denver, and Angel had been in his Carrie mood, looking like he had just stepped off the set of Sex And The City. Carolyn had been attracted to the brunette, which was unusual for her, since she preferred men.

Angel had made an appearance at her condo a month later, in his best English tailored suit. After some incredulity and despite all her instincts, Carolyn let him in, thinking the story was insane. Looking at Angel, in his most handsome male persona, she could see the face and mostly the eyes were indeed the same as the ones she had asked to visit.

The attraction she felt from their first meeting endured, and Carolyn partially opened herself to him. They dated warily at first, since neither wanted to reveal their lives completely, more from long habit than mistrust of the other.

There were frequent absences. Angel’s accumulated leave from the State Attorney’s office expired and he had to return to California. Carolyn’s law practice had many confidential clients and she made house calls.

Carolyn was a committed fighter for women’s issues, specifically focused on abuse and child support. Living off trust funds from her mother who had died before Carolyn finished law school, she was estranged from her remarried father, whose neglect she believed had led to her mother’s death in a car accident. She had a step brother she had never seen. She was an orphan by choice.

Carolyn was mystified by the dangerous man who appeared so confident, so distant as a male yet so vulnerable and attentive as a female. She sensed a reserve, a series of layers shielding him, yet also a desire to peel them away for her and only her.

Carolyn knew Angel was a senior agent for the state, and was a trained police officer. She also knew he was an undercover specialist and frequently took extreme risks. He had not told her about his extra role for the Group, but planned to reveal it at the right time.

Flashback- one year ago

Carolyn met and was immediately adopted by Frank, Angel’s father. Frank , his body weakened by his battle with a rare endocrine disorder, welcomed her with unconditional love.

Carolyn, often ill at ease with father figures, found Frank’s waist length hair, casual housedress and feminine curves quite a change from her expectations. Janice Peters, his doctor and companion explained the side effects of the therapy she had used to hold his disease at bay, as well as Frank’s relationship with Angel.

The two women had been on the lower deck which overlooked the Frank’s beloved river, watching the windsurfer’s sails colorfully moving across the water. Angel and Frank were inside the house making dinner, having banished the females from the kitchen. Janice poured a glass of wine for Carolyn and told her the story of Angel’s years of abuse, his sale by his mother to a woman who specialized in sadistic feminization of young boys, his rescue by a policeman who asked Frank and his then still living wife Samantha to take him in.

“He just told me he had a difficult childhood and did not know where his parents were.” Carolyn said, tears running down her cheeks as she grasped Janice’s outstretched hand.

“Carolyn, they may look pretty and act like a woman at times, but underneath it all, Angel and Frank are men. They hold it together by not discussing the painful past, even with themselves. Angel knew I would fill you in and felt it was better this way. I have known him since he was twelve and he has never discussed this with anyone. Take it as a positive thing that he would even allow you to know, even if he cannot tell you himself.” Janice said, her eyes following Carolyn’s shifting expressions of horror and sadness.

Present

Angel’s mind came back to the present. Carolyn was due home in two hours, and he wanted to have most of the dinner prepared. He put on his bra and padded panties, threw on a robe and went into the kitchen. Busying himself with the details of the meal, he attempted to avoid the overwhelming emotions which coursed through him.

The menu of mesquite butter dripped grilled Hawaiian Ono, a firm and flavorful whitefish, thinly sliced zucchini and butternut squash with garlic and herbs, oven roasted, and garlic mashed potatoes with a cold gazpacho soup required some preparation so he could just grill, bake and heat when Carolyn came home. He selected a vintage Chassagne Montrachet for chilling.

Satisfied all the food was ready, he began to get dressed. While he was doing his face for the evening, he smiled at Carolyn’s ready acceptance of his dressing habits. It was so rare and precious, to be accepted unconditionally. He was forced to redo his eyes once the tears ended their flow.

Carolyn worked with many organizations allied with her causes, and many of the players were antithetical to men, a few with some justification, many with none. For Carol to have attached herself to a traditional boyfriend would have resulted in strains in those key relationships, which she felt would have prevented her from helping those in need. It had caused her to avoid getting close to several men in the past.

She found herself attracted to Angel in any persona, easing the way for him to create the subtle pretense that she was dating a woman. The sheer delight in her expression when the rumor spread that she was a lesbian, especially since her father despised the idea, was enough incentive for Angel to embrace the role.

He blinked and his mind switched back again. Dinner. Getting Dressed. A loose fitting slip slid over his scars. Garter belt and stockings. He grinned as he found his black cocktail dress still fit. Sandals with heels. He surveyed the effect in the mirror and was pleased. Dressing for another was a new experience. He could not categorize the feeling that followed the thought, it was new and of strange composition.

Opening one of the cases from the jeweler, he winced in pain as he reached behind his neck to fasten the pearl necklace. He inserted the matching earrings and applied a musky scent.

As he held up the three unopened jeweler’s boxes, he roamed back to his last mission.

Flashback-six months ago

It was a State mission , but the Group was interested. There was a sting going down at a crossroads just across from the Mexican border. People were smuggling hookers into Mexico, or rather selling them to people running empty trucks back from bringing illegals into the US. The tip indicated that the cargo was a mixture of a few women and several young boys.

He was supposed to observe the Feds take the truck down. Just as the ten federal agents were approaching on the van, another truck came up and began firing at them. A grenade was thrown at the observer position. Angel pushed the other agent to safety, taking the blast himself, only partially shielded by a car door. He saw the van carrying the human cargo explode before he lost consciousness.

Rescue was slow and his gut was lacerated by fragments from the grenade and the car door. He spent months undergoing several surgeries. Janice and Frank had come down and taken over his care, along with Bob, George and other Group members. Spider Robertson, who ran rackets on the waterfront in several coastal towns, and his sister Clementine, sat vigils along with many other friends.

Carolyn surprised herself by literally shutting down her practice and turning it over to colleagues. She moved to her family home in Malibu and never left Angel’s side. A line of demarcation, one of reserved intimacy was abandoned, defenses scattered. Surrender to her feelings for him was unconditional.

Angel had proposed from his hospital bed after his last surgery looked to be successful, using a ring he had Spider acquire for him. His mind was crystal clear from the brush with death, and he reacted to it by grasping for her. Carolyn held him so tightly he had several stitches pop, but he never felt it. She had said yes.

The Malibu beach house became his new quarters with Carolyn nursing him, relieved by any number of Angel’s friends. They agreed to postpone the wedding plans until Angel was back on his feet.

Mending came slowly but still Angel gradually took over the care of the house while urging Carolyn back to work He took comfort in the simple pleasures of supporting her life, keeping her house, bringing her joy.

Carolyn enjoyed the pampering and attention. She still felt the reserve, the hidden person was yet to be revealed, but love flowed through the layers.

He knew he had been postponing a painful decision. Bob Angelo’s asking him to run the seminar had triggered Angel’s choice. Five days of dredging through his case histories with the new agents had clinched the call. He was done with field work. The ledger was balanced and for the first time in his life he believed he could move beyond the pain and revenge.

Present

Once more, Angel snapped back to the present as he heard the garage door opening. He checked his appearance and poured a glass of the Chassagne Montrachet.

The kitchen door from the garage opened and Carolyn breezed in.

“Angel! My God! You look great!” Carolyn dropped her briefcase, took the offered wineglass and set it down, grabbing Angel gently into her arms and kissing him fully and deeply. She was normally an inch taller than Angel, but his heels evened up the height difference.

“I love your hair! It’s been so long since I saw you this way!” Carolyn was attempting not to hurt her lover by squeezing him too tightly.

Angel backed up, absentmindedly arranging his long spiral curls.

“I love those pearls babe. Are they new?” Carolyn’s eye honed in to the necklace and then the earrings.

Angel smiled and handed Carolyn two jeweler’s gift boxes. He sat Carolyn down as she opened the matching necklace and earring set. Taking the necklace, he kissed her just below her ear, his warm tongue meeting her skin softly, rhythmically. After time began to flow once more, he slowly drew the string of milky white orbs around her, bringing the apex to it’s perfect resting place just above her slowly rising cleavage.

“I have a dinner to prepare, my dear lady. Please come back in twenty minutes.” Angel stood back from the entranced Carolyn, who appeared to have partially melted in her chair.

The Ono was superb, flaky and delicate, and garlic mashed potatoes were Carolyn’s favorite. Angel had removed his apron and sat watching the woman he loved enjoy his food. The relationship forced learning on him, the sharing of small pleasures, the joy of giving, that not all sacrifices need be done with blood.

After nibbling at his food, he waited for Carolyn to finish. He placed the last wrapped jeweler’s box on the table in front of her.

Angel’s eyes were uncharacteristically full of tears, and had lost their penetrating gaze. Carolyn had never seen him trembling before. The sight of fierce emotional control fighting a losing battle in the person she loved was physically painful.

Angel finally gave in to sobbing, cradling himself with his own arms. He did not resist Carolyn’s rush from her chair and embrace. The two became one, emotions diffusing between them, strength and comfort joining together.

Some time later, sitting on the couch, staring at the black surf crashing on the gray beach, Angel spoke.

“I have to tell you things about myself, Carolyn. And I am afraid I will lose you. I have never felt fear like this before.”

Carolyn shook and looked at Angel carefully. “Angel, Janice told me…”

Angel shook his head and Carolyn became quiet.

“Janice told you the truth, but not everything. I’m going to tell you something that puts a lot of people at risk. You need to know it. If you still want me after you hear this, I will be happy to present you this ring all over again. “

Angel explained the Group, and his role in it. He explained his use of deadly force, his going beyond the law and why he did it.

Carolyn’s face shaded ashen as he described the victims he had rescued and the ones he had failed to help in time.

“Angel, you have done things I’ve wanted to do with the scum who hurt my women. Give me the damn ring you fool! Did you think I would possibly think less of you for saving those kids? Yes I still want to marry you, now more than ever.”

Carolyn began slowly disrobing Angel while he looked into her eyes with relief mixed with equal parts of sadness and passion. He held her face and kneaded the tension from her neck with the touch of his fingertips. He began to work his hands into her very short hair’s gentle little curls while cooperating one arm at a time in her slow removal of his cocktail dress.

Much later Angel was holding the sleeping Carolyn. For the first time in his life he felt the pain of his past recede to a state of memory without feeling. He was overcome by the simple fact that he now had something to keep, to hold.

“Thank you” came from his mouth, barely audible. Carolyn shifted in her sleep, a smile on her lips.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 4: Boy In The Iron Bra — Location Unknown- June

The room was oddly furnished, all soft cushions and wall coverings. There was no furniture other than pillows of differing degrees of firmness. The television screen was in a corner and a speaker grill was embedded in the wall. Magazines lay scattered in the corner. The door to the bathroom remained locked unless he asked permission in a particular way, which seemed to change randomly. He had no control over the images on the screen or the audio. He knew he was being watched.

He sat cross legged in a yoga position, eyes closed to the barrage of pornographic visuals and sounds of animal pleasure. Johnnie Tunturo retreated into his imaginary sanctuary, the memory of his summer at his family’s house on Chincoteague Island, Virginia.

He estimated he had been here for three months, but had no way of telling. They had subjected him to drugs and varying day and night cycles to disorient him as soon as he was captured. That was the easy part, when they were breaking him.

Precocious, brilliant and fifteen years old, Johnnie cursed the day he had entered the transgendered chat room. His boarding school environment had isolated him socially, causing him to explore the on line world. The stories had been interesting, at least the ones which were not written just for the sake of masturbation. He had met many people on line who were friendly and some even sent him stories to review.

Trojan horses. Those files, once safely past his firewall, had one purpose. Find out who and where he resided from the data on his computer and send it out through the chat software.

Johnnie fled from the world he was in. The world where he was now addicted to morphine or heroin or some kind of derivative. The world where he was being fed a significant dosage of female hormones, enough so he now had breasts and hips and frequent bouts of tears and emotional swings. The world where all he ever saw was his face electronically overlaid on women in porno movies which showed almost non stop in his room. A world where he was an expert in giving performances of being humiliated by feminization. A world where he sucked a cock-like appliance, the PleasureJac, on demand, just to get his supply of narcotics when the ‘customer’ ejaculated on their end of the electronic linkage.

Johnnie retreated and turned himself over to Jill. Jill was his protector, his savior. He took over and sucked, squealed, whined and begged through all the performances required of him. Jill had begun to emerge during the early days, his days of deepest depression, when he realized there was no escape. Jill loved being feminized. Jill loved the new breasts and was ecstatic when they gave him implants for a D cup. He loved the drugs the PleasureJac delivered, and the release and numbness they brought.

Jill especially loved the ‘humiliation sessions’. It was like being on stage. He had lines, the girl who commanded him had lines, all displayed on disguised teleprompters the netcams could not see. Each session was a script, with menu options. He was always the poor boy, being feminized against his will. The girls were captives, or just willing participants who assumed this was just another porn operation.

Johnnie, before he had just ceded the process to his alter ego, recognized the scripts and even the writing style of the several sessions. He had read the stories on the site. The dialogue was awful and quite repetitive. And the scenes all had a terrible sameness to them. Whether it was petticoats or girdles, tittering over his new ‘boobies’, telling him what a great little cocksucker he would be, making him wear ridiculous wigs, it was all the same. He whined and cried and always ended up giving oral gratification to someone on the other side of the network linked PleasureJac.

Johnnie, as he sat in his mental refuge, working on problems in analytical geometry, writing poetry, and other things he could do without touching the real world, sat and stared at the memory of the Atlantic Ocean beyond the inlet which his imaginary refuge viewed. He had a list of names of TG fiction authors, and people who ran sites and people in chat rooms. If he ever got out, he would find them. And they would know his name and it would be their last new thought.

His captors had been quite open with him once they determined he was ‘broken’ sufficiently. He was a performer. The better he did , the more he would avoid punishment. They did not care if he liked it or not, just how well the audience loved him. If he attracted and kept a following, he would get fed and his dosage of narcotics would be maintained. All communication was through a disembodied voice.

They had him perform for three or four hours a day and just ignored him the rest of the time. He was required to exercise on a treadmill, he was fed. He never saw a male image the entire time. The only people he saw were the girls who performed with him, and then only when they opened his cell and took him to the ‘studio’.

Johnnie knew the hormones would thoroughly feminize him past the point of being a good ‘humiliation’ victim. Then he would be an inadequate girl, and there were plenty of real girls available for that kind of ‘show’. His career here had definite limits.

Marla came through the door.

“Jillie! We have a show in fifteen minutes! You want a ciggie?” Marla asked. She was somewhat plain, but dressed provocatively and heavily made up. Her black hair fell to her waist.

Johnnie receded almost completely. Jill opened his eyes and smiled at Marla.

“Thank God! Gimme one now or I’ll have fit!” Jill smiled and rose. Marla handed him the starting wardrobe for the evening’s performance. Jill was only allowed a bra and panties in his cell.

Lighting up the Marlboro, Jill asked “What’s the plot tonight? Cheerleader masquerade again?”

“Substitute Prom Queen. The gown is gorgeous. I get to be the doting mother. We have three shows, all sold out. You are one of the most popular recurring attractions on the circuit, I’m told.” Marla exhaled, emitting a cloud of bluish smoke.

“You got the shakes yet, sweetie?” Marla asked, surveying Jill. She knew how the drug worked from personal experience.

“No. But I can feel them coming. By the end of the first show I’ll be sucking that Jac for all I can. I guess that’s what they want.” Jill answered, neutral to the situation. He just didn’t care. Johnnie was safe inside his head.

“The owner told me to tell you something. She thinks you are enjoying it too much. She wants you to be more humiliated. That’s what she’s selling.” Marla said, a pleading look in her eyes.

“All this to make me a good little cocksucker and she wants me to feel humiliation . All I can feel is the dope. And that’s all I care about. Ok, I’ll do more whining. How convincing can it be with these fucking hooters they gave me?” Jill said wearily.

Marla led him out to the studio area. The show would begin soon.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 5: Wedding Belle Blues — Malibu, California- June

“Splendid!” was a trademark, a sign, a claiming essence that she left drilled into anybody’s forebrain who had encountered her. The platinum blonde hair did not merely fall to her mid back, it flowed in waves, caressing the hot pink suit which in turn gave clear display to her pronounced curves. When she entered a room, her presence demanded recognition. Her five foot height was of no consequence in her natural ability to be the center of attention.

The click of her heels, the movements of her skirted hips, the thrust of her breasts were a sideshow to her vocal dominance of whatever area she chose to inhabit.

“This is Splendid!, simply Splendid! This place is going to be very Splendid!” Miss T, who Angel knew as Tommie and everyone else knew as her Ladyship Maria Teresa Tomasina Windsor-Hockney insisted everyone call her Tess or Miss T in her professional capacity. She glided up to Angel and Carolyn inside the chapel of the prestigious university. The view of the ocean and green grass covered cliffs contained no roads, cars or buildings, just a large stylized cross.

“Tommie! I’m so glad you’re here!” Angel rushed up to the pink package of energy and picked her up, letting her legs dangle off the floor. She responded by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him on the lips.

“I wouldn’t miss your wedding if I had to crawl through broken glass, Angel. And to be your wedding planner is Splendid! Now introduce me to your lady, you doofus.” Miss T lit a 3000 watt smile as Angel gently set her down.

Carolyn was conscious of towering over the diminutive impish woman. After introductions Miss T shooed Angel away and took Carolyn outside.

“Call me Tess, Carolyn, or I’ll get very upset. The Miss T thing is for the tabloids and the gossip sections. I am going to tell you all about me because I know the big lug you’re marrying wouldn’t say an extra word if you were pulling his hair out.” Miss T held Carolyn’s hand as they sat on the outdoor bench, a clear windless sky with just a few puffy white clouds far away setting the scene.

“Now I know all about you from when ‘Gel called me out of the blue the other night. So let me even things up. He calls me Tommie because that’s was my name when I was a boy. We were both the property of that viscous bitch when we were kids. Bob Angelo got us both out of there, but I was too injured from her ‘persuasion’ methods. Cattle prods do nasty things to tender parts. So I’ve been a girl since then.

“The rest you know about if you read the trashier papers, Lord Herman, who was so fascinated with me being transsexual, he became one himself, made our marriage a bit awkward, since there couldn’t be two Lady Windsor-Hockneys in the same place. Now the tabs never did find out about my little conversion, so they focused all of their shots at poor Hermoine, the dear. She gained so much weight from the stress, it’s a shame.

“So here I am, and I have my happy new life and boyfriend and I can’t believe you let the groom pick a wedding planner! So, between us girls, I will understand completely if you want to use someone you know. I’m only here because I love that man of yours more than I can say. He saved my life when things were very dark.”

Fire hoses could learn from Miss T’s normal volume of word flow. Carolyn blinked several times and found it impossible to dislike this pink bundle of motion.

“Tess, it would be wonderful to have your help. I have no family and only a few friends to come, and I think Angel is in the same position. So we were thinking of a small ceremony and reception.” Carolyn smiled widely and clasped both of Tess’s hands.

“I have been having visions of that lovely man in a wedding gown since he called, I must admit. Have you considered dual ceremonies? Maybe at the party after the main rehearsal? I’ll buy him one just for my own fun.” Miss T said.

Carolyn laughed. “I’ve been having the same thought. I know Angel assumes we will do a traditional ceremony, but I did make him grow out his hair just in case I could twist his arm on this. This is great! I get my big day and still get to see him as a blushing bride a few days before. I’ll even slick back my hair and wear a tuxedo for that.”

“But a tuxedo with a skirt, if I know Angel. He will want to see those legs, dear. Have you discussed who’s what when in terms of bride, groom, vows and things dear?” Miss T asked with a coy look on her face.

“He loves the idea of marriage, but struggles with what it means to him. I asked him about vows and he looked at me with a puzzled face as if it had never occurred to him. When I showed him some bridal gowns, I knew he was looking at them for himself, mentally trying them on, just like I was. I love the man but he is maddening.” Carolyn shocks herself at sharing this concern.

“That’s ‘Gel. He carries a lot of pain and hides it from himself. When we were together as captives, he took so much pain for me and just stuck it inside, it must be buried in there still.

“You’ve got a treasure there, Carolyn, but he’s like one of those Russian dolls, the ones that nest inside each other? He cannot open to you because he has lost himself I think. And a vow requires he either find it or pick one of his faces to make that vow. But he’s worth it!” Miss T exclaimed.

“You must meet my boyfriend Turk, he runs a restaurant and catering service. We’ll have you two over for dinner.” Tess said.

Carolyn and Tess spent the afternoon chattering away about the wedding, life , love and men. Angel looked on and smiled.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 6: River Deep Mountain High — Northern California, Somewhere in the High Sierras -June

The cool air blew across the pine needle covering in front of the lodge. The air in the high Sierras had a clean, dry flavor. Lady Jean Thomas loved afternoons like this one. Steve Dunbar walked alongside, his huge mass dwarfing the Mistress of the Lodge. His tattoos were plainly visible on his thick forearms sticking out from his black tee shirt.

“It is not coincidence Jean. I don’t believe we can miss pickups for three girls in the last two months. Someone knew we were coming and got to them first.” Steve rumbled quietly. He had acquired the utmost respect for and loyalty to Lady Jean Thomas in the last five years. The former biker, gang member, ex con, and oil rigger had settled into her employ as head of ‘Security Services” since Jean had sheltered his children when they were in danger.

Since then, he had aided her in her mission of providing shelter for abuse victims, usually young girls who had nowhere else to go. Lady Jean used her wealth to run a series of shelters, but the ‘extreme cases’ she kept at her home in the remote Sierra Nevada Mountains. Now, there were three girls in residence, two with small children.

“Could their parents or husbands have taken them away?” Jean asked, holding her sweater against the chill which had entered the breeze.

“Let’s just say we had a spirited discussion with them. And , yes they are intact, mostly. My best read is that they had nothing to do with the girls’ disappearance. “

“Do you have anything to go on?”

“We have a neighbor who said she saw a Cable TV truck just sitting around the house the day before and the day of the disappearance, I have some friends checking it out. I know the parents have not notified the police she is missing. That’s it for now.” Steve said, a determined tone threading through his voice.

Lady Jean looked up at the deck and saw a young woman playing with a pair of toddlers. Her long black hair fluttered in the breeze, and Jean could see the smile on her face from quite a distance.

“I see Carol is doing the day care shift again. She always changes the rotation so she gets to play with the children.” Jean laughed pleasantly.

Steve smiled. Carol was his daughter, now the senior staffer running the lodge. A very accomplished eighteen year old. His son Toby was seven now, and attended Flora’s Fundamental School two hours away down the mountain in Filler. He stayed with a couple there when Carol or Steve could not break away to bring him back to the lodge. The whole little town adopted him on those nights when he stayed over, and Terri and Joelle had become his favorite Aunts. It had been a good five years for the Dunbar family.

“Steve, I am going to attend a wedding down in Malibu in two months. A good friend has found a most amazing young man. She has done a lot of legal work for our organization in the past. I will be gone for four or five days.” Lady Jean announced.

“Then I am coming with you. Something is funny and I want you covered. I’ll leave Pablo in charge here.” Steve announced back.

Jean Thomas knew she would not win this argument, and really did not want to. Steve was good company and she had made her share of enemies.

“Meanwhile, there are no ‘extreme cases’ on the horizon for now, and I am comfortable that Pablo is quite capable to keep the shelters secure and react to any problems that come up. And this place is more secure than ever, especially since we got those SAMs.” Steve continued.

Jean looked at the rocks and could still see the remnants of bullet impacts from a gun battle five years ago. They had also used helicopters that day and she always learned from her mistakes. There would be no undefended aerial assault again. She also knew that there were at least four very formidable security men somewhere around the lodge, rotating from their assignments guarding her shelters and providing escort to her charges.

She had made quite certain that every man in her employ was a father or a brother of a girl, and exuded a natural protectiveness. It was just one last thing to make sure they understood her mission. Steve had heartily concurred.

“Steve, find those girls. I don’t care how much you have to spend to track them down. I have a very bad feeling about this.” Jean said as Steve ushered her inside.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 7: Bored Room Meeting — Promisense Headquarters, Lake Tahoe, Nevada- June

If you have never worked in a major corporation there is no effective way to describe the feeling of the major executive review. Imagine huge bundles of ego and insecurity, driven by power and winning all gathered in a place where the rules are boredom, sameness, predictability and ritual. All gains or losses can only come by clever and subtle reaction, never overt action.
No decisions will be made, they are either already made and merely being revealed or are to be formally declared deferred. Briefings contain no new information, they merely serve to condemn everyone to mutual knowledge, so that when things go wrong, all are equally culpable, hence no one is culpable.

The greatest faux pas, the biggest indiscretion is to surprise. It has been done, but is a risky gambit. To deviate from the Agenda is to move the group to uncharted territory, where career moves and gaming the outcomes have not been carefully plotted.

Springing a surprise immediately makes the springer the active enemy of the entire room. Adrenaline flows, glances fly to search for allies, papers get shuffled.

Adrian Beimbeau had just performed a coup. The surprise which was not a surprise. Ord Stonewell, the CEO of Promisense had agreed privately to his breach of etiquette by bringing his report to the meeting. Adrian assumed Stonewell wanted to send a signal to the others that change was imminent. Change in personal power, the only currency which mattered.

Adrian had just told them their entire foundation was in peril.

It was not in peril from the competition. It was not in peril from the police or the courts or even the government.

Promisense was in the entertainment business. Headquartered in Lake Tahoe, Nevada, Ord Stonewell had built an empire based upon quality adult entertainment. Magazines, movies, internet sites and legal prostitution. Stonewell and his company had withstood several federal and state attempts to prove linkages with illegal activity, which he had survived by taking extreme care to keep Promisense firmly in the gray zone of the law, right up to the edge but never over it.

He also made sure no one climbed the corporate ladder without leaving a trail of incriminating evidence he alone possessed. Ord’s favorite movie was the Godfather. “It’s not personal, just business” was the operative mantra.

All of the executives at the table were unmistakably normal people. They coached sports teams for their children, they ran scout troops, were active in the PTA and the Red Cross. Normal suburban dads and moms. Most were experienced at business operations and were heavily credentialed with MBAs, MS in Finance, consulting pedigrees and solid resumes. Promisense was a business like any other business, with multiple markets, channels of distribution, product development and financing issues. They did not view themselves as evil, just delivering a product to meet demand. A legal product. Of course, the laws in some countries were somewhat fluid, which was convenient. They all knew about crossing into the gray area.

All the executives were normal, except Adrian. Ord Stonewell had seen something in him, something he found close to himself. Adrian loved the business, he loved the process, the excitement and he hated the gray line between legal and illegal. Adrian had been assigned to ‘special projects’ last year and the others had assumed he had fallen from favor.

His sudden appearance electrified the room. His presentation was staggering.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. The early results of Project FutureCon are quite promising. They show that revenues for most of your divisions will be substantially reduced, or rather subsumed into the new marketspace created by PleasureJac and it’s offspring.”

Adrian drew energy from the palpable fear and loathing emanating from the seven other Senior Vice Presidents. The Chief Financial Officer looked as if she had swallowed a lemon flavored sponge. Ord Stonewell had an enigmatic and humorless expression on his face.

“The technology is quite simple and yet only very recent advances in bioelectronics and emerging nanotechnology embedded in modern polymers has truly enabled us to create a viable alternative to the vaginal environment. The PleasureJac works under the control of local software on a moderately powered home computer, and we are close to a model which requires little tech support and sustains an acceptable operational life between failures. It does require a broadband internet connection for the master unit at the entertainment node to drive the action at the customer’s home.

“And before you can ask, Cynthia, yes, the women’s model is under development. It seems the female focus groups are much ‘pickier’ about how it performs. We have gone to eliminating the male at the master control entirely and are using pure computer control for the best effect. The male is out of the control loop and serves as eye candy only. It allows us to select performers on looks alone, not performance. We are about six months away from getting the perfect sequence, my test team tells me. Of course, I should examine their incentive scheme; they may be having too much fun in development.” Adrian paused, allowing the audience to laugh at the joke.

“We are building a world where a man can go to a prostitute on line, get a blowjob and eventually with the next generation, have intercourse, all in the privacy of his home or office, and all he has to do is dispose of the plastic insert to his PleasureJac unit. No AIDS, no SARS, no clap, no catching a cold. No cops. No pimps. No missing wallet. He can even record the file and replay it. And she or he will do what he wants, as long as he stays within the script. If he wants a Brazilian girl with a mustache, I’m sure somebody will have a site which will deliver her.”

“My God, Beimbeau, how do we control this?” one of the VP’s asked, sweat beads on his upper lip.

Adrian smiled. Ord Stonewell’s face let out a small grin.

“We don’t, Steadwell. We may have gotten there first, but it is inevitable. We intend to ride the wave.

“First, we will manufacture. We have a site which is remote and unknown. The PleasureJac units will arrive into local markets from a dozen overseas locations, all of them dummy distributors. Some governments will try to ban them, or worse, tax them. By having the product lead, we can define the release cycle. And stay ahead of the inevitable imitators.

“Second, the traditional male-female prostitution business will become a commodity, Blowjobs online will be subject to everybody setting up a site and cutting the price. Some will even offer it for free to hype other services. Our version will take on a McDonald’s model, consistency in a commodity market. But margins will be under a lot of pressure.

“Third, there will be substantial revenue in selling fantasies. Using the technology in role play and more complex entertainments. We’ve know for years a woman in fishnet hose sells more than a naked woman. That will be our home. The provider of locally legal, pay-for-play internet fantasies. And obviously, we will leave the legal exposure, if any, to our franchises, who we merely help set up but have no operational control over. We will have no ownership or get any revenues. They will merely pay off loans which we arrange to start them up and buy our equipment. So if they get into trouble, we are merely a supplier, like the company that sells them paper clips.

“Fourth, we need to re-position our current brothels to emphasize the ‘live’ nature of the product, for the inevitable ‘natural’ backlash that some of the public will have. Of course, we will be happy to sell them a recording of their experience for their home machines.

“The progress summary key points:

“We have the manufacturing pilot plant established in the Australian Northern Territories, with supply chains to Europe, South America, Pacific Rim and of course, North America.

“The franchisee training facility is an island in the Coral Sea with power and comm cables laid into Queensland.

“Twenty ‘early investors’ have PleasureJac beta units installed. They are pioneering our premium services.

“We have ten franchises operating for ‘special fantasies’. Several consultants, writers of bondage and sadism, transgender fantasy and various role play fiction are on retainer to provide menu driven scripts.

“We have a recruiting process underway using chat rooms to find both talent as well as solicit for customers. We feed the prospects to our franchisees through anonymous sources.

“The pipeline for disposing of ‘spoiled talent’ to the traditional brothel trade cross borders is being established.

“The PleasureJac division will be moving to full operation within three months. I suggest you all begin revising your business plans for the inevitable negative impacts.”

The murmuring was muted but seemed to linger on for a long time.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 8: The Strange Case of Impolecs- Junecellular Inc, Pleasanton, California- June

Blonde hair is a California curse for a professional woman. Marissa Dupre was holder of two doctorates, microbiology and chemistry, and held several patents with her business partner, John Carter, in the field of bioelectronics and nanotechnology. As the co-founder of Junecellular, Inc. she could review any transaction or contract she wished. Despite all her credentials, her power and position, her appearance often set the tone every time she met a new person, male or female.

Marissa at forty four was a widow, a wonderful mother of a fifteen year old boy, a lousy cook and an absolute knockout, with dimensions approaching a life size Barbie Doll. Despite her conservative fitted suits, her image was hard for anyone to get past.

The man from the customer procurement department was clearly flustered. Normally, a customer visit meant he asked the questions, and he was taken to dinner treated like royalty. Today, he felt he was on the wrong end of the questions. He also was having trouble looking Marissa in the face since his eyes naturally wandered to points south of that.

“Mr. Clymer, we agreed to produce a handful of complex nano-driven polymers which simulated artificial tissue for you. When the project was undertaken, we were led to believe these would be part of tissue replacement research, yet your organization seems to have not answered any of our requests for information of where or when this research is taking place. “ Marissa said calmly. She watched the sweat beads form on the upper lip of Morgan Clymer, and wondered to herself why all procurement people preferred polyester pants.

“We are under no obligation to release that information, Ms. Dupre. We are now requesting you move to the next phase and deliver the increased quantities.” Clymer said weakly, his eyes still drawn to Marissa’s bosom.

“Given the nature of the materials and the technology involved, we are sensitive to where and when this material goes, Mr. Clymer. If you examine the contract, you will find we can walk away if we feel you are in breach of restricted usage.”

“You can’t do that! If you don’t know what we are doing with it, how can you determine we are in breach of restriction? No other supplier ever pulls this shit!” Clymer turned purple. He began to realize this was not a simple debate, but an issue his employers would view as potentially terminal to his own health.

“We are not just any supplier, Mr. Clymer. We view refusal to disclose as issue enough. And we checked. There are legal precedents. The courts are concerned with illegal export of high technology ever since 911, Mr. Clymer. And so are we. Until I get some confirmation of use, phase two is on hold. We have put your progress payment in escrow, as per the payment clause. Good day, sir.” Marissa dismissed the sputtering man with a gentle wave.

Morgan Clymer got up and turned, showering Marissa with a cold glance and emanating abject fear. Marissa was disturbed by that. Contract disputes were not usually life and death contests, and Clymer was acting as if she had just signed his execution order.

Marissa picked up her phone and hit speed dial 1.

John Carter was watching his wife swim laps while he reviewed his email. The sun was putting a golden glow on the atrium of his Santa Barbara home. He saw the incoming call from Marissa and answered it immediately.

“Issa! You should be here, the weather is glorious! What’s the crisis?” he said, knowing it was always a crisis during business hours.

“John, you told me to alert you to anything out of kilter after we had that hacking problem with the FDA trial two years ago. “ Marissa said. She then outlined the strange reaction and behavior of the customer.

“What do you think, Mar? We had hoped to make some money on that product line.” John said, probing the depth of Marissa’s concern.

“It just stinks, John. Why would anybody be so damn mysterious about a polymer which mimics a mucous membrane? I have all these weird scenarios in my head, like a trigger for a bioweapon or some such wild stuff. But none of them make sense. “ Marissa sounded exasperated.

“I keep thinking of the name chosen for the material, Issa. Impolecs was a joke taken from a Pynchon novel. An ‘erectile’ plastic. I think our joke may be on us.” John said, the gravity of the situation sinking in on him.

Marissa’s mind began modeling the possibilities implicit in John’s comment.

“I think you should call Larry and Sean. There are on retainer and this sounds like something they should handle.” John said.

Marissa agreed.

Larry Elger housed a lot of formers. Former Israeli military, former undercover Israeli Consular Protection agent, former terrorist hunter-killer. Today he was a co-owner in a special security service firm. His partner, Sean Taylor, was retired Army, a helicopter pilot whom Larry had rescued from a shooting caused crash in Somalia. Latching onto her as the first positive thing in his life for a long time, driving him stay with her through years of rehab and recovery.

Sean was a six foot tall daughter of the marriage of a black Alabama preacher and a white civil rights lawyer. She had sought escape from their untimely deaths in the Army. Stunningly beautiful, Sean hid her massive body burn scarring and the loss of her left breast from the world.

John Carter had retained them as ‘security consultants’ for Junecellular since they had assisted in protecting his children several years ago. He found their long list of contacts and highly intelligent open minds were useful in dealing with the threats his company faced, which were unusual and subtle. Dealing with competitors, foreign governments and bribed regulators the emerging field of bioelectronics and nanotech was crossing many boundaries. John also knew Larry and Sean were amazingly deadly when necessary, and he wanted them between the threats he faced and his family.

The next day, after flying into Oakland on the Junecellular jet, Larry and Sean were enjoying dinner at Marissa’s home in Pleasanton.

“Marissa, what you’ve told us is a little thin. What are the uses for this Impolecs material outside medical research? Weapons? Industrial processes?” Sean asked as she settled her six foot frame into the overstuffed chair.

Larry was pacing about, a habit that drove Sean daffy at times. At five eight, he was slim and had the ability to look like any one of a number of Mediterranean ethnics, from Arab to Italian, with olive tinted skin and fine, delicate Semitic features.

“Sean, everything I come up with has cheaper and more reliable methods already in existence. Impolecs was designed to become the crude early model of what we might do someday to build artificial organs. It was an attempt to be a functioning mucous membrane which reacts to stimuli of pressure, pheromones, friction and irritants.” Marissa explained.

In Sean’s mind, Larry began to morph into his alter ego, Linda, the character he had played when he had done extensive duty as a decoy and body double for a senior Israeli trade official. That woman official was Larry’s first lover and her ego was such that she initiated Larry sexually while he was her own duplicate. After Larry broke through Sean’s shell of despair at her damaged physical condition during her long rehabilitation and recovery phase, Sean had found Larry as Linda was the way Larry expressed tenderness and vulnerability. The thought of it made her physically aroused.

A thought crossed Sean’s mind and turned into words. “What are the sexual implications of the material, Marissa? It sounds like the stuff could get aroused almost like people do.” Sean knew her preacher father would swat her a good one for that remark if he were here. And Momma would be right behind him.

“Funny you should ask, Sean. The research team that developed it called it Impolecs because an old novel from the 1970s had a mysterious material called Impolex G as a plot macguffin. It was supposed to be an erectile plastic with strange powers. The joke at the time was how close the new material came to simulating the inside of a vagina. We had more hope it could serve as an intelligent bandage for extensive burns.” Marissa said and regretted it immediately. Sean lived with a constant level of pain from the burns sustained by her helo crash. They had been made worse by the diluted chemical weapon discharge she had been trying to avoid. She usually wore gloves and long sleeved blouses to hide the scars which ranged from the back of her hand to much of her left side above the pelvis.

Sean showed no anguish from Marissa’s comment. Burns were just part of her life, something she conquered every day.

“Ok, Marissa. We’ll get on Mr. Morgan Clymer and his company. Are there any additional records of any kind about the contract, shipments, payments, money transfers, letters of credit, phone logs, emails and so forth? The dossier you gave us is pretty full.” Larry stopped pacing and turned his warm face and cold eyes on the statuesque blonde.

“All we could find, Larry. If there is anything else, well get it to you.”

“Okay. One of us will need to interview everybody who has ever interacted with anybody from Clymer, his office and this AB Enterprises he represents. We’ll just be fishing for any leads buried in their memories, little stuff, like weather complaints, or anything personal the other side let out which could let us know more about them. Your initial check for credit and contract work pointed to Melbourne, so we will start a parallel track down there. Thanks for dinner, and we’re sorry to have to leave, but we need to get started.” Larry glanced at Sean, who was nodding in concurrence.

Driving down the 580 to their hotel in the rented Lincoln, Sean mused at the wheel about her plan for tomorrow. Larry was in a deep discussion with his contact in the AFP (Australian Federal Police) who had just finished tomorrows breakfast. Sean listened in on half the conversation.

“Trevor, if I’d known you were just in the States, I would have at least made you buy me that dinner you owe me.” Larry said an amused tone.

“Yes, fine, Sean’s fine. And, no she’s not tired of me yet. I told you she doesn’t have a ‘thing’ for short guys. Yes, I showed her your photos, but I explained how much make up you use.”

Larry got down to actually asking for help. Sean nodded her head, never quite understanding how men always felt a need to insult each other. She slowed down and pulled into the Hyatt.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 9: Everyone Needs A Sideline- June

Scene: Promisense HQ, Parking Lot, Lake Tahoe

“Adrian, is this a problem or not?” Ord Stonewell was standing at the side of his Lexus. He needed to be at a dinner engagement and was not happy with Adrian’s latest explanations.

“Ord, I mean Mr. Stonewell, we are just having a small problem with some self important little person at the supplier. It is being handled. She will see the light within forty eight hours. A single mother is very attached to her children.” Beimbeau responded.

Stonewell glared at him. “I don’t want to hear anything about this. Just make it go away. And don’t turn this into some national news story. Have you straightened out those scriptwriters too?”

“Yes, they are happy as clams. We found out they are all beyond naíve since they are turning out more and we offered them less. The threat of having an editor look over their shoulder spurred them on.” Adrian smiled.

“And that rumor we had, that “Group” thing? Is there anything to that? Should we worry about vigilantes?”

“We are tracking it, Mr. Stonewell. So far, it appears to be an urban legend, a street myth. The source was that woman we retained. She’s good at what she does, but I would say they released her from treatment a bit early. She seems almost delusional about the point.”

Stonewell grunted and sped away, spraying gravel at Beimbeau. Adrian opened his phone.

“You know who this is. Fix that Dupre bitch fast. I want her full cooperation within forty eight hours.” He hung up, not waiting for an answer.

Scene: Cyberspace: Promisense Author Chat
NICKIE SEABIRD> WELL, WE SEEM TO HAVE SETTLED THAT EDITOR THING

DIABLA MALLEY> I WONT HAVE SOME ONE NOT TG LOOK OVER MY SHOULDER. I DON’T CARE IF WE HAD TO SETTLE FOR LESS MONEY

POOH-THING> FORGET IT NOW. WE HAVE A PAYING GIG FOR OUR WORK. SO WHO GOES FIRST? WE NEED A NEW MENU SCRIPT FOR JOHNNIE TO JILL

NICKIE SEABIRD> I WAS GOING TO HAVE THE GIRLFRIEND MAKE JOHNNIE INTO HER LOVE SLAVE

DIABLA MALLEY> HOW FRIGGIN ORIGINAL NICKIE

POOH-THING> THEY SAID THEY WANTED YOUNGER. YOUNG TEEN STUFF. MAKE IT A MOTHER SON THING. AND MAKE HIM DO BAD BOY THINGS

DIABLA MALLEY> WOW-EVEN MORE ORIGINAL

POOH-THING> LIKE YOUR STUFF IS SO NEW

DIABLA MALLEY> WE NEED JOHNNIE TO REGRESS IN AGE

NICKIE SEABIRD> HE ALREADY HAS D CUP TITS. HOW DOES HE REGRESS IN AGE? WE NEED TO TAKE HIM TO THE NEXT LEVEL IN HUMILIATION

POOH-THING> AGREE. WE NEED A DOMESTIC THEME. THE STEPFORD WIFE THING.

DIABLA MALLEY> YES! DRESS HIM LIKE DONNA REED! MAKE HIM VACUUM!

NICKIE SEABIRD> OR JUNE CLEAVER. AND I’LL MAKE HIM VACUUM ALL RIGHT. LOTS OF SUCTION.

Scene: TransTalent Franchise, Central Oregon near Nevada Border-

The high desert, sun drenched and sharp colors washed out in the haze rising off the Oregon ground, depressed her. The stately woman missed her elegant Victorian manor house in New England, the trees with leaves. She had a facial tic which she blamed on the Thorazine they had administered during her ‘treatment’ and she blamed the dry, parched air for making it worse. She hated the landscape and the landscape was indifferent to her in return.

She closed her eyes and saw his face. She heard his taunting voice. She remembered the rage when she found he was no ordinary fifteen year old boy to be dominated, bullied and treated to a round of her specialty, ‘petticoat punishment’. He turned out to be not a victim to have control over and blackmail when he ascended to a position of wealth through inheritance. He was the devil incarnate.

He had stopped her best martial arts skill with the disdain of a man removing an insect from his shoe. He had drugged her, framed her for kidnapping and exposed her lifelong mission. He forced all her ‘students’ to go public with their shame. He had arranged for her assets to be seized by the Federal Government. He had arranged for one of the wealthiest families in the world, the Delacourts, to make it a point of personal vendetta to destroy her financially and socially, just because she had undertaken to discipline their son.

But the most egregious crime of all, was when he told her he was showing pity. She had been found clinically insane. She had been ‘treated’. She had to subject herself to the ‘discipline’ and behavior modification of other, lesser beings. She was bright enough to appreciate the irony.

He was five foot seven and slender. His face was beautiful, a girls face, a pretty boy’s face. Except for his eyes. Those eyes haunted her. When he had promised to kill her without hesitation if she began her hobby again, she knew those eyes would find her. Those eyes were a thousand years old. They illuminated her soul, and found it shriveled and twisted.

Ms. Josephina Talleyrand, formerly known as Madam J, was back in business. During her incarceration, things had changed. High technology was everywhere. The day after she was released to a halfway house, she had been recruited for the TransTalent operation. Whisked across the country, given an identity, funded to do a startup for the ‘specialty’ entertainment industry, she felt some of her old confidence coming back. It had been five long years, but she was back now.

Running a TransTalent franchise meant recruiting talent, housing them, training them and operating the studio for the ‘shows’. It was a startup, and the first operators had to make up the rules as they went along. She knew there were others, about seven to twelve she guessed, some of which just did girls, some just gay boys, and a few were like hers, the “specialty” items. Johnnie To Jill was her trademark production.

The TransTalent management had been clearly unclear. They wanted to sell genuine humiliation, and people wanted young talent, thirteen to fifteen. They had said that of course, to use actual children would be violating the legal boundaries of adult entertainment, but the franchisees were encouraged to ‘acquire’ talent which could project that image. TransTalent management would provide a ‘relocation and retraining’ service when the talent became ‘spoiled’, and would split the ‘placement fee’ with the franchisee.

Ms. Talleyrand knew she would be years before real wealth came her way, given the heavy debt payments she owed the parent company. She had other plans. Her ‘recruits’, abducted based on prospect information provided by the parent company, were the ones that fit her profile. She would mold them into a total dependency state and then arrange for them to ‘inherit’ their families fortune early by some well planned accidents. Indirect control of wealth would be just fine; it was a mode of operation she had pioneered.

Johnnie, the now curvaceous and busty star of Johnnie To Jill , was the sole heir to at least a $500 million dollar estate. He would not be sent to a Mexican brothel as a shemale hooker slave, which the ‘placement’ service the company provided did for their efforts. He would be the poor, confused, drug addicted almost transsexual who would inherit millions. And he would be hers, from the top of his mind to the bottom of his psyche.

His parents just needed their little accident. They were so distraught over their missing son, and such people were prone to accidents. And there was one other loose end. A step sister. From what Ms. Josephina could find out, she was not in the will, but that could change. And she could contest it. She needed an accident too, just to be fair.
________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 10: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished- Pleasanton, California-July

As Larry Elger started the investigation into the odd Mr. Clymer and AB Enterprises, he set some things in motion entirely based on instinct. One of these was to contact Joe Bean, the new head of Junecellular security.

Joe Bean looked like an accountant, down to the wire rim glasses and slightly padded abdomen. Larry knew him to have a dry, biting wit and a natural cynicism which made him a perfect candidate for the professional paranoia required for a security chief. He also knew Joe had exhibited bravery under fire and was partially responsible for Larry’s continued breathing. Joe had been recommended for the position by Larry, who had earned the respect of the founder of the company.

“Joe, I think Marissa and her son need an extra screen around them. She asked me to look into something and I am afraid it might get personal. When I know anything I can share, Sean or I will get it to you. And if you tip onto some surveillance, call one of us ASAP. It could be a lead we need. I’ll send you the info by usual secure method and the details stay with you. Be in touch.” Larry’s voice was always an alert signal to Joe. He replayed the voicemail several times before he deleted it.

Joe opened his special email account, the one with shifting addresses and a decent encryption scheme. Larry’s briefing was short and to the point. The supplier issue, the strange behavior. The potential threat to Marissa, and by extension, Brian, her son.

Text messages went out to selected individuals on his tactical squad, authorizing expenditures for round the clock coverage in depth for Marissa and Brian, and the need to preserve any live suspects they found, preferably without tipping their hand.

Four hours after Joe Bean had put things in motion, the security teams got a nibble. Brian, Marissa’s son, a lanky blonde fifteen year old was playing basketball at the middle school court a half mile from his house. On this sunny Saturday afternoon he was happily sweating and trash talking with several friends while occasionally getting the ball through the hoop.

“Red One this is Red Two. We have confirmed a licensed PI in watcher mode. Blue Crown Vic. Reed Fernando. Rep as small time gray player.”

“Red One to all Red Units. Watch for grab attempt.”

Larry and Sean had set up a working office in a suite at the Hyatt, not ten minutes away. When Joe Bean alerted him, Larry shut down his laptop and tapped a concentrating Sean on the shoulder.

“They got a nibble. I think we may learn more on the scene.” Larry said. Sean moved quickly yet with smooth practice, checking her weapon, grabbing her leather jacket and shoulder bag and locking down any secure material. They were in their car within seven minutes, three of which were due to a slow elevator.

While Sean drove, Larry turned a radio transceiver to the channel used by Junecellular security tac team.

“So far, it looks like one of us is headed down under soon, Larry. Everything I have points to several places in Australia.” Sean said while she navigated the interstate.

“I have gotten farther into some of the initial shipments of the replacement material, the ‘sleeves’ to some addresses around the world. They were all one time orders and then all material flowed into a bonded location in Melbourne. Half of them are in the US.” Larry responded, and then broke off as he listened to the radio in his earpiece.

Brian and his friends were standing by the parking lot when a car pulled up.

“Red Two to all units: It’s ok; they are teenagers from the local high school. They know the subject. Move closer and have vehicles hot just in case.” Larry heard on the TAC frequency.

“Red Three: PI has a telephoto lens and what appears to be a camera targeted at subject. Moving to intercept.”

“Red Two Mayday, weapon in car! Aimed at subject! Take him out!”

Brian was shocked when Chuck, the school asshole, pulled up in his car and started acting friendly. Chuck never traveled alone, and was accompanied by three toadies all jammed into his Corolla. Brian saw the paintball gun being pulled out and held in firing position outside the car window from the backseat. That move probably save the kid’s life, since the first shot shattered the gun, spraying red paint balls all over the car.

Reed Fernando was very surprised when a pistol appeared in his face. He slowly set down the camera and got out of his car, hands clasped behind his neck with fingers interlocked.

Chuck knew he was in serious trouble when three armed men converged on his car, pointing handguns directly at him. His bladder chose this time to release, and he sensed someone in the back seat was in similar straits.

Larry and Sean drove up just as the security team had locked down the area. The kid who held the paintball gun was fortunate that the marksmanship of Red Three was superb. He only suffered minor scratches from shattered plastic. If he had been outside the car and tried to use the gun, he would have been dropped with at least five shots in his torso. Brian and his friends were secure in the back seat of an SUV, covered by two team members.

“I assume this was something more than a High School prank.” Larry said, after being briefed by Red One. Sean was talking to Reed Fernando.

“The driver is babbling about being given fifty bucks to pull a gag on Brian here. He’s already fingered the PI with the camera. “ Red One smiled.

“I know that kid! He was hassling Brian and the Carter kid two years ago. Still an asshole, I guess. Let me talk to him. I think I can guess what this was all about.”

Chuck was standing against his car with his hands placed on the hood. He had been told if he moved a hand, he would lose it and the men with guns were not the joking kind. Suddenly, he saw Larry Elger approaching and the nightmare from two years ago came flooding back.

Chuck and his followers had been bothering Brian and his friend Alan Carter from Santa Barbara at a restaurant after a basketball game. When Chuck was testing one of them in the men’s room, Larry, who had been assigned to protect Alan Carter, burst in. He had convinced Chuck he would have to testify as a solicitor of gay sex and proceeded to ‘arrest’ Alan Carter. Chuck had lived in fear he would see Larry again.

Larry looked Chuck in the eye.

“Well, if it isn’t Chuck? This the new way to solicit oral sex, Chuck? It seems you never pick the right victims, do you, Chuck? And that incontinence problem is embarrassing, isn’t it Chuck?” Larry said mercilessly.

After twenty minutes, Sean returned from her discussion with Reed Fernando. Red One, Larry and Sean held a quick conference,

“How confident are you there is no backup to Fernando, watching him?” Sean asked.

“Pretty confident, Ms Taylor. We’ve done an area sweep, physically and electronically. It seems this was slapped together quickly. Fernando hired the punks to pull a prank which he would photograph and send to Mrs. Dupre. If I got that and it was one of my kids, I’d be pretty worried. He was hired by a guy we know as a local thug and we can now walk back the trail, quietly.

“My guess is he has to send a signal when the photo is delivered and Mrs. Dupre will get a threatening call. Since it was a harmless prank, there’s no crime, and Reed here looks like a good citizen showing her how her poor son is getting bullied. Of course, the signal they are sending is unmistakable- do what we want or we can get to your kid.“ Red One began to let the adrenaline crash show in his face as he eased down from the situation.

“I think we re-enact the shoot, let the PI take his photo and deliver it. Let him send the signal. We’ll plan a follow the chain investigation. Marissa may even agree to their demands, just to keep this trail hot.” Larry said.

Red One and Sean nodded in agreement.

“One recommendation, Mr. Elger. Let my guys do the camera work and the paintball shot. I want it done right.” Red One smiled to Larry and Sean’s grinning assent.

Brian found himself standing on the curb, having been coached to not overplay the surprise of getting a shot. Chuck, sweating profusely, drove up with Larry in the front passenger seat and Red Three in the back with a new paintball gun. They got it in one take, with red splatter all through Brian’s shoulder length blonde hair, his face and chest. He emerged smiling when Sean told him he could get up; they had the pictures they needed.

That evening, Marissa was furious with everybody. Joe Bean accompanied Larry and Sean to her house, which was covered with several layers of electronic and human protection.

It was Joe’s unpleasant job to inform Marissa that if she wanted a protection level against a random shooting then Brian would in effect live in a bubble, like the President. And so would she. Security was a trade off of probability of threat versus intrusion into personal life. They had been fully prepared for a kidnapping or a threat, but an assassination was not probable. And the actual event showed they had been right. Joe was a patient man, and a parent himself. He knew the anger was emotionally driven, a normal response to a threat to a child.

Marissa apologized to them all after a few minutes, and felt no embarrassment at the tears she shed while calming down.

“Larry, you really want me to agree to their threat?” Marissa asked.

“I want Brian out of the line of fire until this is resolved. If you agree, Sean will escort him down to stay with the Carters in a suitable disguise for the trip. Schools out for the summer and I know he likes the Carter kids.

“Then, if you will play along without legal jeopardy for Junecellular, let them think you will not delay the shipments. You have four months before you lose that clause you invoked. Get them to place advance orders so we know where it will be shipped. I want them to think you have been scared out of your wits when the call comes. Don’t volunteer any information; just agree to move towards phase two. Well be tracking the trail from several angles. “ Larry explained.

“Mrs. Dupre, I will be adding layers to your security and also for your housekeeper. If you play along, I don’t see why they would threaten you again, but it will be there. Just make sure you plan your movements with your team leader for the duration of this. “ Joe Bean said as soothingly as he could.

Marissa nodded. “Thanks Joe. I’m sorry I got upset. Were those teenagers hurt?”

“Just scared enough to need a laundry, ma’m. They will be better behaved, for a while at least.”

The picture was delivered. Reed Fernando gave his signal, a call to a voicemail box. Red One was already stationed outside the house in Oakland where the man who hired Fernando waited. Red One watched the man dial his cell phone.

Marissa took the call, with Larry on an extension. She let anger show in her voice when asked to cooperate with her contractual obligations. She was holding the picture of Brian staring at the red blotch on his chest, a shocked look frozen in time.

Larry gave some credit to the caller. He never made threats, and indeed two packages of pictures arrived by separate couriers. One held Brian’s photos, and one was innocuous pictures of the product samples. The caller could always claim he was referring to the other pictures if arrested. His tone was sufficiently ominous. Marissa agreed to proceed with the set up for phase two. The caller coldly hung up.

The man in Oakland called a number in Cairns, Australia, another voicemail box. Red One listened in with an extra-legal radio scanner. The message was short and seemed to signal mission accomplished. Payment was requested. He made sure he had the number and conversation recorded, and sent the files to the Junecellular network. The man in Oakland would have a shadow for some time to come.

Larry knew he was headed for a long flight.

Brian was amazingly cooperative, finding all the secret agent stuff pretty exciting, until he was told he was riding to Santa Barbara as Sean’s sister. Sean was coffee and cream colored, with short curly black hair crowning her finely featured face. Brian was a fair skinned blonde. And a boy.

“Dammit, Brian, how many guys get a chance to be as cool as a black chick, even for half a day? You think we hand out invitations? You got to be special to even try!” Sean gave him a look while Larry hid a smirk and Marissa could not stop grinning.

Brian reluctantly agreed. Black rinse in his hair, skin tone now just a bit lighter than Sean’s, dark soft lenses and a well padded bra later, he stood there in his running suit and gave his Mom a hug as he climbed up into the front seat of the SUV. Sean told him he looked good and pulled away, headed for the freeway.

“If we stop to eat, try not to talk. Especially to black people. There is no way you are going to pass if you open your mouth. And for God’s sake, remember to use the girl’s room. Now let’s hear some music.” Sean said, grinning at her new little ‘sister’.

Brian was a fan of rap and hip hop, and was clearly expecting something contemporary to come out of the speakers. He shot a glance at Sean when Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony began it’s first movement.

Black Like She- Monterrey California

Brian was getting more uncomfortable by the second. Mitzi Diamond was a strange presence, and he felt like the human in an alien abduction story.

“Can you do it Mitzi?” Sean asked, her voice carrying a level of amusement. Brian assumed it was at his expense.

Mitzi had named himself after Mitzi Gaynor, and shared the circumference of his wrist with her waist size. Polished bald black head, in that ageless zone middle aged black men get, he could be anywhere from forty to sixty. Huge at six foot six, with hands twice the size of Brian’s, well muscled without an ounce of fat detectable, Mitzi was the most overtly gay man Brian had ever met.

“Of course, sugar. If I can make those skanky anorexic witches look like street ho’s for the rap and hip hop videos, I can take a pretty white boy and make him look good. I assume this is involuntary on his part? He looks like I might skin him alive or something.” Mitzi said in a deep, barrel echoed voice which somehow sounded like music.

Sean had explained to Brian that his current disguise was a ‘field improvisation’ and she needed to give him something better before they began their journey. She had a friend who helped Larry and her on such things.

Sean also explained that while their destination was the Carter house in Santa Barbara, which Larry had secure with trusted teams in place, they were not going to risk the Carters by heading right there. They were going to meander a bit and then arrive four or five days later, when the chance of a panic reaction by the bad guys had subsided.

“You can be sure they are watching that house by now, and if anyone suddenly arrives, they’ll figure it out, no matter what you look like. So you, young lady, arrive at a decent interval removed from the action. Larry and your Mom are going to really piss off the bad guys and it may get ugly.” Sean had explained. Brian almost stopped listening after the ‘young lady’. He was still not used to being a girl, having been one for five hours now.

So, the alien abduction was underway and Brian had no idea what would happen when it was done.

Over the next two days it became apparent. They stayed in rooms in the back of the large loft Mitzi kept over a warehouse. Food was take out but gourmet take out. He was dying for a burger.

Mitzi was actually very funny once you stopped shaking when he talked. Brian got the condensed version of Mitzi’s life.

“If you Google on Black Fairy Queen, I’m the first ten entries, sweetheart! Just a big old fag who used to be a chemist for a cosmetics company back east. I got tired of them stealing my patents, so I headed out here. I found big scary black men are usually not hired as cosmetics consultants, even when they are as sweet as I am, so I starved for a while. After a few breaks where I won’t admit what I had to do to get, I got work on the first rap videos. I had a whole bag of tricks on makeup and padding and things, and I made girls look like ‘street’ like Playboy made white chicks look like hookers that live next door.

“You think those bubble butts and skinny arms are naturally occurring? Think again, chicklet. Mitzi’s got some magic things which are under development to go commercial and Mitzi’s ready to retire. Except for my dear friends like Sean and Larry.

“So now we need to go to work on you. Now I absolutely know you are not gay, right? “

Brian nodded in rapid agreement.

“Thought so! Well I am, but I promise you, work with me and when you leave here you still won’t be gay. You’ll be gorgeous and black and girl, but you won’t be gay. Are we ok?” Mitzi stuck out his huge hand.

Brian nodded and saw his hand dwarfed inside Mitzi’s. The smile was thousand watt.

Brian remembered snippets of the next two days.

Mitzi-“My Lord, Sean, you brought me a white boy that can almost dance! His dad made him take ballroom lessons! That’ll help a lot.”

Sean- “Brian, you can’t learn to be American black and girl in two days or two years, but we can do this. You are Michelle, your are just fourteen and are from Morocco. You attended a convent school on the island of Malta. You are my little sister. You speak perfect English with just a hint of French accent. Your real mom is French Canadian and I know you know some French and have heard French accented English your whole life. So you can just look bewildered at the street talk. The boys will be intrigued and the girls will hate you, which is fine, since the girls will blow your cover in a flash if they get a chance.”

Mitzi- “You are lean and muscled which is good, some black girls are pretty muscular. Two years ago I would be doing corn rows, sweetie, but straight is back in the ‘hood right now, so we dye it black and I have some stuff that will make it appear coarser and a little processed. You do have beautiful hair and I will make sure you get it back when this is over.”

Sean- “Shave all over and we will use this semi permanent skin dye. You should come out light, about my coloring, and it will last for about three weeks without smudging. By week four, you will look like a white girl who surfs a lot. By week six, you will need to use a lot of foundation because it will finally fade but get a little blotchy. By week seven, you can be Miss Scandinavia.”

Mitzi- “These tits are my specials. They stay on, they form an almost undetectable seal and are impervious to shock and swimming. Stay out of saunas over 180 degrees Fahrenheit, which might cause the seams to open. The hip and butt pads work the same way. With a little tucking, you can wear a bikini. I have a few gaffs here, which will help you tie little Michelle down, Okay mon cherie?”

Sean- “Here’s the rules. Don’t talk to boys. Don’t talk to girls. Speak when spoken too. If you have to talk, use your accent and pretend you don’t understand. Use the girls room. Avoid contact. “ Sean grinned. “Now, those rules will be impossible to keep. Just be careful around boys and real careful around girls. And assume all black girls are your disguise’s most deadly enemy.”

Brian/Michelle became proficient at makeup under Mitzi’s tutelage. Mitzi was a font of information on boys passing as girls and managed to make it entertaining.

“Michelle, love, you can actually dance! I’m impressed. Now remember honey, you are going to be a magnet for black boys with that light skin and your fine features, especially when you couple it with those ‘D’ bazooms and that big bubble butt. And your hair is fabulous. Make sure you keep doing enough to keep some body in it. And don’t dance with any black girls, they will make you in a flash. The boys will be looking down your blouse and at your rear. “ Mitzi said while doing some moves with Michelle/Brian to contemporary hip hop. Sean looked on and smiled.

Mitzi cried when they left.

“I cry whenever someone leaves, Michelle, don’t worry. You’ll be fine, sister. Just remember you’re from Morocco, not Pleasanton.” Brian got a huge hug from the huge man.

“Stay close to Sean. She and Larry are the best. They keep people like me and you safe to have the fun lives we do. Appreciate them and hope we never run out of them.” Mitzi whispered into Brian’s ear.

Brian/Michelle kissed Mitzi on the cheek, knowing it was in character. Mitzi responded with a musical basso round of laughter.

Down the road, they decided to head inland. Sacramento, Fresno. Palm Springs.

Brian/Michelle had a few adventures. One at a stop for lunch at a chain restaurant. Three black young men, well dressed and from a local college had introduced themselves to Michelle while Sean was paying the bill. Brian batted his eyes and played dumb, pretending not to understand in cute French accented English. Sean had to pry the boys away with a lot of effort as they drove away.

Twice, he almost wandered into the men’s room, and once he was accosted for money in the girl’s room. He found he got by being shy and staying close to Sean.

Sean realized she liked her little sister, even if he was a boy. They became friends while driving around the state, and Sean shared parts of her life story, which also meant she had to tell part of Larry’s.

One night, in the room they shared in Palm Springs, Brian asked Sean about the scars on her hand. Sean explained what they were and then showed Brian her stomach and upper arms, also heavily scarred.

“This is part of me, Michelle. It is who I am. I stopped feeling sorry for myself a while ago. So if you see me reluctant to display this, it’s because it upsets people.” Sean said with a hint of sadness.

Brian did not know what to say.

“My Dad used to say to look at people without your eyes.” Brian said, beginning to choke up.

“Your Dad was a smart man. I would have liked to have met him. I lost mine too and I loved him very much.” Sean said. She extended an arm around Michelle/Brian and held him for some time.

They finally approached the Carter house in Santa Barbara, right after breakfast.

“Michelle, Brian, you know what the plan is. You appear here as Michelle until the dye fades, at which time you re-emerge as Charlene, the cousin of the twins. The security people know what’s going on. The Carters will help all they can until this is over. You will be ‘home schooled’ for now.

“If you are here, your Mom can relax, we can protect you better and put more people on covering your Mom. It really helps if no one ever knows Brian is here. So can you be a girl for a while?” Sean said as they drove up.

Brian knew this, Sean was just reviewing. “Sure, Sister Sean. Please keep my Mom safe. And you too. I just got a sister and I don’t want to lose her.”

“Me too, Michelle. Anytime you need a big sister, call me. You’re a good kid, Brian. And a good sport. You really impressed Mitzi, too.” Sean said, kissing Michelle/Brian goodbye.

Inside the house, Cecilia, sweatsuit and black hair curly over her ears, and Cissy, skirt and camisole top with black hair past mid back welcomed Michelle/Brian.

“Welcome Michelle! We’re so glad you could come. And we can’t wait until Cousin Charlene shows up!” They said in unison.

Brian swallowed hard. It was going to be a long summer.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 11: On A Clear Day, You Can Cause Havoc- July

Vanished into thin air. Marla Brokken’s cry for help found it’s way to Lady Jean’s shelter service, a plea to get away from her abusive father and passive mother, a pattern that Steve Dunbar seen too many times. A live in uncle made this one even worse. Marla had not been a virgin for a while, and she was not enjoying her role as home entertainment center for blood relatives. She had learned to get them so drunk they passed out before they could actually do much to her, but she was not always successful at this ploy. She had been ready to bolt into the safety of a shelter but was gone when Steve’s agent had shown up.

Steve’s detectives had some information from the neighbors, some of whom had tried to help the girl. Today, he was in Crescent City, the northernmost coastal town in California. The cable TV van was his only lead. The cable company office had no record of any vans in the area on the days in question, but one van had been out for repair at a local car dealer.

Rolling into town in his black Ford Expedition, he saw the pattern of most coastal towns. Two major parallel streets, one usually part of the Pacific Coast Highway, a town defined by waterfront, long and narrow, recreation and tourist business on the beachside, local services inland. A drizzle, a gray sky and a vague mist in the low points completed the scene. He pulled into the service area of the Chevrolet dealership.

A man larger than Steve walked out of the large service bay, into the mist, to meet him. Similar tattoos, but where Steve was large and lean, this one was larger and thick. Few would dare call him fat. Arms like medium tree trunks, bald head and foot long beard, brown streaked with gray, he stood there in a mechanic’s one piece coverall with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders, making him a gray apparition. Only the small, round wire rim glasses softened his appearance.

“Francis! You look well preserved.” Steve said, finding himself lifted off the ground as he exited his truck cab. Francis Funkerman was the son of unknown parents, who had found a home in Steve’s old motorcycle gang, the Disciples.

Like Steve, he had retired from the criminal life and moved away. He had been part owner of the Chevy dealership for at least ten years, and ran the service department with passionate efficiency.

“Steve! I heard you were back! Sorry about your old lady, man. If I’d known I’d have tried to help, but word didn’t get up here until much later. Glad those Cottrell assholes are gone.” Francis referred to events that happened five years ago, when Steve had been missing in the South China Sea and his wife was killed, his sons were on the run from the Cottrell brothers, who ran the Disciples. Through the kindness of Lady Jean and many others, they had survived and were there for him to help in their final rescue.

After ten minutes of mutual remembrances, Steve found himself in Francis’ office, a large mug of very strong coffee cutting the chill so prevalent in morning time on the Pacific coast. He explained what he was doing in town and the hunt for the mysterious Cable van.

“I remember that van. I asked one of our service writers why it was hanging around for so long. Then it left the lot and I forgot about it. Let’s have a talk with that guy.” Francis said in his normal low rumble.

Fifteen minutes later:

The service writer was shaking nervously. His boss was fearsome enough, but this other guy scared the hell out of him. These old bikers had a reputation for mean that created images in his head he wished would go away.

“It was Broken Billy. The crip who hangs out at the Rusty Nail. He got some gig in Oregon, running supplies. He wanted the van for two days.”

Francis rose out of his chair and lifted the man by his shirtfront.

“I hope he paid you good, shithead, because you’re done here and anywhere else in this area. And if we find Broken Billy has gone missing, I would suggest you say goodbye to you elbows and kneecaps. Get out now before I violate several labor laws.” Francis thundered. He dropped the man in a heap.

Four hours later:

The cabin was lived in but currently unoccupied. Steve had been watching the local dogs running back and forth through the yard since he had started the stakeout. From the SUV he had been in touch with the Lodge and Lady Jean’s staff had given him a profile of Eugene Dunderman, aka Broken Billy. A small time grifter, he had suffered an unfortunate ‘accident’ trying to scam an Indian Casino. Broken knuckles, broken elbow, broken leg. Broken dreams. It’s hard to blend in and be unrecognized, a requirement for running a con, if you have a limp, a marginal arm and partially functioning hands.

Francis was drinking coffee in the passenger seat, managing to make the normally spacious cabin seem cramped. A proud father of two girls, he was furious his business had been even an unwitting part of a girl’s suffering. Steve was glad for the company.

Broken Billy showed up a half an hour later, his pickup full of grocery bags and Federal Express boxes. They watched the man limp around his heavily dented vehicle to tie down a tarp over his cargo, struggling with the simple tasks of knots and pulling the fabric taut.

“Looks like Old Broken Billy is making a delivery. I think you may be in luck, Steve.” Francis said in a whisper.

“I hope we get an idea of where he is heading soon, I have some backup on the way north up I-5 and they can cut him off or help follow as we see fit. They’ve been rolling for three hours now and are just approaching Shasta. If Billy stops someplace without his dogs around, I’ll try to plant a locator on that pile of rust he’s driving. Then we can follow him at our leisure with the GPS signal.” Steve said, poring over the displays in his truck. He was happy Lady Jean spared no expense equipping their small fleet of vehicles. Francis was amazed at the ability to surf the internet, check his portfolio and email all from the seat of a parked truck out in the hills and marsh.

“He’s rolling now. I’ll bet he gasses up at the Chevron back at 101 if he’s going any distance.” Francis said. “Cheapest gas and good coffee. We should roll out and be there, he has to pass it going anywhere.”

Steve started the big V-8 and backed out onto the logging road. Once he was clear of the cabin view, he turned on the lights.

Francis was right. They were able to attach the locator beacon, which looked very much like a mud splatter on a rear fender, while Broken Billy was flirting with the counter girl and having his thermos filled.

“We may lose that signal in the hills and passes if he goes East.” Francis said.

“Not a chance. There’s a King Air twin engine plane in the area, and his job is to fly to that signal while staying high enough to not be heard. He will relay it to us. He is rigged for slow flight and has a ton of fuel. My boss told me to spare no expense on this one. The signal may be lost going sideways, but not straight up.” Steve grinned while Francis nodded appreciatively.

The trail led northeast into Oregon, through small towns along the Illinois River valley to Grants Pass, a sizeable town on the Rogue River and sitting along I-5. Down the interstate , then cutting east through the relative flat and wet lands which made up the gap between the Sierras and the Cascade Mountains. Past Klamath Falls onto the mixed wetlands and forested mountains, past Lakeview and onto washboard dirt, sagebrush and high desert, where Oregon blends into northern Nevada.

Wild horses roam here, and Steve had one pace his Ford for ten miles down a dirt track, until the horse looked him in the eye, reared his head and snorted. The stallion then began moving perpendicular to his track, having claimed his dominion and challenged the interloper.

The second SUV was twenty miles behind and maintaining distance, while the blip on the screen showed Broken Billy three miles ahead.

“When are you taking the bastard, Steve?” Francis asked, chewing on a protein bar and washing it down with coffee. Eating and drinking while doing thirty miles an hour on a washboard dirt road is challenging at best, but Francis seemed unfazed by the vibrations. The big SUV was a dervish rolling through the land, trailing a plume of reddish brown dust marking the only visible movement for miles.

“After he shows us where he’s going. Those groceries are for somebody, and I hope it may be the kid. It turns out the girl’s uncle hangs out with Broken Billy at the Rusty Nail, and I stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago. I’m hoping he delivers, takes a break and then heads out. Then we bushwhack him. And persuade him to give us intel on the target.”

“We allowed to ‘persuade’ him like the old days?” Francis grinned.

“If we have to. It’s a big desert and folks get lost out here all the time. Especially the uncooperative ones.” Steve said grimly. If Broken Billy had anything to do with Marla Brokken’s disappearance, Steve had little compassion for him.

Evening came, cold and clear with a full moon painting the landscape a grayish tint. The high desert is a land of extremes, heat and cold, bright and dark with sparse moisture the only constant. Steve examined the cluster of connected prefab buildings sitting on the raised mound of earth, greenish hued in the night vision goggles. There was no apparent movement and Steve wondered if there were motion sensors or other security measures.

Broken Billy has stayed less than an hour inside the building. The second team had arranged for his truck to blow a tire when it was several miles back up the dirt road. With Billy cursing the lug nuts frozen to his wheel with his truck jacked up, he was easily subdued by Steve’s men.

Francis and Steve, a combined five hundred pounds of tattooed muscle and mean were a convincing sight. Broken Billy needed no persuasion. He hated the job, the people and was worried about the girl he had delivered to the remote location in the desert. Steve began to change his mind about the twisted little man’s culpability in whatever scheme was underway out here under the starry sky.

“Those goddam dykes treat everyone like shit. They give me a list, and I pick up the Fed Ex packages and supplies three times a week. An old guy I knew told me there was a regular gig for me, since I can’t do the con anymore. The two dykes met me at the Nail on the coast. Big blonde bitches. They send money to my account once a week, and all I do is run supplies.

“The girl was extra. The dykes met her uncle and he told me to get a van and wait for her to run out to me. I was to tell her I was taking her away to someplace safe. So I did. Shit, it sounded good, and she told me all kinds of crap about why she was running away. Poor kid, she was desperate. She kept asking if I was taking her to see the Lady. I said yes, if you consider them dykes ladies.

“Every time I ask about her and those bitches just tell me to fuck off. I tell you, that girl was willing, I didn’t touch her. She kept thankin’ me for ‘saving’ her.”

Billy spilled what he knew about the layout. There were only two women there now. The older one, a tall thin woman was not there. She was the boss, they all jumped when she said ‘frog’. There was no security, no call signs, he just drove up and knocked on the door. They acted like he was the only live body that ever came, and he had never seen but one set of tracks other than his, and those made by the Cadillac Escalade they kept in the storage bay.

The tire repaired on Broken Billy’s pickup, the tarp shielding Francis and the two men in the truck bed, Billy handcuffed to the SUVs a mile away, Steve drove the old Chevy up to the main building. Billy had whined that if they all got killed he would die. Steve had laughed and agreed, which only served to add to Billy’s distress.

As he approached the door Steve felt the tightness in his stomach, the general level of tension wash over him. Cops he knew told him they got this feeling every time they walked up to a stopped car. Counting on intel from a source like Billy was risky, but his gut told him the main protection these people had devised was the remoteness of the location.

This area was truly no mans land, with the chance of a random visitor approaching zero. He saw a microwave dish, which meant a private repeater for the communications, and he heard a generator in the background. This place was off the grid, no utility visits. There was probably a private water supply.

Billy’s battered Stetson was a poor fit, stretched tightly around his forehead. He knew he was hardly a good mimic of the crippled delivery man, but was just cutting the odds in his favor by any means possible. He stayed in shadows as he faked a limp to the front door, his Glock solidly in his grip.

The team slipped out of the truck bed one at a time, moving invisibly to their planned positions. They all knew if there was any kind of sophisticated security systems, they would be at significant risk. They all agreed to go ahead and take the chance.

Steve pushed the buzzer button next to the doorjamb. He had been told to expect a long wait. The five minutes was long enough for him to lose some high adrenaline edge, so when the door flew open and the pugil stick drove on his solar plexus he was only able to dodge some of the blow. He could feel his ribs crack.

It did not register in time that his attacker was a six foot tall woman with short blonde hair and oiled muscles under her khaki tee shirt. A veteran of close combat in gang fights, drug deals, prison cells and oil rigs Steve’s instinct was to immediately close with the attacker and neutralize the weapon. His headbutt smashed her nose bloody while he locked her arms in a futile fight for control of the pugil stick. She should have dropped it and gone for him directly.

A few disabling blows and she was subdued, bound and gagged. Her eyes tracked him as he examined the room and Francis entered through the door.

“Nasty piece of work, Steve. I think you improved her face.” Francis said as the woman wriggled furiously screaming obscenities into her gag.

Gray walls and ceiling, surfaced with some kind of composite, probably sprayed onto the metal skin made a box fifteen feet high and the size of a basketball court. Desks, chairs and odd pieces of random furniture littered the openness, and cubicle walls demarked sleeping areas. It was clear one resident was fastidious and one was your basic issue slob. Steve pegged the slob as the one in custody.

Chatter in his earpiece indicated the rest of the team had found pay dirt. Marla Brokken was alive.

The next building over revealed another blonde, tall, thin and whiney who apparently ran the production equipment. She had offered no resistance when the men entered after forcing the door. Restrained but ungagged she was talking a mile a minute, letting them know about the kids, the sex shows, the weird old bitch who hired them, and how she had nothing to do with anything. She was just a techie; she handled the internet stuff, the cameras the communications.

The place looked like a movie set. Inside the soundproof room, Steve saw two girls. One was Marla Brokken, dressed like some housewife on those old sitcoms. The other was sucking a phallic device with great enthusiasm, starting into the overhead camera. She was dressed in a schoolgirl’s outfit which barely contained her breasts.

Before Steve could shut the process down, the girl received a stream of fluid into her mouth and a satisfied look appeared on her face. The screens flashed a ‘Shows Over” title under the “Johnnie To Jill” logo.

“Good thing you let it finish. The little junkie gets her fix that way.” The bound woman said coldly.

Steve opened the closed studio and walked up to Marla.

“You asked for us, Marla. You were gone when we tried to pick you up. We’re here to give you the help you asked for.” Steve said softly.

Marla looked at the big man, the thick arms and the tattoos with kindness in his eyes.

“You’re from the Lady? My God I thought she didn’t exist anymore! “ Marla’s face mixed hope and sorrow.

“Yes. It took some doing to find you, but we’re here to take you to sanctuary.”

Marla ran up and hugged him. Steve noticed the glazed eyes of the other girl and decided the captured techie was not lying. The girl looked like a classic heroin addict after a fix.

“Can Jill come? There’s just the two of us and she’s been here for so long. Please don’t leave her here!” Marla pleaded.

“We’ll take her, Marla, and get her some help. Let’s get you both out of here. What was that device in the studio?”

“The PleasureJac, they called it. It’s better doing that thing than dealing with real people. It’s how they gave us our junk. We did it a few hours a day, and they left us alone the rest. Something about the internet.” Marla talked nervously, while Steve draped a blanket around her. The cold of the desert night was chilling the insides with the doors knocked open.

The girls fed and sleeping in the SUV, Broken Billy released and driving away with the sure knowledge he had crossed a line with Francis, Steve and Francis were waiting for a helicopter to evacuate the girls. The other men were photographing the interior and Steve was unclear about what to do with the two captive women.

Lady Jean’s organization kept a solid distance from the legal system, taking no retribution for abuse but not hesitating to use force to save their charges. Steve knew the two women were bad actors, and he could either let them go or kill them. Given the captivity and forced addiction they had performed, he was tempted to let the desert bleach their bones. He knew he would have to be content to save the two girls and let Jean bring them back to a real life.

Chatter in his ear grabbed his attention. “Remove that plastic prick and bring it along. I want to know what it is and if we’re going to see more of this crap.” He told the man inside. The other one was already carrying out a handful of cd-roms he had stripped off the computer hard drives.

“Steve, I pulled it out of the USB port and the computers all went blank. There’s a high pitched noise.” The man inside said.

“Get out now!” Steve screamed.

He watched the figure of the man in the door, running hard while carrying the black PleasureJac. Flames barely preceded a skeleton rattling explosion as the man hugged the ground. All of the buildings fractured and threw shrapnel out into the desert night.

Shielding his eyes Steve dived for the ground. He heard a side window shatter on the SUV as something propelled by the series of explosions flew into the empty driver’s seat.

It was a miracle they suffered no more than dents, some broken glass and bruises. The man who narrowly missed the close up view had some superficial burns but was already back at work.

The decision on the two blondes had been made by their former employer.

“Hell of a severance package, Francis. They did not want that place salvaged. All because of this thing.” Steve held the broken PleasureJac unit up.

The helicopter rotor could be heard in the night.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 12: This Means War!- Reno, Nevada- August

“This is intolerable! We have customers going crazy and ringing our lines off the hook! What the hell happened to the webcast?” Adrian Beimbeau screamed at the tall, implacable woman seated across from him in TransTalent headquarters in Reno, close, but not too close to Promisense in Lake Tahoe.

“The facility was compromised and they triggered the destruct mechanism. I can prove nothing more, but I know who did this to me. And mind your tone with me, Mr. Beimbeau. Yes, I know who you are. I know your links to Promisense.” Ms. Talleyrand said curtly.

“Yes, your mysterious group. The one that sent you away to that asylum. The bogeyman. And I would advise you to stop snooping into our side of this, Ms. Talleyrand. Such information is inherently dangerous.” Adrian smiled sweetly. He found this woman to be amusing, her psychoses fascinating.

“It’s not a joke. And they will come for you like they did for me.”

Adrian knew there was something to her ravings, his people had confirmed there was a solid probability of an informal collection of vigilantes who ‘took down’ abusers, especially of young boys and transgendered men. He had even had a photograph of their probable lead operative, which confirmed the sketch he had commissioned from her memory.

“Then they will find that to be a tragic mistake.” Adrian spat out through his smile.

Ms. Talleyrand stood up and turned to leave. She had to find the Tunturo boy. All her future depended on it. The rest of her plan was already underway.

“Where do you think you are going?” Adrian said calmly.

“I am done with you people. Good day to you, sir.” Ms. Talleyrand used her ‘command’ voice, which had struck fear in the hearts of her many victims.

Adrian maintained his smile. “These two gentlemen will escort you to your destination, Ms. Talleyrand.”

The woman did not speak another word as the needle sunk into her arm. The two men, wearing dark Italian suits and wrap-around sunglasses grasped her arms and moved her inert body to the private elevator.

“The usual procedure, Hoskins.” Adrian said, watching for the telltale nod of the shrouded eyes. Ms. Talleyrand was not the first active participant in the TransTalent retirement program.

Adrian walked into the office of Lester Quarrel, his security head. Lester had followed Adrian’s rise to power, through the porno industry, managing casinos, escort services, collections of gambling debts. They had started together as repo men in New York City. Lester had taken a knife for Adrian; Adrian had taken out the knifeman.

“What do we have Lester? Did those fairy lovers take out my highest rated show?” Adrian said, always in a relaxed mood around Lester.

Balding, short and vicious, Lester never showed his teeth when talking. It made following his conversation difficult, even for Adrian.

“We got a guy we think is the head shit. He’s a big thing in Sacramento, politics and crap. Angelo. And that other guy, we don’t know his name but people have seen him near LA recently. A lot of people on the street are scared of him.” Lester muttered.

“Is it them, Lester?”

“We only found two bodies in the wreckage up in Oregon and neither of them was the ‘product’. So it would be consistent with them grabbing the boy. If they have him, they may decide to come after the whole thing.” Lester wheezed.

Sometimes coincidence is taken for conspiracy. Adrian had enough information to remove the potential threat. He was feeling powerful at having resolved the Impolecs problem with a little judicious muscle. That officious bitch at Junecellular had gotten the message. So too, this “Group”, would be removed, or neutralized.

“We need another show like Johnnie To Jill . Which franchise can pull that off the best?” Lester asked. He frequently overstepped his bounds which annoyed Adrian. Lester had delusions he was part of the actual business and not just the head bonecruncher.

“Never mind the entertainment side, Lester. Get me a plan and review it with me before you do anything about this problem.” Adrian dismissed his old friend. He turned and left.

“Asshole” mumbled Lester.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 13: Gown Of Colour — Malibu, California- Early September

September is transition. Seasons, lives, back to school, things change.

Miss T was a swarm of activity. The little chapel was ready for the Wednesday evening wedding, or ‘wedding, part one’ with the main event scheduled for Saturday.

The guests were few for this ceremony. While Carolyn had convinced Angel to be the bride for her for the first ceremony, he had extracted a promise to keep the invitees to only very close friends. She had agreed, stressing that she wanted everyone to come as their ‘best dressed’ selves.

Day Before

Angel and Carolyn were sitting and holding each other the day before, watching the surf on the beach.. They had been shedding tears off and on for hours.

Carolyn’s father had called and begged forgiveness. He wished to attend his daughter’s wedding. His son had disappeared from school months ago and he and his wife were wracked with grief. The idea of having a family again was both terrifying and comforting, especially as she approached her wedding. Carolyn knew her father was not directly responsible for her mother’s death, but had felt rage at his decision to leave the family.

Janice had called Angel and let him know Frank was losing his fight against his disease. He was not expected to last more than a few months, and they would be painful.

“Angel, maybe we should postpone….” Carolyn started.

“Frank wants to see me get married before he dies. I can’t deny him that, and I want him to see us. He’s my Dad. I asked him to give me away tomorrow and be here for Saturday where he can play mother of the groom. Carolyn, I’ve been ready for this for years. In a way, I’m glad he made it this far. And I want to meet your Dad too. Ok?” Angel said softly, stroking Carolyn’s inch long curls while slowly massaging her neck.

Carolyn began purring.

“Ohhhh my God, I can’t think when you do that. Yes, you’re right. I love you and we’re doing this. That thing about my step brother is strange, though.”

“I’ll look into it after the wedding, babe.” Angel said.

“In that case, I have to deliver you to Tess’s hairdresser first thing in the morning, sweetie. I’m sure you’ll look lovely.” Carolyn laughed.

Angel looked at her short hair and knew Carolyn’s efforts tomorrow would consist of a wash, comb and blow dry, maybe lasting about five minutes. He, however, was in for a morning of intense salon activity. Followed by Frank and Janice ‘helping’ him with his gown.

He mused over why he had agreed to be a bride. He knew Carolyn enjoyed him both ways. He knew she fully intended to have her day, her white gown, her bridesmaids, her groom, but was equally excited about him enjoying the same things.

His appearance was always a performance, a show, an act. He always was on stage, whether male or female in clothing. Every once in a while he felt a giddiness, an excitement at how he looked, like his Carrie phase. A pleasant feeling accompanied some masks more than others.

A bride should not be a mask. It could not be just a performance. He needed it to be more.

As the evening progressed, the lovers found time for each other, time away from work and wedding plans and guests and parties. Time away from bad news and heartbreak.

Hotel near LAX

Miles Stein stared at the hotel room ceiling. He hated LA. He hated working with a partner. Dunlop was good, but not very adaptable. And he snored. Miles was grateful their client paid for separate rooms. Tomorrow would be easy. Whack the broad during the ceremony and get out. Too bad it would be close in stuff. There were no good sniper positions away from even minimal security. So he would get close and bang, bang bang. Then leave in the confusion. If he screwed up, Dunlop would shoot her and then him. All he wanted to do was get back to Miami in time for his birthday.

Motel In Ventura County, CA

Duane Washington ran over his plan with June Cleaver. He knew that was not her real name, but she could call herself whatever she wanted. The motel room was covered with charts and maps. Duane was a meticulous planner. So meticulous that June was ready to blow his black ass all over the flip charts if he did not shut up.

“Washington, all I wanna know is why, with all the talent in LA, they brought us in from Jersey to hit this guy? My contacts tell me the locals won’t touch the sonofabitch.” June’s cigarette dangled and moved to punctuate her question. Duane hated smokers and June knew it.

“I heard that too, like he’s the devil or something. I hear he has a lot of street cred. Oh well, tomorrow he’s toast. You got the uniforms that fit from the florist?” Duane asked, for the third time.

“Shut the fuck up, Washington! Don’t ask me again! One more time and I’ll do you in your sleep. Now leave me alone.” June screamed and settled into her pillow, television remote flipping channels.

Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

Larry found the dinner in a trolley car unusual to say the least. Trevor Olsen had told him it was a good tourist thing, dinner on wheels while slowly navigating the streets of Melbourne. His trip had been useful in following the trail on AB Enterprises. He had seen the manufacturing plant in the Northern Territories and had overflown the training facility on the Great Barrier Reef. Trevor and his friends were compiling an impressive dossier of financial and other sources of information on the operations. Larry had a lead to a company called TransTalent, and a shadow of suspicion to Promisense. All trails led to Nevada next. He had a profile of this AB, the link to TransTalent.

Instead of a sandwich and beer, Larry found a five course meal with fine wines served with exquisite care by a well trained staff. Trevor laughed.

“We’re even on the dinner thing now mate. I should have made you come as my date, but Sean would step on me.” Trevor laughed some more. Both men were dressed in suits and Trevor’s hair was back in a long braid.

“I’m too tall for you, Trev, especially in heels. And Sean would never hurt you, I think you’re my replacement if she gets tired of me.”

“That’s a fine Sheila you’ve got there, Larry. Give her my love. Now, are you going to look up the fella I told you about? He’s sort of retired now, but he’s a good sort and has some useful contacts.”

“Sean is going to see him tomorrow, right after his wedding party or something. It seems she called, gave your name and was asked to attend, so now she’s bitching at me about having to get a new dress. And all she’s been doing is working the net from our employer’s house in Santa Barbara.”

“Tough duty, that. She found things on her end?” Trevor nibbled on a semisoft cheese and washed it down with a fine Shiraz.

“She has at least city locations for their franchise network. Each one may take tracking down, since she thinks they are using drop addresses and couriers. She’s also found some very weird entertainment on the internet through chat rooms. Apparently, you folks have a local operation in Adelaide.”

“I’ll have to go; I know a fine Vietnamese place which does a great barramundi. So you are off tonight?” Trevor asked.

“Melbourne to Auckland to LA. At least I’m in first, they have the beds there. Thanks for everything Trevor.” Larry said, raising his glass.

Trevor clinked appropriately.

“Glad you tipped us to this, mate. It could get nasty, and you know it’ll be popular.”

Malibu, California

There are some things you do not really want to know in detail. Angel could see Frank and Janice waiting for him as he suffered the ministrations of Tommie’s hairdresser, Robert.

Angel knew Janice was a good friend of Frank’s wife, Samantha, the woman who had become his mother in all but name. Janice was also Frank’s doctor, treating him through the ravages of his endocrine disease. Samantha was years gone, and Janice had only moved in with Frank in the last four years. Angel did not want to know if they were lovers, it was enough that he knew they loved each other.

Frank was a victim of abuse at the hands of his aunt, and had escaped at sixteen. He had raised himself, put himself through college and then the police academy followed by business school, where he met Samantha. Frank had been a deeply closeted crossdresser and Samantha had neither minded nor encouraged him. So Frank occasionally indulged, and became involved with Bob Angelo and the Group.

When Bob had rescued Angel from his tormentor and owner, he knew the normal foster care system would not help such a tortured child. Frank and Samantha had taken in the young boy with the ancient eyes at age twelve. Somehow, they repaired and loved him enough to allow Angel to function, and even excel at things. Frank knew he could not heal the hatred and desire for revenge, so he attempted to channel it, to help others like Angel.

Full circle. Angel was getting married after a career of rescuing the innocent and those no longer innocent. He had healed enough, killed enough and saved enough so he could love someone and himself. Angel and Frank both hoped that was true.

After Samantha’s death, Frank became ill, and disabled enough to be confined to work from his home. He indulged his dressing by growing a beautiful waist length mane of brown hair and wearing dresses or jeans as he pleased. His treatment for the disease, a complex cocktail of hormones and anti virals devised by Doctor Janice Peters had a distinct feminizing effect on his increasingly frail body.

Today, Angel saw a Frank in his best male mode, wearing a sports jacket and slacks, using a cane to support his gait. His hair had the full attention of the salon personnel, with it’s shiny fall down his back and almost imperceptible traces of gray. They made a huge fuss over him and he loved it, joking with them from his perch in the waiting area. From certain angles, if you ignored the shake in his hands, and the subtle curves of his body, he was the tall and strong Frank, the vital man who had raised him, and then later in life , had raised two more victims as his ‘sons’.

Frank saw his son, never qualifying Angel as anything less than his son, preparing for a happy occasion. Having someone to hold, to love, to spend a life with. As he edged closer to the end of his days, Angel had occupied more and more of his thoughts. The fragile and wounded child he had been given had been so hurt, so damaged and full of will to survive. Frank needed to see Angel would be not alone in the world when he died. It was a charge built on love, not obligation.

Robert of Santa Monica was clearly trying to gain favor with the famous Miss T, wedding planner to the elite. Weddings in LA are royal court events, and people have them frequently. Angel had started the negotiation being firm but had to surrender eventually to Robert’s implacable pleas for a “grand style”. His hair, pulled back from his ears, pinned up with stiff curls crowning the top of the upsweep, with long spiral tendrils flowing down to his shoulders and the top of his artificial cleavage did look magnificent.

Angel knew it would fit the role he was playing in their first ceremony. A role he was beginning to accept as more than a role. He could feel himself becoming excited when he thought of the dress. His gorgeous hair style seemed a little overdone for his velvet tracksuit, but perfect for today with Carolyn.

“This will be fine, Robert. Thank you so much.” Angel shook Robert’s hand with a gentle touch. He pulled cash from his purse and paid with a generous tip. Frank and Janice rose, ready to ferry him to the beach house.

Janice gushed and Frank looked at him with deep fondness, a smile forming the small wrinkles around his mouth. Angel kissed them both.

“Thanks Dad. Thanks for coming. Are you all right? Is this too much?” Angel asked quietly from the back of the limousine.

“I hurt all the time, Angel. I’d rather hurt and be here than hurt and not be here. Carolyn’s family now, or will be by tonight. This first thing is official, isn’t it?” Frank asked.

“Yes, Tommie assures me it is, as is the one Saturday. “

Angel, sitting in the back seat next to Frank, was stricken with the return of childhood adults feel when they see their parents after an absence.

Frank, sensing the turmoil in his son, gently held Angel’s hand between his two palms. He looked into the ancient eyes and saw terror.

“Angel, are you all right?” Frank asked, quietly. Janice, seated opposite in the limousine, lean forward yet remained silent.

“Oh Dad! I’m scared! I don’t really know who I am! How can I take a vow without being myself? This has to be real.” Angel uttered, punctuated by soft sobs.

The taunting Face came out of lockup. Angel shuddered as he endured the sadistic smile in his head.

“Bride’s jitters. You have always been real to me, Son. And you are real to Carolyn. She is not fooled by your performances, kid, she sees to your core. And she loves you. You are not half the actor or actress you think you are to a few of us. Do you love Carolyn?” Frank challenged in a tone both gentle and stern.

Angel nodded, moisture running across his cheeks. He composed himself slowly as the limousine drove through Santa Monica. The Face receded with Frank’s presence, as it always had. The Face hated Frank.

“Are Bill and Jim here yet?” Angel asked, Janice dabbing at his face to remove the tears.

“They arrived a little after you left, along with your friend Spider and his sister, Clementine. Your two ushers and bridesmaids are getting dressed. “ Frank said, his smile widening.

Bill and Jim were Frank’s other two ‘sons’, Bill now a city cop and Jim a district attorney. Angel had been the key agent in their rescue from a particularly sadistic woman who made ‘petticoat slaves’ to order. They had watched Angel execute her right on the spot after killing the corrupt town police chief and deputy with his bare hands.

Frank and Janice, with the help of George Romany, the Group psychiatrist had worked to bring the boys back from the brink. Bill was still under his care, ten years later. Jim was raised to be a crossdressing sissy from an early age and had managed to recapture a balance of masculinity with Frank, Janice and George’s help.

Angel was not surprised to see Jim already in his bridesmaid dress, his five foot ten inch frame even taller with his heels. Jim made a pretty girl if you confined the view to his face. With a fairly muscular torso and his brush cut hair he looked incongruous with his carefully made up visage. Angel knew Jim must have a fabulous wig just waiting to finish his look.

Bill hugged Angel, looking ruggedly handsome in his black tuxedo jacket. Angel could feel the shoulder holster housing Bill’s Glock as he returned the hug. Jim ran up and kissed him on the cheek, followed by joining the hug. They had always viewed Angel as their big brother, and they were his closest family.

As Angel made his way into the house, he saw a huge man in a tuxedo, his normally scraggly hair and beard neatly trimmed. Spider Robertson was an old ‘collar’ of Angel’s, a bust for armed robbery. While Spider was locked away, he had asked Angel to look after his little sister, to keep her out of the rackets and safe from Spider’s acquaintances.

Clementine Robertson was a tall woman. At six foot three in her bare feet, she only looked delicate next to her brother. Where Spider was big, running over three hundred pounds with huge arms and a fierce expression, Clementine was merely muscular and lean. Angel had shepherded her away from the life her brother led and towards a positive realization of her talents. Clementine was a natural businesswoman, and a freshly minted MBA from a prestigious university very near the chapel they were using for the wedding.

Spider still ran most of the waterfront rackets in many coastal towns, but was less violent, more of a community fixture since his return from prison. He had a cooperative relationship with most police departments, since he was a force for stability and predictability in the underworld. No tourists were mugged, violent crimes were kept off the waterfront and retired people were respected. Spider had a code of conduct the cops could live with, allowing them to focus on the real bad actors.

Janice, Jim and Clementine hustled Angel into his room to get dressed.

“You will be there on time, Angel, now let’s get you together. “ Clementine giggled as she carefully began disrobing him.

Later, standing in front of his gown wearing his pettislip, his breast prostheses snugly captured in his bra, his hips and rear end padded out by his panties, his stockings translucent with a wisp of white attached to his garter belt, his face painted to the best of his capable skill, he remembered the description Tommie had given him.

“An empire waist matte satin gown accentuated with lightly beaded soft netting wrapping around the back and criss-crossing over the bodice. Then there is the applied silver corded beaded lace and crystals which accent the skirt and train. And it’s white, you virginal bitch! Splendid! Simply Splendid!”

The gown flowed, billowed out from the waist. The veil was simple and understated. The sleeves were long with scalloped lace.

“I assume you had the modifications you requested?” Jim asked, jealously running his hand along the satin fabric.

“Yes. They did a wonderful job.” Angel said as the three helped him into the gown. The A line fit him perfectly, and the V neck was showered with his spiral curls. Janice pinned the veil into place and Jim handed Angel his shoes. Angel wore a pair of diamond earrings which had belonged to Samantha, and a diamond necklace Frank and Janice had custom made to match.

Frank and Janice looked at him with tears in their eyes.

“Angel, who picked that dress? Was it you?” Frank said, crying openly.

“I sent a copy of yours and Mom’s wedding picture to Tommie. She handled the rest. I told her I wanted one just like Samantha’s. I always though she was so beautiful in that picture.”

Janice held Frank, partially for emotional support and partially to keep him from collapse.

The limousine carried the wedding party to the chapel, and Angel noted the laughter in Frank’s voice. He was truly having a wonderful time.

Miss T was there with her boyfriend Turk, who served as caterer. The weather was warm and dry and the pavilion next to the chapel was lit with gas torches for the coming dusk. Burnt orange and purple bands covered the sky, backlit by the sun an hour above setting. A perfect late afternoon in southern California.

Angel helped Frank up the steps while Jim and Clementine managed his train. Janice hovered, ready to assist Frank if he faltered.

The small chapel had plenty of capacity, just several handfuls of people seated on each side.

The Mendelssohn began and everyone stood. Sean Taylor, pleased with her sheath dress, saw a beautiful bride slowly moving down the aisle with a tall, handsome yet obviously frail man proudly doing his escort duty.

Lady Jean Thomas looked at Carolyn waiting at the altar, beautiful in her tuxedo jacket over a black dress with white scarves, her law partner similarly attired standing next to her. Steve Dunbar smiled at the display and had his attention grabbed by the presence of Spider Robertson. Mutual recognition flowed between the two, ancient disputes and issues long forgotten resurfaced.

Miss T stood in the back, murmuring “Splendid, simply splendid!”

George Romany was dressed in a peach colored fitted suit, and several Group agents were in plainclothes.

Bob Angelo was not there.

Three women, friends and professional acquaintances of Carolyn’s were there and were clearly amused at the proceedings. The concept of a male bride was fairly unique, but gender confusion and comedy gave way to Angel’s presence. There was nothing comedic or silly in his demeanor, and he was beautifully convincing as someone giving themselves in marriage.

Frank faltered on his cane when he was almost down the aisle, and Angel gripped him firmly. He sat his father down next to Janice, showing him love and respect. Frank’s eyes were moist.

The vows were said. Angel looked up into Carolyn’s eyes, veil lifted off his face. Love, honor, cherish and protect. Forever. Death was not even mentioned as a limiting factor.

Carolyn looked at the bride. She loved this man in every aspect. All of the layers. He was beautiful in spirit.

The bride was kissed and the couple made their way outside to the reception pavilion. Angel met Sean in the reception line and whispered that they would talk later. Lady Jean was gracious and said that she could not wait for the roles to reverse on Saturday.

Miss T fluttered about, a pink energy packet creating motion and buzz wherever she touched down. Turk moved his white jacketed bulk with grace, getting guests to taste the food, explaining the preparation, waving servers about like an orchestra conductor.

Carolyn and Angel were holding each other. Married. Carolyn had her height advantage back since they both wore heels, and looked down into Angel’s eyes, now curiously soft and deep.

The florist van had arrived and was setting up more displays of flowers. Duane and June began looking for their target.

Miles Stein wore a gray suit and began to just mingle with the well wishers. Dunlop hung back, staring at the event from a bench across the street.

The photographer began to pose the wedding party. Frank stood next to Carolyn, Angel with Janice. June Cleaver and Duane were haplessly moving flowers around, searching for Angel.

Miles was within ten feet of Carolyn. He drew his 9mm CZ75 Luger from his belt and began to pull the trigger.

Frank saw a glint of steel in the sun and moved his body in front of Carolyn, which saved her life. He took four hits in his torso while she took one in the right side of her abdomen.

Angel moved his hand through the Velcro slit in his gown to find the .25 Beretta Bobcat in a garter holster. Miles took three shots directly in his face while Angel moved to get to Frank and Carolyn, still in the process of falling into a heap.

June Cleaver and Duane realized that their target was the bride and chose the wrong wedding party to pull out their SIG P226 9mms and draw a bead on Angel. Sean Taylor had the first shot, fracturing June’s wrist. Jim, Bill and Spider would never agree on whose shot took Duane down. Lady Jean and Steve each put a round into June’s heart, while George and Janice raced to the fallen Frank and Carolyn, being the two MDs present. The Group agents had been a fraction of a second from adding more fire, but had the discipline to hold when they saw no remaining threats. Two chased across the street after Dunlop who had all ready started his car and was leaving at speed.

Angel’s gown was stained red with Frank’s and Carolyn’s blood. He sat silently on the grass while Janice and George gently broke his grip on the two victims.

Angel saw Frank look at him and smile. Frank nodded to him and life departed his eyes.

Janice closed the eyelids and sat silent next to Angel. An ambulance siren was heard in the air. George was holding Carolyn, her bleeding stopped for now.

Carolyn looked around her in a vague fog, all sound fading in and out. Concentration was difficult. She felt nothing other than a raw overall pain, but was curiously detached from the perception of it. She realized she was in shock. With some effort she knew she had been shot, she knew Frank was hurt. Where was Angel? There he was, moving to her, his face red with blood, his eyes cold despite the tears running down his cheeks. He held her gently and stroked her head.

Bill and Jim took charge, and the heavily armed wedding guests formed a cordon around the bride and groom. The Group agents had taken the still breathing Duane and spirited him off. A local police car was held from the scene by two Group agents with State Police ID, while the ambulance, quickly searched and medics checked out was allowed to carry Angel and Carolyn to a local hospital.

George changed to male clothing in the car on the way over to the hospital, along with Jim. Bill gave Angel a sweatsuit and sneakers to replace his blood soaked wedding dress while riding with Carolyn.

George’s phone rang while the SUV sped down the road.

“That was Ramirez from Bob Angelo’s office. Bob’s car was blown up a few hours ago while he was enroute to the ceremony. “ George intoned. The Group had been hit and hit hard today. Bill’s hands tightened into whiteness on the wheel of the Lincoln Navigator. Jim, his wig off, his make up removed, had a look of fear and resolve as he scanned the highway while pulling jeans on over his panty girdle.

Lady Jean approached Steve while they decided what they could do to help.

“Steve, I was just informed that Carolyn’s father and his wife were just killed in an explosion on their boat while it was approaching the dock of their house in Virginia. They were to come to the ceremony on Saturday.”

“This stinks.” Steve intoned. Lady Jean nodded in agreement.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2- I Can See For Miles

Fourth Story in the Angelverse

By Tyrone Slothrop

The story winds to it's conclusion

Chapter 14: To The Mattresses: High Sierras, Northern California- September

Cool air moved over his face, small particles of dead vegetation touched his skin and bounced off, leaving minute traces of the forest. The natural world covers and claims us as part of it’s own whenever humans venture outside of their concrete canyons. The senses invoked stretch back ages, intertwined in the very cells of the body. The world relates to us as species, not individuals, a state which can be refreshing, allowing the fears and concerns tied to identity to become meaningless.

Angel felt the need for such abandon now. Frank was dead. Bob was reported dead. Carolyn was wounded. Someone was after his family.

Lady Jean Thomas had asserted a motherly command once the crisis had calmed.

Carolyn was out of danger but still in serious condition. She would heal and no internal organs were damaged. She had suffered a large blood loss.

The police investigation was being controlled, a task made easier by the presence of so many off duty officers and agents of city and state police forces. Officially, two assassins were dead and one had escaped. All participants were licensed for concealed carry or were off duty police.

Frank had been buried five days later, his ashes scattered on the river he so loved. The security was at extreme levels, since most of the mourners were Group members.

Jean Thomas, with the help of a deeply grieving George Romany, had pulled Angel and Carolyn under her protection at the lodge. George had taken temporary command of the Group and had effectively pulled all members into defensive mode. Operations which could be stopped were halted, and agents undercover were extracted where possible.

The lodge’s normal medical facility had shifted from a well equipped emergency room facility with a part time doctor to a round the clock care facility with an illustrious staff of physicians.

Doctor Karen Peters had been with Jean for years, and had tended the needs of her girls on a part time basis. She was now joined by her sister, Doctor Janice Peters, the respected endocrinologist, Frank’s companion. Doc Schlange, a researcher into obscure hormonal imbalances and decorated Navy Doctor who now lived in the town of Filler down the mountain, was a friend of Jean’s since their war years together in Southeast Asia. George Romany was a MD in Psychiatry who specialized in victim recovery and transgender issues.

Carolyn had the best possible care, with a team of doctors watching every move the surgeons made and reviewing every step of her post op care. The bullet had passed through and major infection seemed to have been prevented, but the musculature had been damaged and her lower intestine nicked.

George approached the silent Angel on the outside deck.

“Angel, we need you to step up and bring the Group back to life. I’m not an operations guy, I don’t have the temperament. Point me in a direction, give me a script, I’m fine. But we need to go after these guys. And that means you. They will follow you.”

Angel did not answer George for ten minutes. George knew he was not being ignored.

Angel saw Carol, the Lodge Junior Mistress as he called her, slim with her long black hair waving in the breeze, walking with Jill, one of the girls Jean had brought here for shelter.

The two were enjoying the scenery in front of the lodge, with the ground cover of pine needles and grasses. You were in one step surrounded by tall trees and sheltered and in the next step looking out on a vista of snow capped mountains and deep valleys.

“I think we need to compare notes with some others. Call a meeting for two days from now. Ask Jean and Steve. I want that Sean Taylor and her partner who I hear is back in the country. I also want the team following the lead from that hit man we captured to give me their report, if they are back from New Jersey. Have the Group Captains stand by; we’re having a war council. “ Angel said, the wrinkles around his eyes getting deeper, his gray gaze getting colder.

His peace with the rage of his past melted in his soul. All of the pain, the anger, the humiliation, flared once again.

Somebody had attacked his family. Somebody was going to die.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 15: Walls And Prisons — High Sierras, Northern California - September

The slim, pretty man up on the deck looked so sad to Jill. He knew the man had suffered a terrible loss and was just beginning to understand why he should care about the suffering of strangers.

The twitchy feeling he got when he allowed himself to feel pain, emotional or physical, was the residue of the drugs. Jill had been clean and straight for eight weeks now, but the memories of detox brought waking nightmares. Johnnie told him it would go on for some time.

Johnnie was still locked away, safe in his beach house in Jill’s head. Johnnie had told Jill that Jill was to be what these people wanted him to be, and keep Johnnie safe.

Eight Weeks Earlier

Doctor Karen Peters watched the writhing collection of pains and needs twisting on the cot in the secure room. This was not the first drug or alcohol addicted child they had rescued. The other girl, Marla, seemed to be less addicted to the potent opiates their captors had used, opiates which were absorbed by the soft tissues of the mouth and sinuses. The one who called himself Jill, however, was going to have a rough time.

Lady Jean approached her.

“Any idea on what we are dealing with here, Karen?”

Karen paused, watching the poor creature inside the room rolling back and forth..

“Lady Jean, whoever did this needs to pay. That boy was conditioned to become something which should drive him into deep psychosis. Instead, he absorbed it and erected a barrier personality. George was the one who found it, since none of his answers made any sense for his situation. We hope that he is hiding deep inside. “

“Steve, even with working with the law enforcement contacts of George’s Group, has not been able to identify him from fingerprints or facial characteristics. And he won’t or can’t tell us who he is. The girl we went to rescue was only there for two months and he had been there for some time before that. We know they blasted him with hormones and even did facial surgery and those breast implants. And we know they made him the object of regular humiliation and had him perform fellatio on that thing Steve brought back, just to get his drugs. We also know they used very sophisticated conditioning methods to re-orient his self image.” Lady Jean examined the list of crimes.

Karen motioned George Romany to join the discussion, making him break away from his mayonnaise soaked BLT.

“George has a recommended course of treatment which I think has merit, Jean.” Karen said, deferring to the Psychiatrist who was trying to swallow a large mouthful before he spoke.

“We are in pretty unknown territory here, since Jill is clearly a personality constructed by the original inhabitant of that body, not a classic multiple personality disorder. Our problem is Jill is a drug addicted, cocksucking, shallow self centered bitch, who only cares about surviving the day and getting the most pleasure out of it.” George said, watching for the reaction.

Jean gave him a puzzled look and Karen was blinking. They both knew George loved to use words to shock as a mechanism for opening minds to his discussion.

Dissatisfied that his ploy seemed to have fallen flat, he continued.

“Jean, we need to make Jill a lady. A mannered, caring, loving girl who can make the complex moral decision to free her interior captive despite what that person inside wants or is afraid to do. We need to grow her up, and grow her up nice.”

Jean pondered the thought. George was a brilliant practitioner who was the first to admit his unorthodox approach was not always right.

“How can you be sure there is an ’interior personality’, George? Maybe he is what he has become?” Jean said.

“Because while you can withhold the truth, even the strongest will cannot hold a mask while going through that kind of detox. There is a smart and scared person inside there, I saw him. And we need to get him out.” The passion and fire was evident in George’s reply.

“Very well. Karen, what about the hormones they fed him?” Jean switched topics deftly.

“Walter and I agree, his male genitalia have been damaged, and he will need to be watched for damage to kidneys and liver and hundreds of other problems. I wish we had a better idea of dosages and duration, but the records Steve got out of that place were spotty. The other girl had no information at all about that. He has had skeletal change and probably his height is topped out. For all intents and purposes, he is physically a classic pre op transsexual. When we get his system clear of drugs, we need to decide what to do with his direction on hormone therapy.” Karen stopped, realizing she had begun a lecture.

Johnnie finished the operating system he had thought out for the PleasureJac. All in his mind, he devised mnemonic memory tricks to remember the modules, tricks used by scholars in the middle ages. He stared out at the Atlantic, the unchanging view he remembered from childhood. He wished he could come out, and write things down, but was afraid. Jill would protect him. These new people were not to be trusted.

Weeks passed. Jill was allowed out now, but only with a companion. These miserable bitches would not let him even smoke, he thought. He had offered sexual favors for a chance to escape and found they just ignored him. He had once gotten out the front door and found two large, military looking guys who just gently restrained him. It seemed they were impervious to his offer of a blowjob for freedom.

Everybody kept referring to him as a real girl. He assumed the doctor was sloppy and had not looked carefully, like those doctors who had come in and hacked at his face and given him the huge boobs.

Jill was enjoying eating whatever she wanted. Eating was part of the drug rehab, and his hips and rear began to show the effect. No one made mention of it, they just supplied larger clothing. Very definite girl’s clothing.

Jill had a room now, and shared a bathroom with the other girls. Carol had cut his hair, since he had never cared for it other than to tuck it into wigs while in captivity. Jill rather liked the resulting chin length bob.

Carol was the house mother, the warden, the shoulder to cry on, the enforcer, and the one the other girls placed their trust in. Jill could see why. She was fair and she was patient. She had her own little boy, who turned out to be her brother, not her son, but she treated him like her own child.

Part of Jill wanted to like Carol, part wanted to rebel and shock her. Jill liked the other girls, especially Marla, who simply worshipped Carol. Eve was fourteen, and Cassie and Prissy were sixteen. Cassie and Eve had babies which required constant care. Prissy was struggling with schoolwork, determined to get her life on track. They all welcomed Jill as a sister.

Lady Jean spent long patient hours with Jill, talking about her life, her opinions and what she hoped her girls would become. At first, Jill was bored and distracted, but her whole personality was to never confront, just passively go along with minimal effort. Jill found that the discussions were entertaining and began to enter into shy debate with Lady Jean.

The security guys began to change in Jill’s perception from guards and oppressors to protectors and older brothers. They treated him with respect, and never reacted to his outrageous outbursts designed to provoke them. He was treated like their little sister who occasionally got out of control.

Carol noticed Jill working with Prissy on her homework. Jill was not doing any schoolwork yet, since he was only a few weeks into his recovery from the forced addiction. What fascinated Carol was how patiently Jill was explaining algebra to Prissy, working her through examples, laughing with her, making the struggle to master quadratic equations a team effort. Jill, or Jill plus whoever else was in his head was clearly mathematically gifted.

The important thing was the patience. Many brilliant people have no capacity to teach. Jill clearly was showing concern for another person in the way he was approaching Prissy’s challenge. Carol made a note in her head to talk to George about this.

The dreaded spot in Jill’s existence was what she and the other girls referred to as the “ladylike hour”. Once each day during the week, Lady Jean would instruct them unforgivingly in some particular set of the skills of a refined woman. Etiquette, planning a formal dinner, sewing, art appreciation, the history of fashion. Jean’s list seemed endless.

Jill and the other girls were required to dress for the sessions, appropriate to the season of course. Accessories were mandatory, including gloves, an appropriate purse and tasteful makeup. Carol was happy to watch the children during this period, having survived several years of ‘ladylike hours”.

Other skills, like cooking and cleaning were simply part of their assigned duties at the lodge. Jill found she did not mind cleaning or cooking or laundry or any of the roster of jobs she inherited. Lady Jean had first rate equipment and believed in smart work, not hard work. The vacuum was the best and easy to use. The kitchen equipment all worked, and Marguerite, the cook was a good instructor in the culinary arts. Every surface which needed regular cleaning had the best product available and was designed to be low maintenance.

Jill loved the self defense classes. Despite his captivity, his tormentors had forced him to treadmill several miles daily, so he was in decent physical condition. Once he was free of the opiates and no longer subjected to massive estrogen doses he found the challenge and the discipline of martial arts to be soothing to his jangled nerve endings. Marguerite and Steve or one of his security guys usually ran the session , three times a week.

Jill was surprised that firearms skills were deemed essential by Lady Jean. He had never even seen an actual gun, and neither had Johnnie. But he had now. He could put holes in a target, and knew how to handle handguns, rifles and shotguns safely.

Lady Jean had a policy: her graduates were never to be passive victims again.

Jill found himself becoming a sister. In bits and pieces, he learned the pain that Eve, Cassie and Prissy carried with them. They told him parts of their stories. Marla was not ready to share her past but had seen his. He cried with them, he held them when they needed holding.

George Romany watched Jill grow, adding facets to his persona. Compassion. Concern for others. Self respect.

What made George the most curious was Jill’s excitement the first time he was issued pen and a ream of paper. Jill spent her few spare hours furiously filling the blank spaces. Carol asked to see her writing and Jill reluctantly shared.

Poetry. Stories. Equations. C++ code. Random thoughts. Jokes. All seemingly just dumped onto the page. No clue to the hidden personality except that it was very bright.

George made another move. He gave Jill a standalone personal computer. No network connection, no internet. Just a C++ compiler and a word processor. It was like throwing a starving otter a fresh fish. Jill’s fingers flew over the keyboard for his allowed hour a day, and George noticed that instead of transcribing memories, the flow of material seemed fresh, with the revisions and rewrites which occur before a work is polished.

His next step was to link the computer to his own. He could then initiate conversation through the operating system, in a chat like messaging environment.

GEORGE> HELLO JILL

JILL> HELLO GEORGE.

GEORGE> WHO AM I TALKING TO NOW?

JILL> ME

GEORGE> DO U HAVE A NAME?

JILL> YES

GEORGE> WILL YOU TELL ME?

JILL> NOT NOW

GEORGE> OK. TAKE YOUR TIME. WE WANT TO HELP YOU

JILL> THAT’S WHAT JILL SAYS. SHE LIKES EVERYBODY HERE

GEORGE> WE CAN TALK MORE TOMORROW. WE ALL LIKE JILL. AND WE ALL WILL LIKE YOU

JILL> I AM A FREAK NOW

GEORGE> WE ARE ALL FREAKS. TIME FOR SLEEP. WE CAN TALK TOMORROW

George asked Carol to describe her past to Jill over the next week or so, but not until he and Lady Jean got back from the wedding they were attending in Malibu.

There was some delay due to the commotion and excitement of Angel and Carolyn showing up, along with a number of heavily armed guards and medical gear. Carol took Jill for a walk outside while Angel and George were on the deck looking down at them.

Carol was born Bobby Dunbar, Steve Dunbar’s first son. His mother, despondent and unfaithful along with being an alcoholic, frequently abused Bobby. She also was neglectful of Toby, the baby she had thirteen years after Bobby. When Steve went missing in the South China Sea off an oil rig, Bobby’s mother and her friends in a biker gang had tried to get rid of Toby and Bobby.

Bobby had his testicles crushed while escaping with Toby. Guided to Lady Jean by the kindness of neighbors, he began a year long masquerade as a mother of the infant Toby. He made his decision to become Carol at age fifteen, with the support of Lady Jean. Steve returned and in the process of searching for his family, was able to rescue Carol from the gang members trying to kill her.

Jill was wide eyed at the story. Since Carol defined the picture of a mature young woman for Jill, it rocked his perception that she was once in his position.

Jill stared up at the man on the deck. He had a story too.

And he seemed so sad.

Johnnie opened the door to his imaginary room and walked outside for the first time in almost a year.

“Carol, my name is Johnnie Tunturo. I used to be him, anyway.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 16: War Council- Town of Filler, Northern California. Late September

The banquet room at the Highway Inn was bustling with activity. Charlene and Joelle were dashing around, making sure their guests were well accommodated. Located right off the Interstate, at the gateway to the Sierras Resort and Spa, Filler had blossomed from it’s sleepy origins years ago. With excellent food prepared by chefs shared with the five star resort twenty miles down the road, the Highway Inn had acquired a reputation for the best food of any exit service in five hundred miles.

Carol had come down to pick up her brother Toby, a bundle of motion at age seven, who stayed with Joelle and Terri, both hostesses and managers at the Inn while he went to school in town. Steve was playing with his son while Terri, hair in rollers , wearing a nightgown and robe was yawning and getting ready for the next shift at the café.

“Carol, he gets livelier every day. And Flora says he’s doing so well at school. You are forcing Joelle and I into having one of our own.” Terri said, sipping a coffee cup.

Carol smiled. “I miss him when he’s down here, but he seems to love it. Plus there are more kids for him to play with then up on the mountain.”

Steve came in and handed control over to Carol, who was driving back. He was headed for the meeting.

Four senior Group agents came, three of which were State level and one was Homeland Security. Casual clothes and formal demeanors.

Larry Elger and Sean Taylor were already there. Spider Robertson sat in a corner, next to Steve Dunbar. Lady Jean sat next to Angel and George Romany. Bill and Jim were at the end of the main table.

Security eyes and weapons surrounded the site.

“This is in many ways a recap and sharing of what we all know, and an affirmation of our plan to eliminate the mutual threat we have all somehow encountered. Many of us have been involved in discussions for the last several days and our collective pool of information is eye opening. I would like to especially recognize Larry Elger and Sean Taylor, who managed to use their sources, combined with some of ours to effectively layout a picture of the opposition. “ Angel said. The room went silent and followed his every word. He saw Spider and Steve Dunbar shake hands in the corner. He took it as an omen.

“You have a dossier in front of you , which lays out the Promisense — TransTalent operation. Larry has located their manufacturing location for the PleasureJacs, and the distribution channels they have set up. Apparently , they are not ready to go into production yet. It seems a key supplier is having ‘production difficulties’ with a key component.” Larry and Sean smiled. Marissa had been threatened again by thugs from TransTalent, but the thugs found it to be a losing proposition. AB Enterprises was informed that there were delays in the ship dates for the Impolecs. And they were also informed if any more characters showed up, the delays would become terminal.

“Sean Taylor has been able to find nine franchises operational, in the following locations. We have exact coordinates on seven of them and are close on the remaining two.

“Bill and Jim had followed the trail from the hitman we captured, who, by the way is now in custody of the police. A New Jersey mid level mob guy took the contract and hired it out to the two who were trying to kill me. He was very reluctant to talk. We disagreed. He did eventually lead us to the head of Security for TransTalent, Lester Quarrel. Quarrel is the long time sidekick of the man in the dossier, Adrian Beimbeau, the President of TransTalent.

“We have also confirmed he tried to muscle Larry and Sean’s employer, including threats to her son.

“The two teams of hitmen at the wedding were a puzzle, but we recently got a break. The victim rescued from the Oregon desert franchise described a sadist we have run across before, known as Madam J. I once showed her mercy and let the system handle her. My mistake. The victim was the heir to a half a billion dollar estate, with only one person who could possibly contest it. My wife, Carolyn. It turns out Johnnie Tunturo is the step brother she never met. Their father and his mother met an accident the same day as the attempt on Carolyn. Psychological feminization and dependence was a trademark of Madam J’s old operation which we shut down years ago. I’m sure she planned to establish her hooks once he was released and ‘rescued’, and the sole heir to millions.

“The interior of the Oregon franchise was fairly well documented by Steve Dunbar and his team, but unfortunately, we lost the site due to it’s self destruct. We need more intelligence on franchise operations. We want to get the victims out without killing them in the process.

“We also know that ‘spoiled talent’ as these bastards call them, have been shipped to Mexico in a trial operation, and sold as prostitute-slaves.

“So here the situation stands. Beimbeau is at an impasse. He needs the material to expand. We need to understand the franchise defenses and operation. He will get more desperate. So one of us with a reputation will approach him to solve his supply problems.”

Angel laid out the plan. With few questions, the members of the conference agreed.

“We will need some more help if we want to take out everything at once. I have some recruits in mind. You all have your assignments. It will be a very interesting Halloween for Mr. Beimbeau.”

The meeting broke up after a spirited question session, leaving Lady Jean, Steve and Angel sitting around a pot of coffee.

“You know you can’t stop this technology, Angel. It will be developed somewhere else.” Lady Jean said softly.

“I don’t oppose the technology, it’s inevitable. It’s probably a better life than regular prostitution. But we can stop these particular scum from pioneering it, and maybe set a precedent that there is a cost to taking the innocent.” Angel whispered.

“Now that’s the Angel I know.” A voice boomed from the doorway.

“Bob?” Angel was stunned.

“Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” Bob Angelo strode into the room.

“Care to explain?” Angel asked.

“I watched my long time friend and assistant, along with my driver go up in flames meant for me. I got tied up and he needed to be in San Francisco, so I told him to take my car, I was flying. After realizing I was a target, I decided to play dead. And I found out some things, but clearly not as much as you. Angel, I’m glad Carolyn’s ok, and I am sorry about Frank.”

“In some ways, Frank got to go out better than he expected. He saved Carolyn and went quick.” Angel said with a twinge of pain weaving through the words.

Bob nodded and hugged Angel. After some time, he broke the embrace.

“You know you are right about the technology. Porn has played a role in civilization since it’s inception, and as far as pay for sex, this technology might be better for public health. Promisense is onto the wave of the future. But Ord Stonewell will never see the day it breaks. For what he’s done, that miserable piece of shit is going down. And I know a real good way to do it.” Bob grinned his winning grin, the one that had gotten him elected twice to state wide office.

Bob grabbed a cup of coffee and gave them his thoughts.

High Sierras, Northern California

Up in the mountains, Carolyn sat with Johnnie. Her hospital style bed was raised to afford her a gorgeous view of the valley and clouds shrouding the snow caps. The pain from her wound was receding, replaced by the emotion of the moment.

They both now knew their father was dead, and Johnnie joined her in the loss of a mother.

Johnnie was in a pastel blue skirted suit, with white gloves. Lady Jean had instructed him to dress nicely for meeting someone special, and Marguerite had released him from the ‘ladylike hour’ to meet his sister. Jill faded from sight, yet Johnnie seemed to have incorporated much of Jill into Johnnie. He loved being a sister to the girls, and was giggling with joy to find he had a real sister, right here in his new home.

They hugged each other in silence. Johnnie felt his heart beating and found it deafening.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 17: South of the Border, Down Mexico Way- October

Clarence Posey felt the sweat pour down the back of his neck. He could see the Saguaro cactus across the street, if you could call the rutted baked mud a street. The beer bottle felt cool and wet in his huge grip. He did not even know the name of this place, seventy miles south of Nogales. The GPS had taken him here from Spider’s coordinates.

“Spider sent you to find these people, Si? “ Carlos El Oso said impassively. Clarence felt like he was in the beginning of every Clint Eastwood or Anthony Banderas western, sitting in a broken down saloon, talking to a guy named ‘The Bear’.

Like almost everyone in Southern California, Clarence harbored dreams of the movie business. In other places, people wanted to be action heroes and starlets, but the truly addicted fantasized about producing, deal making, or if feeling especially low, screenwriting. He did have a Masters in Modern Literature, earned painstakingly over the years when he was not banging heads for Spider.

Clarence looked at El Oso and felt the incongruity of the name. To Clarence, names were destiny. When you grow up poor and white with a name like Posey, you either learn to fight or suffer immensely. Clarence learned to fight. Now, El Oso might qualify for his namesake if Christopher Robin was his sidekick and he carried a honey jar.

The man was playing a role. Clarence expected him to break out into a chorus of “Badges? We Don’ Need No Stinkin’ Badges!” at any moment.

“Stop fucking with me, Carlos. I know you speak English fluently and without a cheesy accent, I know you normally wear clean clothes and making me come to this shithole so you can re-enact some fantasy really pisses me off.” Clarence said, calmly and quietly. The four men watching his back broke into grins.

Carlos sat up straight, the ‘impassive and dangerous Jefe’ act clearly over.

“Ok, ok. I dig those old movies. Now you’re here, well go to my house and talk by the pool. It’s only ten minutes away.” Carlos said quickly, sounding much more like the money man intermediary he really was.

Clarence and his crew clambered back into their white Chevrolet Suburbans and followed Carlos the Pooh (as he was now nicknamed) in his 1961 Cadillac convertible, it’s massive tailfins cutting a wake in the heat haze bouncing off the ground.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at a large ranch house set against a row of low rises, with a quarter acre of perfect green lawn in front, a feat which was a monument to the insanity of man’s need to recreate his childhood environment. Carlos grew up in a middle class suburban home in New Jersey, and had transplanted a piece of Saddlebrook into the hostile and arid Sonoran desert.

Settled in by the pool, a better beer in his grip, Clarence listened to Carlos the Pooh brief him.

“The brothel owners were approached by this Lester Quarrel months ago, who offered them a good price on what he called top talent she males and some girls, all very young, all clean, and all American.

“I don’t want to insult you, but a lot of people want to fuck an American these days, it’s like having a brand name for a brothel. They really like to fuck an American shemale; we get a whole tourist trade over here for that. Something to do with your country’s foreign policy.” Carlos paused, looking to see if he had offended his audience.

Clarence was impassive. One of his guards grunted, and Clarence glanced at him, indicating to shut up.

“Go on Carlos.” Clarence said.

“So far, only four boys and two girls have been sent. Apparently the first shipment met with an accident. Oh, yes, and one old lady. She was thrown in for free. She was resold to the interior, and I doubt she will survive. Anyway, she is beyond recovery. The children are spread across three establishments. Sadly, one boy died. He took his own life.” Carlos crossed himself.

“And have you negotiated a price?”

“They were very attached to them, Mr. Posey. It was a painful negotiation.” Carlos began to shiver. He always hated this part. Gangsters were so unpredictable when it came to money.

“Do you have a number?” Clarence was impassive.

Carlos slid a single document across the patio table. Clarence looked at it without touching it.

“Half of that, the kids get out now, you get them to us at the location we arranged, with whatever immediate medical needs they have covered, and nobody tips off this Quarrel guy what happened. “ Clarence countered.

They settled on 65% of the original. Honor satisfied, Clarence snapped his fingers and one of his guards showed photographs of Lester Quarrel, Ord Stonewell, Adrian Beimbeau and Madam J to Carlos.

“The Quarrel man, that’s him. I don’t know the other two. The woman could be the one who came later and was sold south. Trust me, she is gone. They said she was crazy and needed many drugs to just shut up.”

Clarence sent the text message to Spider and Angel. “Recovery South underway”

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 18: Land Down Under — Cairns, Queensland, Australia, October

“Do you have her location?” Angel; said, attempting keep the Paseo squarely down the left side of the road. Off to his left, Trevor Olsen grinned, waiting for the Yank to make a driving faux paus. Larry Elger sat in the back seat and slept.

Rolling north of Cairns, the major town in the north of Queensland, the Mitsubishi four wheeler was headed for the beach resorts in rain forest country. Angel had never driven right hand before and Larry and Trevor had indulged him.

The Captain Cook Highway winds past the shore of the Coral Sea, past beaches with tree cover, into the shift from open fields to hills and denser vegetation.

“Yes, we do. We’ve kept an eye on her ever since you asked us to. She’s been doing small con, wealthy shithead marks, nobody gets hurt. Greedy sods who out to know better. And this part’s rich, mate. She married one of us. A CD. The guy’s really good, too. Looks just like Sigourney Weaver when he wants to. They use it in the con, saves them having another split.

“They are staying up in Port Douglas, and expect to meet their mark tomorrow on the Kurunda sky tram. A Middle Eastern type. Looks like you can do a passable Arab gentleman, Mr. Elger.” Trevor said, knowing full well Larry was awake enough to follow along.

Angel pulled into the entrance for the Beach Lodge.

Breakfast arrived in the open air pavilion, soft sun lighting azure and turquoise water. Out there lay the Great Barrier Reef, then the deep deep water beyond. Trevor was delighted.

“You Yanks certainly have the expense accounts. Remind me to entertain you more often.”

“Remind me to let AFP pay for the next dinner in LA, Trevor.” Larry said, eating his soft boiled egg.

“Never happen, mate. Very stingy.”

The Sky Tram is one of those semi practical things which all tourists must do, complete with a town as the terminus whose sole purpose is to separate money from people in a pleasant fashion. Kurunda sit smack in the middle of the rain forest, along a genuine crocodile infested river, and is rife with small shops and restaurants.

The Sky Tram leaves from a spot along the Coral Sea coast, a continuous cable of suspended four place cars, up from the flatland to the canopy of the jungle, up in the treetops. At the apex, it connects to another continuous loop down into the jungle, over the rivers and falls on into Kurunda. A great way to spend a few hours.

That morning the queue waiting to board the tramcars at the coastal terminus turned out to be sparse. Larry, wearing an expensive sports jacket and slacks with an open collar silk shirt, a mustache adorning his olive tinted face, his black hair combed straight back from his forehead, gold pendant around his neck looked the part of Abdul Aziz. He made a show of playing with his Serengeti sunglasses and studying the brochure while he waited in queue.

Angel was hanging on his arm, hair in a Trevor inspired upsweep, emerald earrings dangling, very large breasts straining at his silk blouse, silk pants billowing around his sandals. He made sure to wear flats to avoid being taller than Abdul, like any good woman hanging onto a rich man. Angel’s face was obscured by large sunglasses and very tasteful but expressive makeup. He carried the typical large carryall women do on holiday, and had a sweater slung over his arm. His nails were red, well shaped but not very long. He wanted full dexterity for the foreseeable future.

Angel saw Victoria Prentille stride towards Abdul. Five foot ten, she was statuesque, beautiful in face and figure, and wore one of her trademark white pant suits. Her red hair was even longer now than the last time Angel had seen her almost three years ago, falling over her shoulders and caressing her ample breasts.

Trailing behind her was a very handsome man, slender and matching Victoria in height. Dark hair, cut short, with painfully pretty movie star features. He was dressed similarly to Larry, and carried the clothes with the assurance of a fashion model.

“Abdul Aziz? Are you Abdul?” Vicky asked in a melodic voice.

Larry nodded, with a dismissive hand wave to accent his apparent boredom.

“I’m Lady Prentice. Your agent said we should meet. This is my friend, Jean Claude Reneau. “ Vicky put enough hesitation before the word ‘friend’ to indicate that Jean Claude was to be considered her play toy, not to taken seriously. She knew that needed to be established quickly with people from the Middle East.

Larry went through the motion of limp handshakes in deference to Western custom, but not firm since Abdul would not accord much respect to a woman, even one with a title, and less to a consort. He then looked over to Angel.

“Oh yes, this is my special ‘friend’….” He emphasized the pause as much as possible, as if struggling for a name “ Bambi, yes Bambi.”

Angel made a mental note to give Larry a large ration of insults for the name, but admired how well he was playing the role. He had also asked Larry to avoid requiring him to talk if possible. He did not want Vickie to have a clue until they were suspended in the air.

Angel giggled and extended a hand to Vicky. After a brief touch, Jean Claude took the hand and gave it a tongue tipped kiss.

“So pleased to meet you, Bambi.” Jean Claude bowed, a hint of a wink in his right eye.

Angel cooed. He was very proud of his airhead bimbo presentation.

Their meeting interrupted by the arrival of their turn to board the tramcar, they awkwardly entered the swinging car, holding on for balance.. Larry and Angel sat facing towards the sea, touching knees with Vicky and Jean Claude across from them.

The fantastic view once they ascended up the mountainside spread before them. The 767 jetliner appeared below their altitude as it made its approach into Cairns airport miles away. The sun lit billowy clouds stark white against the deep blue sky. The sea stretched forever, a limitless horizon, disappearing into a vague haze.

Even to jaded agents and con artists, the gentle swaying of the tram, the stark display of sea , field, mountain and rain forest, the visage of floating over it all was a sight to absorb. Nothing was said for the first ten minutes.

“Lady Prentiss? My factor said you had a spot of trouble which I could profitably assist you with?” Larry said in flawless Arabic accented English.

“Oh my yes, Abdul. It is Prince Abdul, is it not? Let us dispense with titles. I’m Vicky, and I was told you prefer Abdul. Is that acceptable?”

Angel admired Vicky. She had been a formidable adversary when he, with the help of Spider had turned her badger game back on her. Distraught from the dissolution of her marriage, she had begun to prey on crossdressers in San Diego, ending with them losing all their money and being forcibly raped. Because of the latter, her operation had come to the Group’s attention. Angel had twisted it back on her, recovering her accumulated cash and letting her go with a warning. She had been watched by the Australian chapter of the Group since she fled the USA, and had clearly shifted to a more traditional and non violent form of crime.

He also knew he would have not met Carolyn had it not been for his mission with Vicky. He owed her that.

She spoke flawless English English, with not trace of her Chicago roots. A perfect presentation of very minor royalty.

Trevor had set up the introduction of Larry as Abdul into Vicky’s confidence game. Some kind of ‘you swap your liquid assets so I can free up my frozen ones and repay you twofold’ scam, with elaborate hooks and switcheroos. Angel regretted he would not get to see the whole scam play out, he was sure it would be masterful.

“So Abdul, it is really so simple. I need to move that property in New South Wales but that silly codicil to the will is in the way.” Vicky began.

Angel removed his sunglasses, letting Vicky see his face, especially his eyes.

“You are looking well, Vicky. And Prentiss is so close to Prentille. I’m sure your pitch is wonderful, but Larry and I have another topic.” Angel spoke in a tone he knew she would remember. People he had promised to personally kill never forgot his voice.

Vicky did a quick glance and calculated she would probably not survive a jump from the car. Jean Claude looked perplexed.

“You! Why are you here! We made a deal and I’ve lived up to it!” Vicky said coldly, indicating a temporary surrender. Larry was pointing a Sig Sauer 7.62mm directly at Jean Claude.

“Yes you have, dear. I’m proud of you. Many of my missions have not kept their bargains. I have a favor to ask of you. A significant favor.” Angel said, clearly enjoying the interplay.

“You took all my money and you want a favor?”

“You can have it back if you are successful. And it’s more than you’ll make off Larry here as a mark. He’s nowhere near as rich as you thought Abdul was. “

“You’ll give it back?”

“Less the long term care of the victims. You need to fund that. It’s still a good chunk of change left over, enough for you and Jean Claude here to take it easy. Live like a real Lady for a while, or live comfortably for a long time.”

“What do I have to do? And why me?” Vicky asked. She respected Angel, and trusted him to keep his word. She hated him, but she did trust him.

“Why is easy. The people we need to learn about have already tried to recruit you. So we are willing to pay well for very specific information. Which I will spell out over lunch in Kurunda. I am famished.” Angel smiled at the sight of Vicky working the angles.

“You mean that weird scam about internet sex? The one they want me to pony up cash and attend some seminar on some island? That one? It smells. Plus it looked like the kind of thing you’d consider breaking our deal.” Vicky said, watching Angel’s face, now mostly hidden behind the sunglasses. Angel smiled and nodded.

As they rode down to the village, the pistol was put away and an almost detached, sightseer discussion kept them occupied.

Walking to a restaurant, Jean Claude approached Angel.

“You are fabulous, dear. I’ve never seen better.” Jean Claude said, trying very hard to make it sound honest instead of his highly practiced delivery. Angel assumed it was a genuine compliment.

“I have my fun. I’m sure you’re very good yourself. I hear you pass for Sigourney Weaver.” Angel smiled a high wattage smile. He could see that Jean Claude, or Gene as his real name was reported to be, was a natural. He had the face and build to carry off an effective presentation as a woman, and was clearly gifted in the slightest touches of the image. A true compliment from a fellow hobbyist.

“፠have my fun too. My height requires compensation, though.” Jean Claude answered wistfully. He continued “I want to thank you. Vicky may never admit it, but she has changed. She’s been in therapy for a year, and is confronting her demons. I think you were the cause.”

Angel nodded. He was beginning to think some of the lines around his eyes may have been worth the price.

Lunch in Kurunda melted in their mouths. Grilled barramundi with a salad. Vicky found it somewhat comical that she ate more food than any of the men. They were all so figure conscious it made her smile.

“Angel, I will do it. I have one problem though…” Vicky began.

“We will provide the 20,000 AUD you require. Call it a gift from Abdul Aziz over there. He seems quite under your spell. I would recommend you avoid his girlfriend though.” Angel said quietly, sipping his bottled water gingerly. He set it down and began to examine his makeup in his compact mirror.

Larry smiled and passed an envelope over to Vicky. “I would recommend you use this for it’s designated purpose, Ms. Prentille. We understand you must reply by tonight. Do you need anything to cover your outstanding bills? We want you to leave the mainland clean of people chasing you. Except us , of course.”

Vicky looked at Jean Claude. She had a puzzled look on her face.

“If you could advance us 2000 AUD to cover our needs, it would be an interesting experience to actually pay our bills on the way out of town.” Jean Claude laughed. Larry began to understand that he was far from the passive partner in his team. Larry opened his wallet and handed Jean Claude the cash.

“We found out you were recruited based on rumors of your past Vicky. All we want you to do is learn everything you can about operating a franchise for them, especially the control mechanisms. We will give you a locator beacon to trigger only if you need an emergency extraction. Don’t use it unless there is no other way out. Go there, play on the beach, dive on the reef, have fun and pay close attention. And remember, they have already killed a number of people who have gotten in their way.” Angel said casually, his hands fluttering, looking as if he were discussing hairstyles or the waiter’s biceps to any casual observer.

“You’d do that for us? Blow the whole thing to get us out?” Vicky was shocked for a second, but maintained the image of light girl talk by smiling widely and touching Angel’s hand.

“When you work for the good guys, there are some benefits. We don’t abandon people.”

Ten Days Later, Cairns, Queensland, Australia

Vicky felt underdressed. Sitting at the restaurant table with four stunningly beautiful men, all dressed for a celebratory dinner was unnerving. The tall dark hair Jean Claude wore a low cut sheath dress with jacket, hair falling provocatively over his ample bosom. Larry was Linda tonight, a curly pageboy complimenting a classic evening knee length dress. Angel was Bambi again, now in a floor length skirt with a full slit on the side.

Trevor was stealing the show. The diminutive body and the alabaster face with long shining raven hair caught everyone’s attention, including the entire wait staff. His red sequined cocktail dress was amply curved, proportional to his five foot height.

Vicky loved what the afternoon at Trevor’s uncle’s salon had done for her, after eight days in the sun and water out on the reef. Trevor had seen her off the plane and demanded he make up the crimes that had been done to her red tresses. Angel made the trio which had spent the afternoon debriefing while being pampered by the salon staff.

“It was like one of those personal product sales seminars, the ones where you sell junk and recruit your neighbors to sell? The pyramid scheme?” Vicky mused while chewing on her steak. She had been eating seafood for a solid week and was concerned that gills would appear soon. Her audience nodded.

“It was a great place, a resort that they purchased just for their needs. The island is about seventy miles out, and sits right on the inner reef. The snorkeling and diving was fabulous. I believe they make money as a straight business on top of using it for a training base.” Jean Claude smiled, nibbling on his prawn.

“After they got the money, they put us to work for eight hours a day, with presentations during dinner and into the evening. Technology, operations, the financing terms, security, talent acquisition, talent ‘spoilage’, how to link with central customer service, how to develop a unique entertainment proposition, making the operation hard to locate, all made for a full day.” Vicky said with tired look to her face.

“Are you sure about the self destruct sequence? We need that one.” Larry inquired with a melodic giggle to his voice, an eyebrow arching smile painted on his face.

“Yes. Jean Claude has the kill commands which disable it. There is also a master switch under lock which does it manually, located under the control console. You know, this PleasureJac thing will be a big business. And it’s not so bad considering the alternatives.” Vicky mused.

“We agree. But the players now would get it off on a very wrong foot. We need to redirect it a bit. And there are scores to settle. Maybe, when the dust settles, you two can open a franchise. Vicky, Jean Claude, thank you for your efforts. Vicky, I’m glad we could work together. We may meet again. I will be leaving tomorrow, to do some recruiting of my own. We need some more friends to help.” Angel said earnestly.

Vicky stared at Angel, and was surprised to find herself choked up with emotion. She gazed at Jean Claude, who had stood by her though dark depression and wild temper. She looked at Trevor and Larry, both chatting to each other.

“I know our deal is still in force, Angel, but I’m better now. I hated you for a long time, and it’s still natural to hate you, but right now, I think I want to thank you.” Vicky whispered, tears running slowly down her cheek.

Angel held her. To the restaurant patrons it looked for all the world like two close women friends having an emotional moment.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 19: Red Clay Mirage- late October

TransTalent Headquarters, Reno, Nevada

Panic was hovering behind Adrian Beimbeau. Adrian was on a first name basis with it, and it had settled into his waking and sleeping hours like an uninvited houseguest.

He feared few people, but Ord Stonewell was on that short list. Lester Quarrel hid a grin as he watched Adrian’s normal calm and efficient demeanor show cracks.

“That bitch at Junecellular still tells us they are having ‘production problems’ with the Impolecs. No one else can even figure out how it works, and those who might with time have been warned off by their patent attorneys. She has us royally fucked.” Adrian moaned.

“I told you not to try and kill her, Adrian. It tends to piss people off. They have really good security, almost military grade. They fooled us good when they pretended to cave early when we did the threat on the kid.” Lester mumbled.

“Stonewell has promised his ‘seed money’ investors we would be up by now with PleasureJac going on the market. He is pissing himself right now. And we are standing underneath him.” Adrian was actually whining. Lester had never seen such weakness in him before. He began to worry for the first time.

“There is a guy who says he can get our ‘supply problem’ fixed. He wants to meet you face to face and I have him waiting outside. He’s the real deal, does rackets on the coast, got quite a rep. I suggest you listen to him.”

Adrian and Lester entered the conference room where an annoyed Spider Robertson waited. Despite having traded his leathers and denim for Italian silk, he still looked formidable. The two men with him were even larger and more lethal looking. The three of them could successfully replace most offensive front lines in the NFL.

“I don’t waste time. Are you Beimbeau?” Spider said.

Adrian nodded, offering his hand. Spider looked at it and after a suitable pause, decided to shake. Adrian regretted it immediately, feeling the joints and cartilage in his hand compress to the point of extreme pain. Spider relaxed his grip just as Adrian was about to scream.

“I have been made aware that some people may have the kid. The one you tried to fuck with. He’s safe, and the Junecellular people are talking ransom. I understand this could be worth something to you.” Spider coldly intoned. He was dispassionate. This was business.

“I potentially have an interest. What would you consider fair for helping me?” Adrian, seeing a glimmer of light at the end of the long dark tunnel he had been living in, began to regain his composure.

“Equity. I want a piece of this place.” Spider dropped the verbal bomb and waited.

Adrian blustered, bluffed, counter offered and used every trick he knew. Spider was unmoved.

They settled for a five percent ownership of TransTalent, coming directly from Adrian’s own thirty percent. Contingent on performance of Spider’s ‘people’, of course.

“One more thing, Adrian. I’m having a Halloween Party, and these toys of ours look to be fun. I want to bring a few friends here to get some playtime. Any problem with that?” Spider mentioned as he was preparing to leave.

“Sure, sure, whatever you want.” Adrian wanted to get his new partner out of his sight. Wheels were turning already on how there might be an ‘accident’ on Halloween.

The next day, Adrian reported to Stonewell that production had resumed, and shipments were going out on October 29th. Stonewell grunted assent. Adrian had dodged a bullet.

“Do you really intend to transfer that much stock to that guy?” Lester asked. He only had three percent himself.

“He will never leave here on Halloween. We choose Trick for Spider Robertson. After his Treat.” Adrian smiled.

San Francisco, California, October 23

Jezebel Clarkson surveyed the lobby bar of the famous hotel. Right off the California Street cable car line, at the top of Nob Hill, she had seen the exterior in countless movies.

She thought Alfred Hitchcock must be directing this scene in her life, and wished she looked as good as Grace Kelly. The mysterious email, the words which should not be known, the need to meet in a glamorous location all added to the curiosity she possessed.

Approaching forty, Jezzie was not far from Grace Kelly in looks, a little more angular, slightly taller , but she could be a classic Hitchcock blonde. She watched the handsome man approach. He too fit the scene somehow. Expensive suit, tall, dark hair with hints of gray at the temples, muscular but graceful, like a dancer, with fine features and a chiseled chin.

“Hello, Jezzie. I heard they called you Jezzie and you look like a Jezzie.” The man charmed, offering his hand.

Jezzie felt a distinct warming sensation, starting somewhere low and working it’s way up to her face. This man was very attractive, and oddly familiar. She took his hand.

“Bob, call me Bob for now. I was so happy to find the CFO of Promisense so very pleasing to the eye. Can I order you a drink?” Bob Angelo sat next to her, not releasing her hand. She did not resist his gentle touch.

“You’re Bob Angelo! I heard you were…” Jezzie began, stopping as Bob put a single finger to her lips.

“I didn’t get the memo, I’m afraid. I have some things to reveal to you, and some things to discuss. I guarantee you will find it in your best interest to listen. Some wine? “

“Single malt scotch, if you please.” Jezzie said, still holding his hand.

“A woman after my own heart.” Bob waved for service.

Western Desert, Northern Territories, Australia, October 27

The late spring in the Outback delivered blistering heat on the red clay surfaces. Trevor’s fair skin was suffering badly while he talked to the stakeout team. The dust clogged his pores and every inch of his skin. He knew he had to see this place but sincerely wished he could have held this session at the Ayres Rock resort he had left eight hours ago in the Land Rover, somewhere southeast of his current position.

It has been said you could detonate a nuclear weapon or build an alien city in the western desert and the rest of the world would never know. Trevor now knew that to be entirely true. Miles and miles of rock, sand and sparse vegetation went on from horizon to horizon. The works of man were nowhere to be found. Dingoes, kangaroos, bats and various species adapted to the unforgiving conditions, along with the native tribes of men, dating back possibly 30,000 years.

A team of ten had positioned themselves within a mile of the target. The small facility had been airlifted in in pieces, a road blasted to allow supply trucks. AB Enterprises had arranged a murky deal with tribal representatives and some government officials to lease a piece of land.

Trevor tried to work out why it was so remote, and finally came to the conclusion that it’s main purpose was isolation of the knowledge workers. Also, disappearing ‘troublemakers’ was fairly easy out here. The PleasureJac units were easy to transport by air and the place only needed water, fuel and food. All the high technology was done on the components at the suppliers, so this was primarily assembly and software. The satellite dishes indicated a serious uplink to low earth orbit.

“You have the latest code to insert once you control the facility?” Trevor asked the team leader.

The team was all former SAS, the Australian Special Forces. Desert living and warfare was their particular specialty, as exhibited in several campaigns in the deserts of the Middle East and Central Asia. The team captain grinned hugely and laughed.

“Quit fussing Trevor. We’ve got this one ‘dialed in’ as the Yanks say. Go back and enjoy the pool. I hear you’ve got some action in Adelaide coming up. Besides, we got Johnnie with us, and that kid is a bloody wizard.”

Angel and Carolyn had generated a terrible fuss, but Johnnie, still recovering from his ordeal, still more girl than boy on the outside had shown that he surpassed any programming expert they could find. He had deduced the control systems for the PleasureJac and had been able to crack the drivers and software which drove it. What they needed done had to be done on the fly, and if a last minute change was needed, he was the best equipped. Angel had extracted a solemn pledge from Trevor that the boy would be totally safe.

Deferring the concerns about his future, Johnnie had settled into an existence as gender confused. He looked like a girl, dressed like a girl and seemed to adapt to the external trappings of being female. He had never surrendered his mind. Inside his head, he was a boy, a very mad and vengeful boy.

Johnnie was having the time of his life, learning survival skills from world class experts. The sheer fun of flying halfway around the world, seeing one of the most remote and strangely beautiful places and the fact that the entire mission depended on him had revitalized him. The lingering addiction was gone, easily shaken off. Watching him in the camp were two men Lady Jean had sent to make sure Johnnie arrived safely, and would have medical care ready at hand.

Doc Schlange’s war had been in jungles and humidity, thirty plus years ago, but he was an experienced outdoorsman and possessed combat medical skills along with his specialty. Bobby Filler served in the same jungles, but was a denizen of the high desert, a rodeo cowboy, a marine and gas station owner. He had been a volunteer helper to Lady Jean, helping to rescue abused women for years until Steve Dunbar came along.

The two men, both in their middle fifties were leather tough. Johnnie thought of them as two grandfathers who would guard him with their lives. He had been adopted by a large family of fascinating people who did interesting and definitely weird things.

Striking back. Personally. That was the point that had convinced Angel, and then, eventually and with reluctance, Carolyn to let him be part of the plan. Angel knew how important that was to a victim.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 20: A Little Help From Friends, October 31

Beach House, Malibu, California

“You look like a total slut!” Carolyn said disapprovingly. “No husband of mine is going out looking like that!”

Angel smiled at Clementine, now busy with a blusher brush. She had perfected the ‘expensive trashy’ look he wanted.

“Honey, it is Halloween, you know. Just think of this as my costume.” Angel laughed.

His hair pinned up under a banged, long blonde wig, his eyes a garish silver and purple, ‘DD’ size boobs exposed top and bottom in a ruffled black sequined dress with a deep neckline to his navel, a hem line which occasionally exposed the tops of his fishnet stockings and matching five inch ‘fuck me’ pumps, Angel had to admit he looked cheap.

Cheap, but not inexpensive.

“Are you sure you don’t want this outfit when I’m done with it, Honey?” Angel asked sweetly, dodging the throw pillow aimed at his head.

Carolyn flopped down on the futon and started laughing.

“Well, when you say ‘trick or treat’, I know which one you really mean. What’s your name this time? “

Angel looked thoughtful. “Robin, I think. Spider’s little bimbo. We should be getting word from the Australian team soon, babe. Let’s hope Johnnie can do some magic. As soon as that word comes in, we’re off to Reno on the jet.”

Angel’s phone rang. After a brief conversation, he looked up.

“We got all the kids out of Mexico. Jean has set up a temporary shelter in Nogales for them. Some are in pretty bad shape. Still no word on the Ayres Rock group.”

Western Desert, Northern Territories, Australia

It all came down to rolling the dice. Assuming no ultra devious self destruct mechanism or security they could not see, the Group team of former SAS made their best plans based on observation of movement and what all their sensors could tell them.

Nine men moved on the compound in the desert. Darkness was used for full effect. Team Captain’s best guess was thirty workers, most of whom were in the barracks building where the mess hall and entertainment facilities resided. The assembly area and computer center was in the main building, barely occupied at this early hour in the morning.

Chains and locks were slipped on all the exterior doors to the barracks. The team did not want to kill everyone, just keep them occupied while they did their mission.

At the prearranged signal, the main building assault began. Soft thud like noises indicated blown locks and agents entered from several angles.

Surprise is the best weapon. Five of those on duty offered no resistance, raising their hands at their posts. One guard decided to go down shooting. He never got the chance as several bullets crushed his frontal lobes and heart.

Team Captain found thousands of components for PleasureJacs all lined up for assembly. They found the main server room and consoles.

“Cap Here. Are they quiet next door, Nine?” He spoke into his comm.

“We announced we were from the National Control Unit and they were to stay inside or we couldn’t guarantee their safety. They’re quiet for now. We have gas if they get rowdy.” Team Nine. They always made up official sounding organizations for their operations.

“Screw it. Gas ‘em. It should buy us the time we need. Cap out”

Johnnie was a brilliant computer programmer, but unlike the silliness you see in movies, a brilliant kid cannot crack a modern system of unfamiliar type. That takes experience with many generations of software and hardware , painstakingly acquired over years of work. Two agents, having found and disconnected the manual self destruct, were now penetrating the computer which housed the PleasureJac software.

Working from the information gathered by Vicky and Jean Claude, they had the clues to find the local destruct mechanism in the software and kill it. Now, peeling away the layers of security, they motioned to the Team Captain.

“Cap here. Bring him in. The senior citizens too.”

Bobby Filler and Doc Schlange flanked Johnnie. They wore Kevlar vests over their camo fatigues. Johnnie’s fit even with his large breasts, courtesy of a friendly policewoman who knew Trevor.

Team Seven, a piratical looking man with an earring and beard patted the chair next to him.

“Sit down, Johnnie. We’ve blown a hole you can waltz right through. I’ve isolated all the modules for updating the Jac drivers and found the control programs. Do your magic and when you’re ready, Five over there, the little cobber, will blow your updates out to all the units as soon as they log into the system. Five, what’s the status of testing this shit?”

Five stood up to his mere six foot height, six inches shorter than Seven. Clean shaven, he looked more like a geek, except for the combat vest, the extra magazines, the H&K MP-5 submachine gun attached to him through the magic of clips, clamps and Velcro.

“I’ve found a master Jac and a remote, which gives new meaning to the phrase ‘male and female connectors’ mate. After talking to Johnnie, I’m not putting Mr. Five into it for a test of his voodoo.”

“I don’t need a volunteer to test it, just one of you to observe and report. I’m loading the new drivers now. Is the local mode the icon on the bottom right?” Johnnie’s fingers flew on the keyboard as he loaded a CD rom into the reader.

“Testing mode 1. What’s the remote doing?” Johnnie asked.

“Just pulsing a bit.”

“Now?”

“Expanding consistent with the master. Major erection.”

“The safeties are now disabled. Now?”

“Oh Lord! That’s Nasty! Bent 90 degrees down!”

“Hit the master with something, hard”

“Ouch! Those poor sods are going to regret this!.”

“Good. Upload it. Did you set up the kill instructions for the self destructs at the franchises?” Johnnie asked.

“In and….. Up the link. We’re done, Cap!” Team Five reported.

Team Captain sent the all go signal to Angel.

The franchises self destructs were disabled one by one as they received the updates to their control software.

Gulfstream G5 Central California Airspace, Destination Reno Nevada

Spider wore denim, as did four other select members of his gang. The three agents of the Group chose leather jackets and jeans. Angel, despite having half of his tits showing in the sequined dress, still had the air of command.

“We just got the go signal from Team Outback. Successful insert. I’ve signaled the ground teams to take out the franchises. We land in twenty minutes and let’s get there before they know they are under attack.” Angel announced.

Angel worried the franchise assaults. Every one was different, with unique problems. And he had made alliances with a number of others since the Group manpower, even with help from Spider and Lady Jean, was spent. He had spent a lot of resources in assaulting the manufacturing site in the Australian desert and had a lot riding on this one, taking out the TransTalent headquarters. Those allies were key to saving those victims.

It all had to be done before anyone knew it was happening. If word got out that the headquarters or a franchise was gone, the victims would be killed, probably by the self destruct mechanisms, or maybe just by a bullet.

The franchise teams had cased their targets and some had the best guess on who was there, the level of firepower and how many victims were there. Some were just blanks, only a location. But somebody had to try and save those kids. They deserved that much.

One thing was key. They had to disable the manual self destruct switch under the main console, before they did anything else.

“Angel, I will say, you’re the sluttiest looking broad I taken out in a long time.” Spider joked.

Angel pretended to take offense. “I’m the hottest thing you’re getting tonight, honey!”

Spider laughed. “You know that bastard Beimbeau is going to try and kill us tonight, don’t you?”

“I would be disappointed any other way. You better not lose my piece and get it to me when it hits the fan. I feel a bit exposed in this outfit.” Angel replied.

Spider looked him up and down.

“Not a spare place to hide it, unless you can stuff it in your tits.”

“Then I’d need two for balance. Just get it to me, Spider.”

The engines whined, signaling the approach to Reno.

________________________________________________________________________

Franchise Takedowns- October 31

New York City Team, The Hamptons, Eastern Long Island, New York, October 31

Brigit Kelly hated the beach, especially in the cold October wind off the Atlantic. She should have been enjoying the seven or eight Halloween parties she could be attending in Manhattan tonight. Instead, she was here with her brother Jessie and five off duty NYPD guys, all friends or sons of friends of their father.

Sixty miles east on the south shore of Long Island, they were in the fabled Hamptons, one of the enclaves of the rich and fabulous. But mostly the rich and their entourages were fair weather residents, and October on the thin strip of sand which sheltered the bay and shorefront from the ravages of the Atlantic surf was no place to be when the temperature dropped.

They had met the fabled Angel a week before at a restaurant in Soho. Jessie and Brigit were a former undercover cop and district attorney, respectively, who now ran a unique male escort service catering to professional women in New York. Son and daughter of a New York cop, son and daughter of New York prostitutes, white and black, part Irish, friends and business partners with a gay couple, they represented the rich cultural stew of a great city. Tough and tender, cynical and sentimental, profane and poetic.

The trade they were in was in the category of mostly legal. They performed a service and did it fairly and honestly, which meant they were not causing a problem, so they were mostly ignored by law enforcement.

It did plug them into the street and street legends. The Group intentionally wanted the myth out there, the myth of vigilantes who avenged victimization and abuse of the innocent. So when Joey, their financier told them to take a meeting with the man, they did.

Jessie bonded with him immediately. The extreme metrosexual look was their trademark and many clients preferred their escorts totally en femme. Angel was traveling incognito, which meant he was posing as a woman. Brown hair flowing down, black skirted suit, soft leather jacket, his presentation was flawless. In fact, he looked like a typical client of theirs.

The story grabbed her heart, but she saw that it had grabbed Jessie in his gut. He had seen too much victimization of young kids on the streets. They understood the problem. Waiting for warrants and then threading this through the legal system would doom many children involved to a quick death while the evidence was destroyed.

They had a mail drop in Manhattan to go on. Six days to find the franchise. Then pull off an assault on the seventh. Halloween.

In most urban centers, but especially a town like New York there is a celebrity class. Media stars, old money party throwers, artists, publishers and the occasional billionaire. Light shines brightly on these people.

There is also the scum class. The killers, the drug dealers the, the enforcers, basically violent criminals both organized and anarchist. No light illuminates these people, physically or spiritually.

Between the two are the gray people. Neither light nor dark, never truly famous, never truly unknown. They operate enterprises where the two worlds meet. Club owners, drug middlemen, a variety of ‘fixers’ populate this world. If a movie star needs cocaine right now, they provide it. If a crime boss wants to meet a movie star, they make it happen.

Brigit and Jessie operated in this world. People come in all shades and degrees of lightness. This is why they could seek help from both the street people as well as friends in the police.

Brit Woljeski was gray. He had been light gray when he produced and managed sex acts years ago, but he had shaded darker as business became difficult.

He needed something to get him noticed, back in the swing of things. TransTalent had seemed like a divine inspiration.

Ready cash being a concept Brit never truly understood, he had signed on Bruno Posero to front the cash for the franchise. Brit would use his last asset, the house in the Hamptons.

Bruno Posero walked around with the self awareness that he was a caricature of every small time mafia boss in every movie ever made. He used that, and made a point to play to it. He had been doing it for so long, he had become it.

It was not wise to owe Bruno money. Bruno ignored the wise to focus on the very much larger market of the unwise.

Brigit was still shivering in the wind, waiting for Parnello to call with the go signal. The plan tonight had two parts. Parnello, a friend of theirs who was a ‘respectable pimp’, had pulled a favor and become invited to Woljeski’s Halloween party. Brit had promised ‘the next generation of sex’ to attract the glitterati to his loft tonight, meaning he planned an demonstrating the PleasureJac. Brigit laughed. A Tupperware party for blowjob devices.

The second part was straightforward. Kick in the door and take out the two Russian thugs Woljeski had hired to run the franchise in his Hampton house. And do it before they killed the kids. They now knew there was a young boy and a girl there, both kidnapped runaways which are all too plentiful on the streets of New York.

The Russians were nasty customers, and the cops with her had no compunction about doing a permanent removal if they resisted.

New York City Team, Soho Loft Of Brit Woljeski, NYC, New York, October 31

Parnello tried to remember when Halloween had become an adult thing. He was fairly disgusted at watching grown people parade about in stupid ass costumes. Except for some of the women, they looked fine, but they would have looked fine in anything. Six foot six and three hundred pounds, he was one of those names people had heard in the city, and after they met him, never forgot him.

“It’s costume only tonight, Mr. Parnello. “ the diminutive rented servant challenged sweetly at the door to the loft. It was hard to keep a straight face when the man challenging you is dressed like a bumblebee.

A dim rented servant, thought Parnello, when the normal dismissive glare failed to move the little man. Plan B time.

“Look, white boy. This is my costume. Don’t you tight ass fruitcups know a genuine street pimp costume when you see one? It’s my multicultural heritage, you asshole. Now get the fuck out of my way before I make Bumblebee Tuna right here!”

The bee slid out of the way, thinking the job did not pay enough.

Parnello had had two of his people find the Russians who serviced the mail drop, and Brigit had turned the surveillance over to two off duty cops. Once they knew the Hampton location, finding Brit Woljeski was just leg work.

Getting the invitation was easy, Parnello was owed favors all over Manhattan. He surveyed the loft, and realized Woljeski had been taken to the cleaners on his art. Nothing notable, all stuff which was mostly sold to out of towners. Parnello shared an interest in art with Joey, the financier for Brigit and Jessie, and was a canny investor.

The guests were of the same class as the art. Garish, showy and not really even ‘B’ list. New York was a tough town.

Getting a large scotch, he wandered into the second room, which was somewhat darkened. There he saw a computer screen image projected onto wall. Bruno Posero was shouting out choices from the menu on the image, and Brit Woljeski was grinning, typing keyboard commands.

The girl and boy on screen took each command and complied. Licking boots was a favorite of the crowd.

“Bruno, hook yourself up! You’ll love it!” Brit urged.

“Clear the room. I’m not no fucking pervert. I don’t like people who watch me.” Bruno said, undoing his pants.

Parnello did not object when the other guests were escorted out, back to the main room. They were all assured they would get their chance at the new toy.

Parnello opened his cell phone and called Brigit.

New York City Team, The Hamptons, Eastern Long Island, New York, October 31

“We’re a go! Make sure you get that kill switch. Good luck, guys.” Brigit said over the roar of the wind.

Jessie grinned, looking so very different from his usual flamboyant look in the black windbreaker covering a Kevlar vest, carrying the Beretta 9mm that had been his service weapon when he was a cop.

Mickey Boyle, fourth generation NYPD, son of a captain who had been the partner of Jessie and Brigit’s dad, made his hand signals. He had promised Brigit to keep Jessie back and let the SWAT guys do the door kicking.

They had inserted a fiber optic lead into a window jamb, allowing them to watch Sergey and Ivan on a monitor. The two thugs were watching the same sex games being shown at Brit Woljeski’s loft.. They were both sitting and drinking some obscure vodka at the console outside the soundproof enclosed studio where the girl and boy were performing for Brit and Bruno.

Sergey was lifting the vodka to his lips when the door crashed and the stun grenade went off. Known as a ‘flash-bang” it was meant to buy the assault team precious seconds while the targets were disoriented from the light and sound. The bottle broke all the crowns in the front of his mouth, leaving a jagged edge where they had been glued. It gave him a vampiric look.

Ivan managed to pull an evil looking commando knife while staggering around. He growled like a bear and lunged at one of the assault team. Two shots and he went down, permanently.

Sergey furiously attempted to key the destruct sequence while trying to regain his vision. Failing that, he crawled under the console for the manual switch. A fusillade of firepower stopped his brain function and movement towards the switch.

“I knew those assholes would go down fighting. Pure mean shits. Should have been locked up long ago. Now the Suffolk County guys will have something to do when they survey the wreckage.” Mickey said over Sergey’s body, avoiding the pooling blood on the polished wood floor.

Jessie and Brigit were busy opening the door of the soundstage. The boy was kneeling before the PleasureJac, his mouth open at the intruder’s entrance. The girl stood back, confused at what was happening. No one had ever interrupted a performance before.

Jessie, holding a sixteen ounce hammer walked up and whacked the PleasureJac. He handed the hammer to the boy. Too stunned to move, the boy froze, but the girl came up, grabbed the hammer and proceeded to slam into the PleasureJac repeatedly. Johnnie’s new software had disabled all the safeties preventing personal injury.

New York City Team, Soho Loft Of Brit Woljeski, NYC, New York, October 31

The screams emanating from the other room were blood curdling. Parnello clearly identified them as coming from Bruno Posero, and began laughing as he dialed Brigit again.

“I think Brit just annoyed Bruno. It could be damaging to their long term relationship.” Parnello laughed as he exited the party.

New York City Team, The Hamptons, Eastern Long Island, New York, October 31

The boy and girl secure in the cars, Jessie watched as Woljeski’s house began to go up in flames. The four cars slowly drove away down Dune Road, towards the causeway back to Long Island. When they reached the bridge over the bay, he glanced to the side and saw the explosion down the beach. Flames reached high, whipped into a frenzy by the furious wind off the Atlantic.

He called the number Angel had given them. Mission successful.

Adelaide Team — Adelaide Airport, South Australia, Australia October 31

The props made the classic droning noise as Trevor looked out of the second seat in the King Air. Four Group agents filled the back, their gear jammed into the small cabin, adrenaline fever surrounding them like an aura.

This one should be quick, he thought. The lights of the city of Adelaide receded in the evening dimness in the side window. The mist and clouds hung over the South Ocean, hiding all aspects of their destination.

Kangaroo Island hung south of the continent, sitting as an outpost on the way to Antarctica. Filled with koalas, seals and yes, kangaroos, the sparsely populated island has some farming, some tourism and a quiet peace.

And it had a TransTalent franchise. A nasty one. Based on information gathered in the last twenty four hours, it appeared the ‘show’ involved overt sadism and torture. Nothing subtle. It seemed they burned through a victim a month and the current one was two weeks into the slow death.

Angel had been livid when Trevor informed him of the situation. Their impulse was to go in immediately, which risked the lives of all the other captives.

“Your call Trevor. You’re on the scene.” Angel had said.

Adelaide Team — Kangaroo Island, South Australia, Australia October 31

The door was off it’s hinges. The assault was done. Two Group men down with bullet holes, but clean in and out flesh wounds. Seven of the opposition lay dead and deservedly so, that being the general consensus of the team. They had defended the self destruct tenaciously, and it had been violent. One of the victims had taken a minor shrapnel fragment from a stray impact.

The three kids, ranging from twelve to fifteen, all boys, had a collection of scars, burns and suffered from severe mutilation of the genitals. They were shaking like whipped dogs.

The PleasureJac unit had never been unpacked. Apparently, the audience participation in torture was enough draw.

The medic reported to Trevor. A helo was inbound to evacuate the wounded. They needed intensive care in transport and medical attention beyond what they could provide out of a field kit.

Trevor walked outside over the corpses of his two personal kills. The South Ocean was calming and he could hear the barking of the seals off in the distance.

“Get me the names of the subscribers. We’re not done.” The diminutive agent said to his second. This kind of evil did not belong in a natural paradise.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 21: Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold, And Sometimes It’s A Buffet- General Aviation Airfield, Reno, Nevada, October 31

“Are we ready with all the families?” Angel asked George Romany, who had been coordinating preparations in Reno.

“Yes, Angel. All a go. You can go in now. And I must say, you make a really slutty bimbo. I suspect it may be the real you.” George said, attempting to break the tension.

Angel knew it was a performance, all missions were a performance. His just happened to be more dangerous than most actors encounter.

“Carolyn put you up to that, George. I think she secretly likes this look.” Angel smiled, and shook his hand. George hugged him.

“You come back to us now. We could just blow this place up, you know.”

“No collateral damage. I just want the real bastards, George.” Angel turned and joined Spider and his group, who were busily getting as much whiskey and beer smell on themselves as they could.

Angel took the pill George gave him. He began to feel slightly dizzy, but was able to shake it off after a few minutes. Spider attached a dog collar to Angel’s neck and handed the attached leather leash to one of his men.

“Remember, Angel, it’s not personal, just business. Freddy there wants you to promise him you won’t hold it against him.” Spider said. Freddy looked on with a puppy dog look on his face, a real feat since he was covered with scars and tattoos.

“Freddy, it’s ok. This was my idea. Just don’t snap my neck, alright?” Angel grinned.

Freddy smiled and gave the leash a gentle tug, jerking Angel’s head sideways, his blonde tresses snapping around.

They piled into two limousines and sped off to TransTalent. Dusk was settling in as the sun dipped behind the Sierras.

TransTalent Headquarters, Reno, Nevada, October 31

Adrian Beimbeau paced back and forth in front of Lester. Lester blew smoke rings from his cigar, broken by the draft from Adrian’s movement. It annoyed him.

“Can you take these guys, Lester? Do we have enough guys?” Adrian fretted.

“Will you fucking relax, Adrian? I have a shift and a half coming in right now. Twenty good men. You talk, they have their fun, just postpone any business until they leave. They never get out alive, Capisce?” Lester grunted in his trademark mumble.

The speaker informed them that the guests were arrived. Spider Robertson plus seven guys, and some bimbo.

“Send them to the recreation room. Make them happy, kiss their ass, and start pouring the booze. Tell them I’ll join them in a few minutes. “

Lester opened his drawer and laid out several lines of coke for Adrian. Party time for the boss.

Sniffing the residue, Adrian motioned. “Come on, Lester, let’s go.”

Spider gave his men the go ahead to start drinking as Adrian entered the room with Lester in tow. The place was comfortably furnished, more like a hotel suite than a corporate location. Couches, stuffed chairs and a fireplace in one area, a mahogany bar with stools in another, several large screen televisions showing highlights of Promisense’s better pornography, and a large buffet laden with hot and cold dishes. A huge tub of iced beer conveniently located on the floor. Cigars, cigarettes, thick joints and snuff boxes of cocaine were laid out next to the potato salad and roast beef, along with a candy tray of Viagra.

“Spider, how good to see you again!” Adrian said with his best salesman sincerity.

Spider laughed and motioned at Freddy. The giant man stood and dragged a gasping Angel over to Adrian by the leash.

“I have a present for you, Beimbeau, to show you my good will. This is Robin. But he used to go by the name Angel. He’s the one you tried to kill and fucked up doing it. If we have a good time here, he’s yours. He’s a little more docile now.” Spider said, trying to play the magnanimous gangster. He hoped it was a good show, since he had never seen one.

Adrian looked at Angel. The eyes were dilated wide open, he was twitching and had that far away look junkies get. George’s magic pill. Angel got down and started grabbing at Freddy’s knees.

“You promised I could have another! It hurts! You promised!” Angel whined.

Spider nodded and Freddy opened his jacket and removed a small black case. Opening it revealed two hypodermics, loaded with a brownish fluid. He took one, held it up and tested it with a squirt, and then injected it into Angel’s waiting arm.

Angel relaxed and sat quietly on the floor.

“I take threats to my minority interest seriously, Adrian. Angel here also gives very good head now. That’s something for us all to look forward to.” Spider laughed.

Adrian stepped back. Lester stepped forward, his CZ Luger pulled out.

“I’ll do him here, boss.” Lester said coldly.

Adrian looked at Spider, and then looked at the drawn weapons pointed at Lester.

“Hold off Lester. Spider here said we had to show him a good time first. Let’s be gracious hosts.”

Lester reluctantly holstered his weapon. Adrian began to set up the PleasureJac master unit on the coffee table, connecting cables to the hidden network jacks in the table leg. He handed out the remote units to Spider and four of his men.

“Connect these to the network plugs around the room. Keep your eye on the screen.”

A flat 100 inch crystal rectangle came to life and in the image a girl waited, looking up at them, the protuberance of a PleasureJac phallus entering the frame of the picture right in front of her.

“Mr. Beimbeau, this is Marge in customer service. We are having trouble with some of the transmissions.” Marge’s voice came over a speaker.

Adrian picked up his phone and answered “Just holiday internet problems. I’ll end to it later. I am not to be disturbed now.”

“Problems in our business, Adrian?” Spider asked.

“Nothing unusual. The Internet is far from perfect. Now, since we are all hooked up, sit back and relax, if you can.” Adrian recovered. He keyed a sequence on the pad next to the master unit on the table.

Spider felt every tongue stroke the girl did on screen. It was strange, watching the entire room reacting to her efforts. Synchronized grunting. Adrian watched Spider while allowing his lower half to enjoy the fun.

Five minutes later, Spider removed the PleasureJac sleeve.

“Adrian, I knew this would be a good business. Let me pour you a drink before you unwrap your present.” Spider said. The crowd began to relax and laugh. Angel was holding a pillow, slowly nodding on the floor next to Freddy.

An hour later, Lester decided he needed to check on the security guards. As he got up to leave, Spider grabbed his shoulder and set him down.

“Don’t go Lester, it’s time for Adrian to get his gift. Adrian, I told you we’ve trained this little slut here to perform, and now I want to show you. Put on the Jac thing and turn on that plastic prick on the table.” Spider said.

Adrian stumbled over and set up the master unit to transmit. He slid the sleeve on and stood up over Angel.

“Give it to me, bitch. Maybe I’ll let you live a little longer. I can have the Jac give you your fix, you know, if you are real good.” Adrian bellowed.

Angel looked up. Adrian was already erect. Angel grabbed the PleasureJac unit and proceeded to stroke it with his hand, feeling Adrian’s responses by having it extend and take on solidity.

“Use your mouth, bitch!” Adrian screamed. Spider grinned.

“In your dreams, asshole.” Angel said as he squeezed the plastic phallus tight and bent it halfway.

Adrian screamed and the pain prevented him from even reacting to watching Lester’s head twisted sideways and then dangle off his body, neck snapped.

“Kill them now! Security!” Adrian squealed, assuming that Lester’s armed men were ready.

“They are not there, Adrian. One of the problems of being semi legitimate is you hire legitimate people. We explained to most of the security people and their families what was going on and they agreed to step aside when we came in. The last five diehards are probably dead by now. We own this building.

“Now that must have hurt like hell, Adrian. Does this?” Angel hit the master with a pistol butt handed to him by Freddy, who had detached the collar.

Adrian saw bright lights as the room faded.

“You are an evil piece of shit, Beimbeau. And you should be happy to know that the picture of your body will serve as a warning to future Beimbeaus.” Angel said. He took the ceramic blade which had been taped to his hip and held it up. He then surgically removed Adrian’s genitals, still wrapped in the PleasureJac sleeve. Adrian collapsed onto the floor, allowing Angel to stuff the bloody mass into Adrian’s mouth while he fired a shot into Adrian’s heart. The former president of TransTalent lay still while one of the Group members took a series of digital photographs of his last corporate pose.

George Romany entered the room.

“Show’s over, George. Tell all the employees to go home and shut off the incoming phones. Let them know they will hear from the corporate parent. Make sure no one sees any of us. I assume all security video is ours? And all the computer files?” Angel said, his pupils slowly getting back to normal.

“You got it Angel. And all the franchise teams are reporting in. We have some wounded, but it looks good on the whole. We’ll know more soon.”

Sitting on a sofa, he switched off the porn with the remote control. He removed the wig and looked down at his huge blood splattered breasts. He began trying to wipe them off with his hands, only serving to smear more red over his front. His body started to shake with a noticeable palsy.

The Face came out. The exaggerated make up, the perfect teeth, the overpowering scent. Angel heard her taunts, her rants, her destructive description of the small, bound twelve year old boy screaming as she touched him with the cattle prod. Frank was gone. Angel was alone.

“Happy Halloween, Adrian. Trick or Treat?” he spoke to the corpse on the floor, his voice high pitched and uncertain. He fell against a wall, slumping to the floor.

Spider was the first to notice Angel was nearly catatonic, not responding to any stimuli.

“Get George! Now! “ He yelled at the two men nearest the door.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 22; The Show Must Go On

Board Room Meeting — Promisense Headquarters, Lake Tahoe, Nevada- November 2

Blondes are powerful in red. Jezebel Clarkson felt powerful, more than ever before. She strode forcefully into the Board Room, where a puzzled group of board members had been hastily assembled.

Ord Stonewell, the Chairman of the Board was not there. She expected him any minute.

“Ms Clarkson, this is highly irregular. I had to cancel several things on my schedule…” began an elderly gentleman who only did his minimum duty and took full advantage of his honorarium and complimentary status at Promisense establishments.

“Mr. Muckle, and the rest of you. Let me begin. We have called this emergency session to inform you of serious violations of corporate ethics and the charter, as well as illegal activity on the part of the Chairman and another officer of the corporation, Adrian Beimbeau. The evidence is in your dossiers in front of you and I will begin the slide show to let you see the evidence in the possession of several law enforcement and regulatory agencies. “ Jezzie said as she dimmed the lights and began showing a series of pictures of the victims, the ‘disposal’ process, and the recovered children from Mexico.

She narrated a story of the runaway division, the illegal activity and Ord Stonewell’s complicity.

Ord Stonewell entered the dimly lit room.

“What is going on here! I just heard about some ‘emergency board meeting’! Clarkson, what is this shit?!” He sputtered.

A picture of Adrian Beimbeau last corporate pose lit up the wall.

“You are out as chairman , Stonewell. Your ‘investors’ are furious at you and the ones who were able to sell their shares from their hospital beds have given my consortium a majority. Your proxies were quite handy, Ord.” Jezzie smiled.

“Where would you get the financing to do this? You can’t….”

Jezzie indicated that the two security people were to grab Stonewell and escort him outside.

“I found out I have friends in high places, Ord. Angels you might say. I understand the FBI is just one of the agencies waiting for you outside. You almost brought this corporation down and we aren’t going with you. Take him to the door and throw him out if he resists.” Jezzie said with a fierceness in her tone that surprised everyone.

She continued. “Now the rest of you can tender your resignations tomorrow. There will be a new board constituted right after that.”

They all watched Ord Stonewell being frog marched out of what had just been his kingdom.

Private Office- Promisense CFO

Later, in her office, Jezzi found Bob Angelo waiting. After closing the door, she grabbed him and planted a long and sensuous kiss on his lips while grabbing his buttocks with both hands.

“I did it! It’s like the Wizard of Oz! Ding Dong!” She said, bubbling uncharacteristically.

“Yes you did. Now do we have a deal?” Bob smiled, enjoying her exuberance.

“Absolutely! With that Delacourt money you brought in, we can clean this operation up, and get it out of the sleazy stuff. And fund the activities necessary to police the PleasureJac technology to prevent the abuses. Yes, Bob, we have a deal!”

Bob returned the embrace and the kiss with passion. Jezzi began to take her shoes off.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 23: I Want To Believe- Washington DC. November 20

File Report- Federal Bureau Of Investigation

The following report has been reviewed and stands as reported and not accepted. No other report has superceded this document to date. The agents observing the scene refused to offer any explanation beyond this report, which contains excerpts of electronic surveillance placed in the vehicle of the unknown agency which took custody of the target, Mr. Ord Stonewell.
The first two agents to meet Ord Stonewell outside the building took him in their control and placed him into a waiting car. For some reason yet to be ascertained , the other agencies (FBI, IRS, Nevada Gaming Commission, Nevada State Police, Reno Police) held position at a distance of 100 meters and ceded the subject to these two unidentified agents.

As the car drove away, Stonewell was seen to be in the back seat with a tall, blonde woman in a tightly fitting red suit who strongly resembled Marilyn Monroe. The two agents occupied the front seat.

Stonewell: “Ahhhhh! My essence is shrinking!”.

Woman in back seat: “Ord, you have been a very bad boy. Bringing this kind of change here. It took us many coincidences to help the locals defeat you. Now we’re going back.”

The car is heard to stop. It is assumed it was parked and the engine shut down.

Woman in back seat: “Well done you two. It’s so good to see you two together again, Jim and Sharon! ”

Sound on tape: “Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! ”

The car was recovered by the FBI twenty minutes later. There were no traces or clues of any kind.

Ord Stonewell has never been found.

End Report- recommend designation “Anomaly”

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 24: Belles Are Ringing-

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

Therapist Private Journal- George Romany MD: Patient: ANGEL-Excerpts From Therapy Analysis

Necessity had blown holes in Angel’s self-image. The brutality of the final disposition of Beimbeau set off a catatonia which lasted three days.

When he did talk, he was lucid and purposed. He connected the imprinting of his childhood torturer that men are evil with his action using Beimbeau’s corpse to shut down more pain.. That awful woman haunts this poor person to this day. She has reached out from the grave and claimed him again.

He wants to make a sacrifice.. To escape her he believes he must shed a part of himself. He has spoken with Carolyn and she has offered her unconditional support.

I often struggle with the existence of an active God given the pain I see, but at times, when I see the gift of Carolyn to a soul in pain like Angel, I lose the struggle and believe again.

I can help him no more except by friendship.

End Journal

Wedding Chapel, Malibu, California- December 5

“Splendid! Simply Splendid! “ Miss T bubbled as the chapel filled up. It seemed almost every victim Angel and Carolyn had ever helped had made the ceremony. Combined with almost half of the Group agents, many from Lady Jean’s organization, Carolyn’s law practice and several organizations she supported, there were few open seats.

Angel stood at the altar, with George Romany as his best man. The black tuxedo jackets were well fitted over the black sheath dresses they wore, similar to the groom outfit Carolyn had donned months ago for the first ceremony.

Mr. Robert had done wonders with his hair, complete with embedded jewelry in the dramatic upsweep and long tendrils falling to his ample cleavage. Between the hair and his five inch heels, Angel was determined to be taller than his bride. George had donned a similar but not as stunning wig to provide symmetry. Bill and Jim were ushers in traditional formal men’s suits.

Larry Elger and Sean Taylor made a couple, next to Bob Angelo and Jezzie Clarkson. It was noted by some that Clementine had her arm wrapped around the bicep of Clarence Posey. Lady Jean was regal in bearing, accompanied by Carol and Marla. Steve Dunbar stood behind them, ruggedly handsome and broadly grinning.

Trevor Olsen lead the delegation of the nine Group special operatives, the inheritors of the role Angel had pioneered. Taking their cue from the groom, they were subdued yet stunning.

Three pretty fifteen year olds, two of them twins and one looking like a cousin were in stylish dresses. All of them had shining black hair in lengths ranging from just below the ears to mid back. They occupied the aisle right in front of Larry and Sean, with Sean shushing them on a regular basis. Next to Sean, a tall stunning blonde, Marissa Dupre added to Sean’s ministrations for quiet in a motherly manner.

The cousin turned around and said to Marissa “Can I go back to being Brian now, Mom?”

“You promised Cissy and Cecilia you would wait until the day after the wedding, Brian. A promise is a promise. Besides, you look really pretty in that dress.” Marissa and Sean smiled.

Mendelssohn began. A tuxedo clad Spider Robertson escorted a white bridal Carolyn down the aisle. Attended by her step sister Johnnie and her law partner Thelma as bridesmaids, she gracefully entered the vision of everyone in the chapel. One pair of eyes were fixed on her, ancient soulful eyes which conveyed a deep love for the woman in the white gown.

Once more the vows. Love, Honor, Cherish, Protect. Angel looked down from a slight height advantage into Carolyn’s eyes, his red polished fingernails glinting in the photographer’s flash as his hands gently lay on her bare shoulders. Two pretty faces locked in a long kiss.

Cyberspace- Various Points- November 15 and Ongoing

********************************************
NICKIE TERN> DID YOU SEE THAT PICTURE? IT WAS JUST LIKE THE PLEASUREJAC THING WE WERE WRITING ABOUT

POOH-THING> A DEAD GUY WITH IT IN HIS MOUTH. FREAKY

DIABLA MALLEY> HAVE YOU HEARD FROM THE SUPERVISOR?

NICKIE TERN> NOT IN TWO WEEKS

POOH-THING> THEIR SITE IS OFFLINE

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

Matador was still furious about the malfunction which had almost destroyed his manhood. The picture in his private email was frightening. He decided to shift his investments into real estate.

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

All over the world, emails, instant messages and other forms of communication reached out and made Adrian Beimbeau a symbol of the cost of crossing lines. People high and low, venture capitalists and government bureaucrats, cops and crooks, pimps and preachers who were given up by the TransTalent databases of customers, investors and prospects were sent a simple message.

The second message quickly became one of the biggest urban legends of the Internet. The malfunction of the PleasureJacs at ‘just the wrong’ time by those unknown took on epic proportions in the re-telling. It spread wide and far from chat room to message board. The phrase “Jac Off” took on comic and tragic meaning.

Beach House, Malibu, California, February 1

“Angel, we’ve gone over the options but I have yet to hear why you are considering this. Is Carolyn supportive of this?” Janice Peters accepted the cup of tea Angel poured.

Angel straightened his full skirt as he sat down after attending to Janice’s teacup. He was wearing his hair up today and she noticed that he had clearly ‘dressed’ for her visit. Makeup, nails, jewelry, he was clearly honoring her. She felt very underdressed in her white office coat and pantsuit, having just come from the new rehab center established in Venice Beach.

“I intend to ask Carolyn’s permission before anything like this, Janice. It’s only fair, since she makes all the money. All I do is keep house and try to make her happy.” Angel said, smiling a faint smile.

Janice took a deep breath. She felt the need to bite her tongue at Angel’s words.

“Very well. You know the effects of the four recommended hormone regimens, all of which will reduce or eliminate your sexual ability. I have some things I can do to mitigate that, but it’s still a crap shoot. You know what can be done with surgical implants for breast, hips and buttocks. We’ve gone over the various voice and facial characteristics, lips, eyes and so forth. You know the trade offs and I have good referrals for you.” She said, concern creeping into her voice as she reviewed the answers she had been asked to provide. Janice Peters loved Angel, her lover’s son. She knew he had pain, deep wounding pain.

Beach House, Malibu California February 5

“I can’t help you anymore, Angel. You are going down a path where you burn all the bridges.” George Romany stated in desperation. Angel was talking but seemed to have lost the ability to listen.

Angel was fussing about the house, tidying up. His mid back length hair was up in huge rollers and he was in a halter top and short shorts outfit. He was wearing prominent ‘D’ breasts, now a seemingly permanent part of him.

“It seems like I should head that way George. I think I have been fighting it since I was a kid.” Angel said wistfully.

“Dammit kid, despite your looks, you are not a woman. I have helped people in the wrong bodies and that ain’t you. I know what we planned and you carried out brought back a lot of pain and if I was any good, I would have foreseen it, but this! You are just building another mask. “ George raised the pitch of his voice as he spoke, but forced himself to remain calm.

“I don’t want to be the man who mutilates people. And I am so tired. I just want some peace. Carolyn’s good to me, and I do what I can to make her happy.”

“Dammit, Carolyn loves you and is indulging you on this. She had plenty of opportunity to have a relationship with a woman before she met you. You might ask yourself why she didn’t.”

Angel just filled George’s coffee and checked his makeup. His eyes were moist.

Coffee Shop, Venice Beach, California February 10

Miss T was in jeans with a pink sweater, her blonde hair in a long pony tail. She had selected an indoor table since there was a wavering chill in the sea breeze. Sipping on her major vice, highly sugared cappuccino, she felt the moistness of the while residue on her upper lip, a sensation which always elicited a smile.

Her expected companion entered the shop, in a new fitted suit. Miss T’s practiced eye noticed the small increase in weight over the last few months which merely added a nice curvature to her derriere as Carolyn walked in. Her stride had lost some of it’s purpose and her face betrayed a worry and concern beyond the day to day.

“Carolyn! Your usual?” came out with an emphasis and musical lilt more than Tess’s usual effusive greetings. The two women hugged and took their seats while Tess waved at Fred the owner to bring out the beverages.

“I don’t think I’ve every seen you so casual, Tess. You carry it off well as usual.” Carolyn opened.

“My ex husband is in town, and she has managed to balloon up to 250 pounds. She wanted to cry on my shoulder. The press over in the UK are merciless and poor Hermione still thinks she can wear a bikini without getting photographed. But that’s another story.”

“I can sympathize with her. In another month I may pass her.” Carolyn patted her hips and grimaced.

“Newlywed padding. You’ll do no such thing, Carrie!” Tess giggled.

“Angel feeds me like a prize sow and he is such a good cook. I come home every night and there he is, handing me a glass of wine, dressed better than I am, and then he lays out a fabulous meal. After massaging my feet and neck, of course.” Carolyn said as tears began to form in her eyes.

“It sounds like a dream for any girl, Carolyn. So what’s wrong with this live fantasy?”

“He’s so, so submissive to my needs! He cooks and cleans and almost never leaves the house. He sews. He decorates. He has not appeared male since Halloween. He begged me to let him wear the same groom outfit at the wedding that I wore for the first one. It’s like a large part of him is gone and all I have is a shell. “ Carolyn was sobbing. Tess held her hand.

“And he is asking permission to have a boob job and begin hormones, right?” Tess said quietly.

Carolyn snapped up and looked at her.

“Janice talked to me since Angel had asked her to look into his options, since I have some knowledge and contacts about such things.” Tess continued. Carolyn nodded.

“Carrie, you know on one level what happened to Angel and me when we were kids, but I doubt anyone can really appreciate the feeling. He is retreating and the mental conditioning that miserable bitch painted in our heads is like graffiti on a wall which has been cleaned but comes back over time, like after a rain. Right now he wants to burn the bridges so he can’t go back to who he was.

“In a way, it’s a positive sign. For the first time since I’ve known Angel, he is being monstrously selfish! He is actually whining and hiding, something he has never allowed himself to do before. And he has even rationalized it by probably thinking it’s good for you. Have you had sex since this started?” Tess probed.

“No. I mean yes, I have the most fabulous lesbian lovemaking you can imagine, but have I had sex, like with the man I love? No. The few times I have hinted, he gets this look of shame and begs off. He says it doesn’t work, it’s his fault and he is deeply embarrassed. Like he is impotent or something. I know that’s crap, since he betrays himself when he is pleasuring me. I want my man back, Tess!” Carolyn stopped sobbing and focused.

“I at least want one who does not ask permission to get his boobs plumped. The old Angel would have just come home with a big rack and asked if I liked them!” Carolyn continued.

“Carolyn, we need to make him deal with his decisions. He is in a cocoon now, sitting at home and playing housewife. Bring him into your world, have him support you. Have him entertain. Let me drag him into the rehab operation. He can do charitable works like any wealthy housewife. Tell him he can do whatever he wants on the hormones, but you need him now to host a dinner party or plan an event. He can fit his ‘little problems’ in after he begins to help with your work. And then buy him jewelry and flowers regularly.

“I’ll drag him into helping with the Lady Jean rehab centers for the victims of TransTalent. He won’t refuse me and I want to connect him with the reason he is who he is.” Tess finished.

Carolyn looked at her with a new admiration. Every time she met with Miss T, she gained new respect for her pragmatic and cunning approach to life which was usually hidden underneath the persona of a socialite airhead.

Lady Jean’s Lodge, High Sierras, Northern California February 10

The eight year old ran across to the waiting arms. Carol absorbed the shock as her little brother Toby collided with her and gave her one of those earnest hugs only a child knows how to do. Carol had been gone for ten days and he viewed his sister more like his mother. She had raised him, comforted him and in his fuzzy knowledge of events, saved him when he was little.

Lady Jean laughed. As she got older she took comfort in the observation of the little things which made life worth living. Seeing these two greet each other with such love was definitely worth a hearty dose of mirth. Life is often good if you look for the things which make it so.

“He has been counting the minutes, Carol. I wish you had not bought him that watch!” Jean said with her broad smile.

Carol set the boy down, who now ran off to Marguerite, entering with a tray of fresh baked cookies.

“At least I got equal attention to the chocolate chips.”

“Tell me about the center. I want your first hand impressions.” Lady Jean asked.

Lady Jean and Bob Angelo had managed the grants from Promisense committed to the rehabilitation of the victims of TransTalent. Pooling the resources and expertise of both their organizations, they had converted a large building in Venice Beach and an old ranch north of Santa Barbara to house and care for the fifty three girls and boys who had been held captive by the franchises or repatriated from Mexico.

“We were right to not separate the centers by gender but by need. The social isolates at the ranch are able to deal with rebuilding their identities in a beautiful setting. No outside world. The one in LA almost forces the patients to interact with a city full of people. The neighbors have been great and accepting. And the local businesses are very happy we are there.

“Miss T, Tess has been immensely helpful. I think she spends more time there than any other volunteer. Her story gives her real credibility.” Carol finished her summary.

“As does yours, my dear. As does yours. I hate to say it, but the girls will have an easier recovery than the boys, not to minimize what they went through. The boys had their mind and bodies assaulted. How many will be able to return to the world as men?” Jean mused, almost rhetorically.

“About half. Some were only at the beginnings of their treatment and some were not subjected to hormones at all. But we have a lot of reluctant ‘girls’ left. And then there’s Johnnie. He scares me a bit. Nobody should embrace becoming a woman that easily. He’s hiding something.” Carol said, answering Jean’s open question.

“We all hide something, Carol. Let’s hope Johnnie knows what it is and can deal with it. In the end, we all have to deal with our terrors alone before we can ask for help.”

Beach House, Malibu, California, February 28

The two girls broke into laughter at something on the television. Since Johnnie as a step brother had been an abstract to her and Johnnie as her sister was real she had never had the discontinuity of changing the gender designation. Johnnie was a she. She had chosen to become a she and was undergoing a carefully measured regimen of hormones to prepare her body for an eventual decision on sexual reassignment surgery.

Johnnie’s decision to live at the Venice Beach rehab center was welcome to Carolyn, since it gave her time to adjust to being a sister while she dealt with her husband’s challenges.

Today, she and Marla Brokken, the co victims were two girls on leave from the ‘jail’ as they jokingly referred to the center. Angel had been feeding them an endless array of foods made on request, while hovering over the area and picking up after them.

Johnnie was really showing the therapy effects in the location of her weight gain. Hips, thighs, butt and even breasts around the implants were all showing a plumping effect of her voracious appetite. She wasn’t very fat yet, but Carolyn felt a need to intercede soon. Her friend Marla apparently was one of those blessed souls who can eat anything and never gain weight.

Johnnie was to become the inheritor of half of the Tunturo estate. Their father had changed his will before he died, making Carolyn the inheritor of the other half as well as the administrator of the various enterprises until Johnnie reached twenty one. Carolyn owed Johnnie an education and care until Johnnie became majority owner only by buying her out for a fair market price. If Johnnie elected, she could remain minority owner and receive the same fair value for her half. She had until age twenty five to decide. It was an interesting arrangement.

What was most important was that Johnnie was happy with it. She admitted to Carolyn that she would have no idea on how to deal with all that responsibility. Inheriting wealth in the form of a working enterprise is not like winning a lottery. The value only exists if you keep it running.

Carolyn had to admit that Johnnie was acting like a normal girl her age would, even to admiring the boys and men on television with a critical eye and withering humor to the delight of Marla. The reports from George and the other staff counselors were encouraging. The strange note was from Carol, Lady Jean’s staff leader.

Carol had sent a vague misgiving that Johnnie was too accepting, and might be covering something under her behavior. Carol was also the first to admit she was an amateur and probably worried about nothing. Carolyn hoped she was right about that. She had enough problems with Angel.

In the kitchen Carolyn approach her husband from behind, threading her hands around his slim waist, now slimmer due to the corset Miss T had convinced him to have custom made.

“Oohhh, that feels good but I can barely breathe in this.” Angel cooed as Carolyn nibbled his earlobe. He felt a cold sensation as she drew the necklace around his neck. Diamonds glistened in the mirrored surfaces of the kitchen appliances.

“Consider this a token for the Spring Client Event Hostess of the year. And I must say your figure is getting even more girlish, you will be stunning at the event. You’ll be the prettiest spouse who ever ran the affair for our firm. But I do want you to breathe, darling. Fainting is so old fashioned.” Carolyn had decided to treat Angel as she would any dependent girlfriend. She had showered him with a stream of flower deliveries, lingerie, surprise spa visits and jewelry on a seemingly random schedule.

Angel at first enjoyed the procession of gifts, not because he liked them but because they represented Carolyn’s love. He did not realize he had never refined the shopping gene. Clothes and accessories were what you wore to give a performance. Sometimes they made him happy as part of an overall whole.

On any chemical or surgical procedures Carolyn had told him to do ‘whatever’ he wanted, but she needed him to help with things right now since she was so consumed with settling her father’s estate as well as her legal work. Angel threw himself into event planning, dealing with florists and invitations, caterers and locations for the annual event for Carolyn’s legal clients and benefactors. Tommie (Miss T) was invaluable in guiding him through the uncharted waters.

While Angel was an expert at planning an assault or a complex sting, dealing with the social secretaries of twelve wealthy feminists who had contributed to Carolyn’s legal foundation was different than anything he had ever seen. Tommie held his hand through the details.

Miss T’s House, Pasadena, California March 6

Looking down from the deck railing, Angel could see the Pacific and the panorama of Los Angeles laid out before him. Hair moved by the gentle breeze as he found simple amusement in the coincidence that he and Tommie were wearing the same fitted suit, his a pastel blue and hers pink. They had just been driven back here from the rehab center, looking for all the world like sisters, with the same taste in clothes, similar long flowing hair, and the easy relationship and shorthand conversation common to siblings.

In many ways, Tommie (Miss T) was Angel’s true family, perhaps the only one with whom he could ever share his inner thoughts. They had the same painful experience and had no need to hide it from each other.

“Angel, honey, you’ve really done so well at the center. The girls just adore you. They feel they can talk to you. And I have a gift for your new life.” Tommie said as she presented a gift wrapped box to him.

Angel protested and with Tommie’s urging, opened the box. He was surprised by the contents. An expensive ‘feminine pleasure device’. A vibrator. An artificial male.

Miss T spoke before he could react.

“Angel, on the path you are on, you need this. All of my girl friends who are couples swear by it, and I think Carolyn will appreciate it. Plus, if you go all the way, you will need it post op.” she said, in a sisterly tone.

Angel was stunned, still dealing with the implications. Carolyn’s needs may be more than Carolyn let on. A realization of just how self centered his thinking had been started to light up his mind.

The week he had spent just counseling the victims was having a profound effect. They all knew who he was and how he had been instrumental in their freedom. They hung on his every word. He also had seen the boys who were trying to regain masculinity and realized he needed to help them by example.

Tommie grabbed his arm and pulled him to her. They held each other like they used to, long ago when things were dark. Angel had protected her then. Now she was protecting him.

“Angel, I was there too. The bitch did it to me too, despite all your efforts. She was wrong. Men can be wonderful and women want them to be there, especially when some piece of shit like Beimbeau needs to be removed. And if one Tommie or one Angel type kid is saved from what we went through because you scared the piss out of them, then you did right.”

Angel held Tommie as the lights came on across the vista. LA at night from the hills, a scene from a thousand movies.

Hotel Ballroom, Downtown Los Angeles, March 8

Carolyn was impressed. The flowers, the invitations, the schedule, the insane dietary variations of all so twenty or so spoiled wealthy women of inherited wealth were covered. The drama of prior years had somehow been avoided, or had at least avoided her office.

Angel was perfectly turned out, his hair pulled back and in a fall down the open back of his formal gown. She was amazed at how much his waist had been compressed by the corsetry, since without it tonight, he was approaching a 24 inch size. Not wasp waisted, but for a male, definitively feminine. He seemed to have also moderated his breast size to a more demure ‘C’ cup. He looked very much the role of the junior league corporate spouse. He greeted each and every guest, some of whom were known for distinct hostility to anything male. The smile never left his lips, despite some quite rude and insulting remarks. Two of. her guests refused to address him and demanded another escort to their table. Carolyn made a mental note to remove any connection of her work with their groups. Referring to Angel as an ‘it’ was more than she was prepared to take. Angel paid no notice.

The event proceeded; the guest speaker was Miriam Sinclair, the noted psychiatrist and author. Miriam was amusing and irreverent as always, poking fun at the more extreme attitudes about gender and society, many of which were present in the room in abundant quantity.

A tall blonde woman, listed as the ‘companion’ to Imelda Martin, shadowed Angel in his fluttering about the event, keeping things moving. She was clearly a bodyguard of some type. Seated at the Martin table were two other security types, both blonde and over six feet tall.

Carolyn wondered what Imelda was up to. She normally only had on security person and two social secretaries. She was also one of those who referred to Angel as ‘it’.

Near the end of the event, dessert was being served. Carolyn watched Angel being summoned to the Martin table. A waitress serving a tray was being yelled at by one of the blonde security types.

Under the eyes of the entire room, the noise level rising enough to shut down all other conversation, Angel approached the dispute. Apparently the dessert was not satisfactory.

“Imelda cannot consume this garbage. We informed you what her requirements were..” The blonde said, towering over Angel.

Angel looked at the tray holding an excellent version of tiramisu. He moved his white gloved hand to touch the shoulder of the waitress, to offer support and calm her down.

“You have changed your mind? That will be no problem. What would you prefer different from your original order? We will see what we can do to accommodate your new request at such a late hour.” His tone was musical and yet contained a hint of steel.

The blonde was taken aback. She grabbed the tray from the bewildered waitress. Angel shifted his position slightly.

“It would figure a male thing could not handle even a simple request for acceptable food.” The blonde said, beginning a motion with the tray.

Angel saw Imelda grinning in enjoyment at the spectacle out of the corner of his eye. He saw the tray being thrown right at him, made a ninja like motion adjusting the trajectory of the blonde’s arm, too quick for any to see and then shifted his position again.

The entire room saw the blonde heave a tray of sticky syrupy dessert at Imelda Martin while Angel had a shocked expression on his face.

Looking at the spluttering Imelda, furiously swearing a blue streak, Angel snapped his fingers and motion for the staff to come and begin cleaning up the mess.

“Ms Martin, please restrain your bodyguards from having food fights until they leave the venue. Thank you so much.” He said, turning on his four inch stiletto and moving to the next task.

The room broke into applause. Carolyn ran up and hugged her husband. She then turned to Imelda and said in a loud voice “Get out now, Imelda. I don’t want to see you or your rude bullshit anymore. All relations with the foundation and your groups are severed.”

Parking Garage, Hotel, Downtown Los Angeles, March 9 1AM

Miriam Sinclair and her friend, June Carter were standing with Carolyn and Angel in the parking garage. The affair was over and viewed as a great success. Imelda had been regarded as extreme and obnoxious by almost everybody.

“Thank you Miriam. You were entertaining as usual. And nice meeting you, June.” Carolyn said as they were parting.

“I think I can’t compete on entertaining with Angel, Carolyn. Good evening and I will see you again. Angel, I will meet you at the rehab center next Tuesday. I would like to see the people there. I always learn something new, especially when the cases are so extreme.” Miriam said as she kissed Angel and Carolyn.

As the two guests were just around the corner, the three blonde security women emerged from the corner of the garage, surrounding Angel and Carolyn.

“Thought you were cute in there, man thing? Well, we’re not playing girl’s rules out here. My sister was a guard at TransTalent in Oregon. And Imelda was a friend of Madam J. I’m gonna have fun bashing your woman to a pulp while you watch.” The woman said. The rage in her voice was palpable.

The other two circled, closing in on the two in the center. One of the blondes pulled a silenced Beretta automatic and pointed it at Angel.

“Move and you die, then I get to kill her slowly. Don’t move and you get to see me hurt her.” The tall blonde advanced on Carolyn. Angel stopped moving.

A sudden gunshot froze everybody in the tableau.

“Angel! She’s down!” Sean Taylor spoke, her voice echoing around the garage walls. The blonde with the gun fell over dead.

Carolyn never knew what happened. Angel blurred into motion and suddenly there were two more dead blondes, heads twisted like a broken toy, pistols in their hands barely out of the holsters.

“Are you all right?” Angel asked as he held Carolyn. Sean Taylor, followed by Miriam and June ran up.

Angel turned to Sean and took her hand.

“Thank you. I’m not sure I could have taken all three.” He said calmly.

“Remind me never to piss you off, Angel. Larry warned me about you. I was covering June at the event and saw these bimbo’s sneaking up. I figured you needed some help with the odds.”

“Remind me never to try and spot you undercover, Sean. Thanks again. Now we have a mess for a few hours. Thank God it’s a righteous shoot.”

Carolyn, Miriam and June just stared at the two, calmly talking shop amongst the dead bodies. The police arrived within twenty minutes. Bob Angelo called his local contact in LAPD and Carolyn and Angel were released from questioning after two hours. Sean had her piece taken into custody, but was also released. Miriam and June gave eyewitness accounts. Imelda Martin was nowhere to be found.

Beach House, Malibu, California March 9 , 4 AM

The bed looked very inviting after the ordeal at the end of the evening. Carolyn had undressed and donned her negligee, ready for sleep. She crawled under the covers.

Angel entered the room, wearing a matching negligee, carrying Tommie’s gift under his arm. His hair unpinned, it fell to his bare chest.

Carolyn stared at him wide eyed.

“Which would you prefer, my dear? The height of enhanced pleasure OR..." he began to slowly lift his negligee "the all natural alternative?” Angel managed a smile which was simultaneously innocent and leering.

Carolyn laughed and lay back, spreading her legs in giggling anticipation.

Angel was back. All of him.

“All natural. I hear it’s much healthier.” She purred as Angel removed his negligee.

Beach At Sunrise, Malibu, California, March 9

Rays of lights broke through the clouds in tiny sections, illuminating pieces of the rolling surf. Bare feet chilled in the wet sand as Angel walked. Carolyn was sleeping with a large smile, and he had been unable to rest.

The Face was gone. Just a memory now. Frank’s image had replaced her.

Angel knew he would was no longer hiding. All the masks were off and he laughed over the rumble of waves breaking on the shore.

________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 25: Brave New World March, The Following Year

Cyberspace and points in reality

Marge Foley, now a senior customer service representative for TransWorld Productions, a division of Promisense, Inc., loved her new job. She was especially pleased with her new chair, which no longer squeaked when she shifted her three hundred pound bulk. She leaned over to her microphone and said, breathlessly-

“Hello, LollyPop, so glad you could come back to visit. All charges are approved.”

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

“WELCOME BACK! LollyPop: Member Class=DOMME, SELECTION=BOBBY TO BOBBI scrolled across the all black screen of the laptop.

LollyPop grinned in anticipation as the show began. His summer job and new allowance from Dad was wonderful. He could afford to buy his own panties now, and had found several pairs which fit nicely at the TransWorld online store. The rates had gone down since TransTalent had gone dark. There were many more sites now.

He missed the old one though. It was obvious that the new participants were actors. Nothing would ever touch JOHNNIE TO JILL for quality of humiliation.

PleasureJacs were becoming available, but they scared him. He had heard the stories. Worrying about a malfunction tended to ruin the mood.

Garden Apartments, Suburban Area Outside A Major City

Marla enjoyed these little ventures with Johnnie. She was not clear how her friend had tracked down this one, but she had. They rang the doorbell.

Johnnie was much better looking since Marla and Carolyn had made her diet and exercise. The fat had melted off her hips over several months, leaving pleasing curves which matched her large breasts. Johnnie had refused offers to remove the implants.

Using her generous allowance, the two seventeen year olds had flown in and with some clever strings pulled, had rented a car.

The door opened.

“Nickie Seabird? We need to talk.” Johnnie said pleasantly. Her hand rested on the Sig Sauer in the holster under her jacket.

END

Author’s Note: I had an intriguing conversation with an early reader of this work. They had expressed concern that many TG folks came to their place from very different circumstances than those in this story. She was correct. The following is an excerpt from my email reply, which may give you some idea what I was trying to do.

“Made me think again, dammit! It hurts!

Ok, here's what I came to. You are right, it is fantastical. Angel is not a reaction to real pain and suffering as he is a reaction to the fantasy pain and suffering which plays out in lousy and well written TG fiction.

Conan Doyle created Sherlock Holmes , but then had to create Moriarty, the first super criminal so Holmes would have meaning. It was fantastical.

Thinking back (and using Conan Doyle as an example- I am not anywhere fit to polish his nouns) Angel was created as an alternative to the fantastical entertainment being passed off as TG fiction.

The authors I asked to collaborate have all expressed similar sentiments.

Angel is not a commentary on TG as much as he is a commentary on TG Fiction.”

Surely if there is room for all those deliciously villainous people in the genre, there is room for Angel.

Tyrone Slothrop

Other Tyrone Slothrop Stories Featuring Characters From “I Can See For Miles” :

Angel Stories

Characters: Angel, Frank, George Romany, Carolyn, Bob Angelo, Dr, Janice Peters, Bill, Jim, Madam J, Vicky Prentille, Spider Robertson

“Spring Is The Season Of Recovery”
“Winter Is The Season Of Endings”
“Lamb And Lion”

High Sierras Stories

Characters: Lady Jean Thomas, Carol(Bobby) Dunbar, Steve Dunbar, Toby Dunbar, Bobby Filler, Charlene Filler, Terri (Terry) Singer, Joelle Singer, Marguerite, Doc Schlange, Dr. Karen Peters

“Accidental Momma”
“Roadside Attraction”

Princess Cycle (with Wanda Cunningham)

Characters: Marissa Dupre, Brian Dupre, Larry Elger, Sean Taylor, Cissy(Alan) Carter, Cecilia Carter, June Carter, John Carter, Miriam Sinclair

“The Princess Trap”

Other Stories

Characters: Brigit Kelly, Jessie Musgrove-Kelly, Parnello

“Walk On The Street”

Random Victories Series

Characters: Miss M, Jim Brunner, Sharon Brunner

Random Victories -“Legend of Hair House”
Random Victories-“You’re Gonna Carry That Weight”
Random Victories-“Mid Mountain File”
Random Victories-“Angels Of Mercy”