People go about their lives in their own way. Some believe the world is against them. Some believe the world is their's. But when your world has been destroyed, what would you do? What would you pay, to get some part of it back. What would you pay, to balance those scales? At what price; love? At what price; safety? At what price; sanity? At what price, justice? At what price; Revenge? *Warning- Does contain hyper-violence*

 
Chapter 1
client #815
"Everybody knows."

Tires hummed as they rolled over the road. Legs were pumping, to churn the crank, pulling the chain which turned the sprocket and spun the wheel. Slight braking then coast into a turn to come out pedaling strong to regain speed. The occasional car sounded its horn in passing as the road racing bicycle flew past. Early morning, before rush hour, was the perfect time to ride. People on sidewalks waved to the colorfully garbed rider passing them by. Finally a turn and the bike peeled off onto the Greenway. A path around the center of the city for pedestrians and cyclists to travel safely. It was almost as wide as a road's single traffic lane, but marked into three lanes. Pedestrians walked in either direction down the middle lane and bicycles rode the two outer lanes depending on their direction.

Daryl Tempton pushed himself to speed up more. Only recreation and sporting cyclists rode at this time window. In what seemed like no time at all, he had covered his distance and turned off again, onto regular roads. He was deep in the city toward the Northeast He lived on the Southern side on the edge of the city limit. By car, a thirty minute drive. By bus, an hour. By bike, almost forty-five minutes. That was Port Klasten. Once a medium-size port for mainly fishing boats, now a off-loading site for merchant vessels. Cargo came by ship, train, truck and even planes; switched to a different carrier and went back out.

Some time ago, the city went under a revitalization. Various ideas used by other cities were implemented. The biggest was going Green as much as possible. People were encouraged to use public transit or other methods that didn't require petroleum fuels. Biofuel and electric vehicles became prevalent as well as bicycles. Streets were upgraded and many decaying areas became gentrified. In other words, the city cleaned itself up. The outlying areas didn't change much, but the city itself did. Major corporate stores were discouraged to not locate, or if they were already there, to relocate. Independent business came back. The old, classic, Mom and Pop stores returned. Neighborhood shopping.

The warm fuzzy feeling of nostalgia didn't last long. As the big corporates moved out, other organizations moved in. Syndicates. Organized crime went up. It was quiet and almost imperceptible. Before anyone could understand what had happened. Various mobs and gangs now had the city in a stranglehold. Public officials, police and others of influence sold out the dream. A city destined to become a glittering jewel along the Pacific now teemed with crime.

Daryl slowed and stopped in front of a small building then dismounted the bike. Slowly he walked toward the door, stretching his legs as he did. Port Klasten didn't look it. It was beautiful and clean. That was only on the surface. The face. Underneath, it was rotten and fetid as a cesspool. All manner of criminals had taken over, but it was organized. It wasn't an unshaven teen wearing saggy-pants and gold chains with a ball-cap turned sideways that was a threat, it was a well-groomed young man wearing a suit that was. Prostitutes didn't stand on corners in provocative clothes to ply their trade to passers-by. They looked like any club-goer, office-worker or simply person going out and about.

Daryl changed into jeans and t-shirt with a bicycle logo on it and covered some of his long blonde hair up under a backwards ball-cap, an elastic band to hold the rest in a ponytail finished his look. After opening the roll-up door that covered most of the front, including window, he turned around the sign proclaiming Open. Port Klasten had become a place to run away from a person's past. The perfect place; to be unknown. In Daryl's case, a bicycle shop guy. He sold bikes, he built bikes, he repaired bikes. Off-road, children's, cruisers, racers. If it was a bike, he was a guy to go to. Business was steady for the past three years. So far the big crime had not made serious effort into this small area. The main reason for that being, a large public park dominated it. Other areas of the city were more lucrative.

"Good morning!" A feminine voice called from the open door.

Daryl looked up from the counter. "Hi Gina."

A nicely dressed young woman came inside. "You called, it's ready?"

"Sure did." Daryl nodded and went to the back room and came back walking a women's cruiser bike. "I straightened and repainted the frame and replaced the wheels."

Gina said angrily. "I can't believe they did all that trying to steal it! It's just a damned bicycle!"

"Be glad it wasn't a carbon-fiber frame. They'd have snapped it. Lucky for you, metal can be straightened. Well, except those wheels. Those were totally gone." Daryl informed her.

Gina looked at the invoice and slid her card through the reader then signed. "I'm too scared to drive, Daryl. It's not safe anymore. I don't mind riding everywhere now, sometimes it's fun."

"Yeah. I don't mind getting up a little early to come in. I can really get out there and rip. Busy day ahead?" Daryl asked.

"That would be nice." Gina smiled then turned serious and spoke lower. "I heard there's a guy going around now. Telling people to pay."

"You mean a protection guy?" Daryl asked.

Gina nodded.

Daryl shrugged. "If I see him, I see him. Won't be good for him, if I do. I'm not a nice guy."

"Daryl, you're the sweetest I know." Gina smiled.

Daryl smirked. "You don't get out much then."

Gina giggled as she walked her bike out and waved. "You won't ask me."

Daryl's expression changed and a feminine voice replied. "You don't know me. Otherwise, you'd run screaming."

For the rest of the morning, Daryl worked on bikes needing repair then closed up to go a few doors down to have lunch at a little restaurant. It was family run and there was a backroom for certain neighborhood customers to eat quietly in. That was where Daryl sat. After lunch he went back to work. A bike was brought in for servicing, which only took a few minutes. Another was dropped off for repair. Mid-afternoon saw a young man, looking no older than 19 walk in. Daryl noted he wore a sport jacket, polo shirt and chinos.

"City or Off-road?" Daryl asked.

The guy shook his head. "I don't ride."

Daryl came around the counter. "What's up?"

"Insurance." He replied.

Daryl regarded him intently now. Built, athletic, around two-hundred pounds and just over six feet in height. His hands looked heavy. Possibly a boxer or other hand-to-hand type.

"So you're the guy." Daryl surmised then went on. "Heard a couple of people say there was a guy coming around. Protection racket. That you?"

He nodded. "Yeah. You pay, no problems. Don't pay."

Daryl wanted to smirk at the hanging statement and its implication. If he didn't pay there would be problems, from him and whomever he was working for.

"I won't pay. Try to make me and you won't like it." Daryl countered then added. "And if they push it, neither will they. It would be; detrimental to their health and outlook on life."

Aaron was confused. This guy was refusing. In fact, he sounded like he was openly challenging them to come after him. Daring them.

Daryl gave him a bored look. "This is the part where you run out saying you'll be back and there'll be trouble."

Aaron shook his head. "Naw. I just bust you up."

"Yeah?" Daryl perked up and even looked excited. "ALRIGHT!"

Aaron just barely brought up his fists and took stance when the bicycle guy was on him. Six punches connected; a gut-shot followed by one to the cheek then another to the solar plexus and four to the face. Suddenly he felt his collar gripped and was yanked off his feet, dragged outside, down to the sidewalk and literally tossed to it.

"Next time, you better bring money. I don't work for free." Daryl stated and used his foot to shove the guy trying to stand up face-first to the pavement from behind.

Aaron finally gained his feet and stumbled down the sidewalk as people looked on. Some with satisfaction, as he had already extorted money from them. His boss wasn't going to like this. He didn't understand it himself. He'd been a state-champ boxer twice and yet, the bicycle shop guy just hammered him in front of everybody. He didn't even get one punch in at all. The guy was all over him before he could even blink. He hit hard too. And fast. And very accurate. The guy beat him like it was his day-job.

Half an hour later he stood in front of Lowell Fontana.

"You look like shit, what happened?" The crew leader asked.

Aaron shook his head. "I dunno Mister Fontana. I went to that bike shop. Guy knew right away, why I was there. He said he wasn't gonna pay."

"You explain that he'd start having trouble if he didn't?" Fontana asked.

"That's just it, looked like it kinda got him excited." Aaron reported.

Fontana laughed. "You scared him."

Aaron shook his head. "Not that kinda excited. More like he gets to have fun kind. Then he handed me my ass. He was all over me before I could do anything. He threw-down like it was a job."

One of the other men asked. "You said this guy does bikes?"

"Yeah. Not motorcycles. Bike-bikes. He works on 'em and stuff." Aaron explained.

The enforcer nodded. "Still a type of a mechanic. He pulls wrenches and all that, daily. He probably rides them too, so he'd be in shape."

"Like you'd know." One of the others joked.

He shrugged. "My cousin's kid does the bike thing. Races and stuff. He works out and all that. Those guys get pretty serious about it. You might think they look easy, but they aren't. They can get pretty strong having to ride up hills and stuff. Some of 'em even get up as fast as cars in the city. Mechanics always give problems because they work and it shows. Some can actually scrap too. I don't mean guys at dealerships. I mean guys that work in garages. I never heard of any school for working on bikes, so that means he come up all on his own."

Fontana mulled that over. "So you're saying he'll be stubborn."

"This place is big on people riding bikes. Shops should be all over. They aren't. This guy's been around a while. Not forever, but a while. They say he's the go-to guy." Aaron commented.

The first enforcer nodded. "More my point. If he's that good, to stay in business, then yeah. He's stubborn, but knows his shit. He won't cave like others, he'll fight."

"Well, the more immediate concern is he did fight. He made you look weak Aaron. Can't have that. Others will think they can do the same and that hurts collections. Go back tomorrow and throw down. Mark him up more than he did. Do that, and today won't count against you." Fontana ordered then waved him out.

Aaron went out. This was bad. It was first time he'd failed. That somebody had gotten over on him. He'd have to make it up. Otherwise he really would be in trouble. Almost all the money he was making was being sent to the foster parents keeping his little sister. she had no choice in the matter, being only 13. He was just barely 18 himself. Without a steady job that paid real money, he couldn't get custody of her. His only choice was work street-level and make up the ranks fast to an office position somewhere. In an office, he actually drew a check and even paid taxes. A paper-trail the social-workers could accept. He stopped for a burger and went back to his rented room.

Daryl had just finished opening for the day when the guy from the day before came in.

"Forget something?" Daryl smirked.

Aaron went on the offensive. He moved in with his fists up, bouncing closer, lightly. He threw a jab and had it slapped away, along with the follow-up. He planted himself and began trying to get inside for a good body-shot. It wasn't working. The bike-guy knew fighting too and was able to deflect the blows or angle his body to lessen their impact then edged back to begin blocking them. Aaron now knew he was fighting a martial artist. Not the kind that struts around a dojo or competition ring; the kind that fights in the streets, where there is only one rule. If you win, you can live. Aaron had some fuel though, he had a sister to take care of. It wasn't making a difference. When he showed his determination to win, the bike guy lost all sense of amusement and took on a look of hatred. That was when it all changed, and not for the better. Aaron felt the hits become harder, sharper. There was even a snap to them. The guy knew how to work on somebody and was good at it. Once again Aaron found himself being dragged to the sidewalk and dumped. An hour later he was dumped again, outside a hospital, in worse condition.

Daryl was ignoring the news while eating lunch the next day.

"Hey Daryl." a friendly voice said.

Daryl looked over and saw a middle-age woman in a skirt suit stting down at an adjacent table. "Hey Brenda. How's it going?"

"Busy." she replied then looked up to the television and gave a look of disgust. "Ugh!"

Daryl looked up and read the line. "Murder, huh? They got the guy already?"

Brenda looked angry. "It's frame-job for a body-dump. I got the guy as a client an hour ago. It's so obvious, it stinks to high Hell."

"Not the first, won't be the last." Daryl remarked then asked. "Cops in on it?"

Brenda sighed. "The usual, paid to look the other way. The techs have good evidence I can use though. Already secured that. I'll get him off clean."

"Don't get cocky." Daryl reminded as he sprinkled lemon-pepper onto the carrots. "So what's the biggie?"

Brenda finished telling the waitress her order. "The real victim was a trafficked girl. Poor kid, only 13 or so. My guy's in solitary for protection until I can get him bailed in a couple of hours."

Daryl shook his head. "13. That's just all kinds of wrong."

"Gets worse. Whoever had her was really twisted. Has to be important, the cops are trying really hard to close the case. Thing is, they act like this isn't the first time one like this has turned up, but there's been no reports before." Brenda commented.

Daryl sipped his water. "Probably isn't. First time people know though. Not too many reasons for that. Only one I can think of."

Brenda thought about. "Not so much what happened, but to whom?"

"Likely. Message to somebody." Daryl offered.

Brenda sighed. "Her brother is in the area. Word has it, he's on a shake-down crew. Practically a kid himself. Used to Box back in school. He was 16 when their parents died in a car accident. She went into the system, he got turned out. "

Daryl looked over. "Boxer on a shake-down crew?"

"Yeah. You know him?" Brenda asked.

Daryl asked. "Got a picture?"

Brenda nodded and pulled a file from her case and handed it to him.

Daryl read it. Typical street-kid. Suspected muggings, fighting, hustling. The picture nailed it though and he handed it back. "Yep."

"Don't tell me he's been working the neighborhood?" Brenda asked.

Daryl nodded. "Yep. Tried it on me. No idea who he got before."

"Damn Daryl. You didn't have to put him in the hospital over it." Brenda remarked then looked surprised when Daryl looked up confused.

Daryl was confused. "He walked off when I got done, both times. I didn't hurt him more than ice-packs and aspirin."

Brenda sighed. "Somebody did. I guess they didn't like him failing."

"The sister. She paid the real price for him." Daryl said sadly. "They did that to her, because he couldn't take me."

"My guy has 45K in savings. He offered it all to me to save him." Brenda said. "I'll take 32 of it and pass 30 to you. Will you take it, Dara?"

A feminine voice answered. "Yes. Stay away from the brother."

Brenda watched her walk out the back door.

It hadn't been long. Soon after criminals took over Port Klasten, a new breed of professionals began to surface. Revenge-brokers. For a price they would give a person vengeance, or justice. Sometimes poetically. Whatever they had done to someone, it was done to them. Several established names and reputations that quickly became whispered legends. Some were disgruntled cops or lawyers. Others were just average guys that had something happen to them and were fed up with the crime. Many didn't last long. It became the most dangerous occupation in the city. They soon found themselves being used as pawns by rival syndicates to take each other down. For the past two and a half years one stood above all others. Very secretive. No one could really confirm whether they were male or female. Some even said it was actually a group, working under one alias.

Aaron had lain in the bed all day, sobbing to himself after seeing the morning newscast. A nurse had put two and two together and called a cop. A detective came and interviewed him. He didn't say much. He didn't have to. The cop was just going through the motions and he could tell. He even knew they didn't have the real killer. Suddenly he didn't feel alone and tried to see. His swollen eyes limited what he could, so just about everything was blurry. Tears didn't help matters.

"Wh-who's there?" Aaron choked out.

A feminine voice answered. "Someone that can help you."

Soft, light footsteps came closer. "Your name is Aaron. Your sister was murdered. The man the police have, didn't do it. You know who did."

Aaron knew this wasn't a cop and simply nodded.

"She paid the price as your punishment. Who did you work for?" She asked.

Aaron sobbed. "Lowell Fontana. I couldn't shake-down some bike-shop guy and got my ass kicked. They beat me worse and killed my baby-sister!"

"Fontana belongs to me now." The woman said.

"What can you do?" Aaron asked.

The voice called back from a distance. "Get revenge."

"I can't pay." Aaron shook his head.

The voice replied. "I already have been."

The click of the door told Aaron that he was alone again. He wanted to warn her. Fontana couldn't be gotten to. He stayed under guard. Nobody could get close enough. They'd have to nuke the city to get him.

Dara sat in a dimly lit room, several screens faced her. An old Leonard Cohen song played softly as she worked. Information from various databases were coming in. All concerning one Lowell Fontana. The more she read, the more she wanted to do. He had been linked to various criminal factions all over the country, doing all he could to stay ahead of indictments. Four months ago he arrived in Port Klasten and took up with the Delain organization. He specialized in extortion and prostitution.

"So, you're a People-guy." Dara commented to herself.

Such a person had strengths and weaknesses. Weak, because they were always around people. Strong, those people were never strangers. Anytime he would meet someone new; it would be through recommendation, he would have his regular muscle with him and always in public that he could control. Nobody just walks up and says 'hi' to a guy like Lowell Fontana. Anybody that could, he would already know who they were. More than likely why as well. However, no one was completely safe. Everyone had a vulnerability. His could be found. His would be exploited. He would dance on the end of her strings.

A week of nights later, a ragged looking old man hunched as he walked towards the city for the third time. Sharp eyes, half hidden by bushy brows, watched a building as the bulk of lights went out on an automatic timer from under a layer of discarded papers and sheet of corrugated cardboard in an alley. A CO2 propelled pellet quietly shattered the lens of a surveillance camera then a security light. The newspapers and cardboard shifted and a head slid underneath, as if settling in for the night. Minutes later, a black clad figure wearing a backpack emerged from behind boxes and trash cans further down. They moved to the opposite side and crouched at the side-door. Within a minute, a soft click was heard. The door was pulled open and the figure slipped inside.

Daryl knew exactly where he wanted to go. The third floor, last door on the right. The stairs would have been faster and seemingly quieter, but it wasn't true. Cameras, motion sensors and other deterrents made the elevator the best option. He rode the elevator up and got out on the third floor. The only problem was a camera that looked down the length of the hallway. A laser pointer disabled that. It rested on a small stand made from a re-bent paperclip, using a mirror to aim it. Daryl quietly walked down the hall now that the camera was blind. Black thread tied to the laser spun off a bobbin as he went. He picked the lock and entered a reception area then continued on through an outer office, that looked more like a lounge, to the inner-office.

There were papers, as any office would have, but they were all used as a smoke-screen. Daryl wasn't surprised. Fontana would have all critical information on his person at all times. Usually encoded as well. Some carried laptops or tablets. Some had a PDA. The ones that still carried an old school little black book were the difficult ones. They used a cipher they had created themselves and only they knew the key. Those were the ones that gave cops and feds the most fits. Electronic encryption could be hacked. Paper and ink took time. A long time. Many times the symbols would have to be scanned in and run though a recognition program to establish true design. Characters per page and pages determined how long that would take. Only then could a program be used to try deciphering the code. In short, a minimum of months. At maximum, never. A scrap of paper under the desk made Daryl's chest tighten. It had hand-written code on it. Fontana was old-school. Things just became more difficult. More straight-forward, but difficult.

The more Daryl looked at the page, the more the symbols looked familiar. He started wracking his brain to understand why. Suddenly his phone vibrated and almost made him reveal his presence by shouting. Angrily he dug it out and looked at it.

Brenda: I have a problem. Call me now.

Dara: You almost gave me a heart attack! I can’t talk now. Text only!

Brenda: Judge being pressured to revoke bail. Prosecuting A.D.A, trying to suppress video from hotel cameras.

'Shit! They're trying to bury this.' Daryl thought.

Dara: Do lawyer stuff! I’m in motion Cannot stop. Bye.

Daryl shut off his phone, no more surprises. He began sealing off both rooms' air supply by gluing the cracks then cellophane wrapping the vents. A gasket went around each door then he positioned a small camera in the ceiling and ran the wire out through a hole in the wall that he sealed with wax. Finally a hose was snaked through the wall and the hole sealed by wax as well. The hose was attached to a splitter connected to a small compressed gas cylinder, similar to a Nitrous Oxide tank. It wasn't that though. The gas inside wouldn't be making anyone laugh. It was the most powerful general anesthetic available in that form. He then tampered with the doorknob. It would be locked on the inside. the door would only be able to open from the outside. Daryl went back to the outer door of the office and cracked it open. He pulled the thread and brought in the laser pointer. All would appear normal now. Quickly he concealed himself in the ceiling of the lounge. The waiting now began. Inside the backpack was a diver's closed-circuit rebreather.

Lowell Fontana went into his office with a smirk. Four of his men took their usual places sitting down, while a fifth held up a small black box. He nodded to Fontana and went out. The door was left open. Several times the men randomly got up and went out for coffee. Underlings came and went, dropping off cash and making reports.

Fontana picked up the ringing phone. "Yeah?"

He signalled the man closest to the door to shut it then spoke into the phone. "What's your problem? Look, we have the A.D.A. getting the bail revoked. We have people on the inside. Once he's back in, he won't be coming back out. No, he won't even last the day. The guy's lawyer is doing her thing too. Hey! None of it's going to matter worth a shit, if you don't get a handle on that little psycho of yours! We've been covering up his messes for quite a while now and it's been at OUR expense. Get him under control or get him somewhere it doesn't matter or cost as much!"

Fontana dropped the handset back to the receiver. "Fucking idiot."

"That Councilman and his punk are more trouble than they're worth, Boss." One of the men commented.

Fontana glared. "And you're lucky the office was swept for bugs. Don't ever do that again."

What they didn't know, was the detector only picked up radio signals. It would not detect a video signal over a wire and certainly not someone in the ceiling with an old school stethoscope against the wall. They also had no idea that the room was filling up with a silent predator. Once the door was closed, it was secure. It was also air tight. Slowly, one by one, the men began nodding off in their seats. Lowell Fontana felt tired and was about to say something. That's when he noticed that all his men were asleep.

"What the? OH SHIT!" Fontana exclaimed.

He knew he was in trouble, just not exactly how. Things were fuzzy and his vision was starting to swim. All he knew; was that he needed to be somewhere, anywhere, else at this moment. He tried. He got as far as rounding his desk when he succumbed to the attack and fell to the floor. The receptionist outside didn't look up when the inner door opened. If she had, she would have screamed at the sight. A figure in all black with a device strapped to his back with a hose going to his mouth approached and tapped her shoulder with a stun-gun. She would wake up bound and gagged in a closet to be found by very confused bodyguards later.

Lowell Fontana came to and looked up to see a balaclava wearing figure standing in front of him. "What the fuck?"

"A world of shit Fontana and you're deep into it." The figure replied.

Fontana became angry. "You're dead. Understand?"

The man shook his head. "You have no trackers on or in you. Nobody paid attention to me leaving the building with you in the box. Even if they did, I looked exactly like your guy Kirkland. He's not too concerned though. Comatose guys are like that."

"Well. So you knocked me out and grabbed me. Congratulations. Won't do you any good. The organization won't pay ransom. They'll just kill you. If it's information, you're still shit out of luck. I won't talk." Fontana said defiantly.

Daryl had been circling around him during the diatribe and chuckled then slapped the back of his head. "Got it all wrong there, sport. I already got everything I wanted. You were extremely cooperative."

Fontana noticed the syringe on the floor. It was recently used.

"What did you do to me?" Lowell demanded.

Daryl turned around a monitor and used a remote control. Lowell watched as he was injected just as he had come around. Every question was answered truthfully and without hesitation. Even the cipher key to the encryption he used in his journal. Worst of all, he gave up Councilman Abner Gloutner and his psychotic son Drew. Drew being the actual murderer and rapist of Aaron's little sister. He had already gotten leverage over the foster-parents. They practically delivered her like a pizza to him when he called, the first time Aaron failed to collect from Daryl. The doomed girl had been dressed specifically to drive Drew Gloutner into a lustful episode. Fontana knew with her just so, she wouldn't survive. It was his plan all along. It sent a message to all the underlings and took the councilman deeper into their debt.

Fontana watched in horror as the video showed him gleefully admitting to everything in great detail. Finally he shook himself.

"That won't do any good in court. Not that it'll see the light of day, anyway." Fontana said hotly.

Daryl tilted his head. "Court? What makes you think it will get used in court? As for nobody seeing it, I streamed it to the networks. Live. After the first four questions, I let them ask the rest. Want to see what you did for New York, Miami and Chicago? You even gave directions to body locations!"

Lowell Fontana was speechless. He had no reason to doubt the man in black. The fact he had given up all that he saw he had, was proof enough.

"WHAT THE HELL MORE COULD YOU WANT THEN?" Fontana screamed.

A pistol was produced. It was his own. The magazine was ejected, emptied and a single round tabbed into it then re-inserted back into the butt of the gun. He watched as it was set on the floor in front of him and the man in black walked away. An almost invisible door was opened. He then looked around better and now saw he was in a clear box. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out, the glass was bullet-resistant. The meaning was just as clear as the walls around him. The one bullet in the gun was for him. He could choose how he would eat it.

The man's voice came over a hidden speaker. "This is the part where I give you an option. Answer one last question truthfully and I release the cuffs holding you, or don't and I call Delain and tell him where you are."

After a tense moment of silence, the manacles released and he said. "You're empty and I texted him the location just as you came around. Him and his bunch will be here in a few minutes. They won't have any trouble getting the door open, from out here."

Lowell watched as the mystery man turned and left. He looked down at the pistol on the floor and slowly reached for it.

Five minutes later, a derelict lurched out of the alley and staggered down the sidewalk as angry men in suits, leading one that wore a face of fury, climbed out of cars and swarmed into the building then down to the basement. No one wanted to pay attention to the man carried out and placed into one of the cars. Daryl had heard the scream of horror when Lowell Fontana pulled the trigger on his own gun. Only to elicit a loud, resounding CLICK. The bullet had been fake. There would be no easy or quick way out for Lowell Fontana. The news services weren't the only ones to see the video. It had also been streamed to Delain himself. He got to see the full, unedited version. The networks started receiving the stream after certain questions had been asked and answered. Fontana was devastated. He had never been taken out of the building at all, only secreted to the basement.

Daryl had to hurry now. The A.D.A had been called off. Delain had been willing to deal. In exchange for Fontana and his involvement being left out; he would have to give up the councilman, his son, all actions in the neighborhood and give Aaron a million dollars cash, along with safe passage out of Port Klasten with the instructions to go clean. Delain was more than quick to deal. Fontana had learned entirely too much in the short time he had been in the organization.

Some distance away, Daryl was able to lose the vagrant disguise and wore only long shorts, t-shirt, sneakers and a large sport duffel. He looked like any number of young men coming back from a midday workout. A stop at a tram-station and he was able to switch out everything using a public locker and a pre-dropped bag. Fontana had even given up the main location Drew Gloutner stayed at. Also that a new victim was being delivered that day. A young Asian girl that had been trafficked into the country.

During the travel across town, Daryl called Brenda.

"Hey! What's going on?" Brenda asked immediately after answering.

Daryl replied. "Just go about normal stuff. The A.D.A. is going to back off. Keep doing your thing, just know that it won't get fought. I'm almost done."

Brenda paused then said quietly. "Now I know why the news got cut-off in mid-broadcast. You seized the signal, didn't you? You got to the guy."

"I'm not done yet. The real killer is still out here. Soon Brenda." The voice now switched to feminine. "He'll be dancing on my strings soon."

Brenda shivered as the call disconnected. At one time, she'd have never called upon such help. In fact, she'd have even helped the police bring them down. Until two years ago. On the night she was attacked in her own home and had her husband and daughter taken from her by one of her own clients. She had been a brilliant Criminal Defense specialist and worked for the top firm in the city. The money was good and she won her cases. Even though she knew many were anything but innocent. That all changed with one client. A man of incredible cruelty. A savage in a three-piece suit. The fact that she was charging him money was what set him off on her. He took out his anger on her family in exchange. That's when she met Daryl. That, was when she met the Puppeteer. Already notorious, the Revenge-broker told her in clear terms what it would cost to have what she wanted.

Brenda sealed fate with two simple words. Words that would be with her for the rest of her life. "I'll pay."

"Brenda? Is everything ok?" A scared young man asked.

Brenda sighed. "It's fine Gary. Don't worry."

"I didn't do it. I didn't even know that girl. They know that, don't they?" Gary asked.

Brenda felt sorry for him. He was the son of a friend and gay on top of all that. To think he would have anything to do with a little girl should have been laughable. He had always taken to older men. It wasn't a secret either.

"Yes Gary. They know." Brenda answered and wanted to both laugh and scream at the irony of it. "Everybody knows."

No one really paid much attention to the young woman with black hair slipping in through the side door. As it was a posh apartment building, they assumed she was an escort coming in to discreetly see a client. Dara moved as if she were a frequent visitor, taking the private elevator. Many of the buildings had them, mostly for the use of those she was pretending to be. As she stepped out of the elevator into the hall, a tube of lipstick was brought out of her handbag. The duffle was not out of the ordinary either. Many of the 'working-girls' carried them on calls. Needed wardrobe, and/or accessories, for the service were carried in such manner. How true that was, in this instance. She freshened her lip-color at the door and was still holding the tube as the bell was rung.

"Who are you?" A male in his late teens asked after opening the door.

Dara smiled. "Oh, I'm here to take care of you."

A look of confusion crossed his face as a soft puffing sound was heard. A sharp pain was felt in his stomach and he edged back. She followed him inside and closed the door as he fell to the floor. Dara dropped the bag and dug into it. She brought out cuffs, ankle shackles and a fetish-type ball-gag. Drew was secured in seconds. Dara moved through the apartment. She found what she was looking for in the bedroom. The Asian girl was awake and terrified, tied down to the bed. Apparently the main event had yet to begin for her.

Dara removed her gag and asked. "English?"

"Some." The girl said timidly.

Dara nodded. "You have to go. Will the dress I'm wearing fit you?"

The girl frowned. It looked like it would be big on her. "I try. I go?"

Dara nodded as she released her. "Yeah. You definitely go."

After taking off the dress and handing it to her, Dara had to sigh. The dress was at least one size too big. It would have to do though. They weren't the same body dimensions, but to somebody that didn't care, a girl with long black hair wearing a black dress came in then left. Dara showed her to the window and pointed down to the street.

"Go that way. There is a Thai restaurant close by. They will help you. Ask for Trahn." Dara instructed then had her hold up her right wrist.

The girl watched in confusion as a short length of black string was gently tied around her wrist then another around her other wrist and handed her a card. "Go. Pretend you live here. Go fast, but don't run."

She understood the words, since they were simple and did as she was told. The dress didn't fit and she was barefoot, but she went anyway. The American woman had told her a secret way to escape. As she stepped around the body of the man that hurt her, she wanted to at least kick him. The woman wanted her out fast though, so she didn't get to. He had already raped her once then taunted her with a knife. She knew he wanted to kill her and rape her again as she died. She read the small card. It was for a Thai restaurant. Lia took the secret way down and out through a door. Outside she walked quickly in the direction she had been shown. At the place she was told to go, a man saw her come in and took note of her appearance then seized her wrists.

"You saw?" He asked.

Lia nodded. "You are Trahn?"

He nodded and led her to the back. "We will get you home."

"Who was she? Why did she help?" Lia asked.

Trahn looked at her in confusion. "You are mistaken. The Puppeteer helped you. He is very dangerous."

Lia shook her head. "It was a woman. She was pretty. Even gave me her dress. I saw her body. She was no man. Why did she tie these strings to me?"

"No child. You saw the Puppeteer. The Puppeteer can be anyone they want to be. Very dangerous to evil people. Those strings tell me it was him. when I saw the Puppeteer, he was a man and spoke as a Russian. You have seen the Puppeteer and she was an American woman. Come, let us get you clean and dressed so you can go home soon." Trahn said.

Back at the apartment Daryl finished changing. He even pulled on a latex face mask with wig attached after getting dressed in male clothing from the bag. The way they had brought in the girl, was exactly how he would take out the boy. In a trunk, using the private elevator. He brought out his phone and made a call.

"I'll be down in five minutes. Get ready for me." Daryl said when the call was answered.

Five minutes later he pulled the trunk out, using a wheeled cart and brought it over to a minivan. The hatch-back door opened and he loaded it inside. The door closed and he climbed into the passenger seat.

"The usual place." Daryl said to the driver.

The older man nodded and drove away. Thirty minutes later they pulled inside a warehouse at the edge of the dock area. Daryl unloaded the trunk and closed the door.

"Come back at 4 a.m. Ben." Daryl said.

Drew woke up and felt uncomfortable. He tried to rub the sleep from his eyes and couldn't move. He opened his eyes and they began to focus. He was strapped down to what looked like a cross between a table and chair. He was on his back, but tilted slightly head up while his arms were straight away from his body. His legs however were spread and elevated while bent at the knee. He was also naked. His body felt sore, as if he had been doing all his favorite things for days.

"Oh, you're awake again." a female voice stated.

Drew could only move his eyes and saw the speaker. She was tall, moderately built with long dark hair and stunning. She came closer and regarded him then slowly drew her nails down his torso. It made him quiver.

"Who are you? What's happening?" Drew asked.

The woman continued, now teasing him with her nails and replied. "Someone not nice and something VERY bad."

Drew's body was betraying him by responding to her, which seemed to be exactly what she wanted. "My father is a councilman. He knows people."

Dara continued with her nails on him. "His so-called friends are rather busy right now, trying to cover up their connections to him. You have more pressing concerns. You've been quite the little psychopath. Doing all those horrible things to girls. If it all came out, you'd be touted as the most horrific serial killer along the Pacific coast. Rapist before that. And to think, it still wasn't enough. You had to keep trophies and made videos of them. My, my. It's going to be quite the treasure trove of depravity the police find in a few hours."

"No! No!" Drew denied. No one knew where he kept those things. Not even his father knew he even had them.

Dara slid a hollow cylinder down over his erection then placed a band to hold it on and maintain that fullness.

Drew eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

Dara leaned and purred. "You get off on doing such horrible things to girls. Raping them. Hurting them. Torturing them. Killing them. You really should share in the experience. I did ALL this; just for you. What a time you're going to have!"

A machine was brought over and aimed at his scrotal area. It had a long phallic attachment on the end of a rod. Then a robotic looking arm with a blade was brought over and a cable looped around his neck. Drew now felt fear.

Dara pointed to the one situated underneath. "That machine is going to have you experience what it's like to have someone inside you and taking their pleasure. That's not all it does. It's going to hurt you. The inside was hollow. It isn't anymore. As it STROKES your inside, spikes are going to extend outward. That precious hole of yours is going to be torn to ribbons, Drew. Just like you did to those girls."

Drew looked at it in horror. He would be raped and shredded in the process. He was about to do nothing, but scream.

"This clever thing." Dara said and patted the robotic arm. "Is going to randomly cut your body, all over. Some deep, some shallow, some long and some short. Everywhere, but your face and jewels. No, no, Drew. You're going to be attractive and intact. This thing here is going to suck. It'll draw every drop of juice out of your dick and keep going. You can forget about it slipping off after you pop. That band doesn't just hold it on, it keeps you hard. You're going to wish it gets cut off. I hear that if such a device is used for too long, it actually starts pulling blood out. Bet you can't wait to find out if that's true!"

Drew Gloutner was now terrified and she wasn't done. A slight tug at the cable around his neck refocused his attention back to her.

"I'm sure you already know; strangulation does some fascinating things during sex. Well, it's going to take you to NEW heights as well!" Dara announced then looked at her watch. "Wow! So early. It's just barely 10! Well, let's not waste a second of your time. Enjoy Drew, all this; JUST for you!"

A remote control was held in front of his face and a button was pushed. The sound of a machine starting its action was heard and he felt a tightening around his penis just as something nudged his anus. A moment later, there was a savage thrust into him then repeated withdrawal and insertion as he howled. Soon he felt sharp tingling inside himself and pain. The noose around his neck began to tighten and the cylinder on his shaft started a stronger pulsing of suction as a blade slid across his left pectoral. He went from yelling to gurgling as his vision began to get fuzzy. This was only the beginning. In minutes he would become hoarse from his protests of things that were not going to stop for hours to come.

All day long, the news ran the story. Councilman Gloutner's son had been found dead and dumped in one of the Councilman's many secretly owned properties. The local stations had received a video file via an anonymous email account. Drew happily recounted every vile thing he had done, including the recent rape and murder of 13 year old girl, provided by an associate of his father, which was being pinned on the son of a man that refused to cooperate and fund his father's reelection. One little detail was being held back from the press. Though Drew Gloutner's body had been found dressed post-mortem, he had also been found with several black strings tied to his body. Ankles, wrists and neck. Strings that had been roughly cut and frayed at the free ends.

The Detective in charge had looked on in fury and muttered. "Damn you, Puppeteer. One day I'm gonna catch your ass and sell it to the highest bidder! I have IAD crawling all over my ass now, because of you!"

Daryl shut down the monitors and silently padded to his bedroom on bare feet then laid down. It had been a long week. Just as his eyes began to drift closed he looked over at the picture on the nightstand. It was the only photo in the house.

"G'night, Dana. Everybody knows, sis." Daryl sighed and went to sleep.

To be continued.....

People go about their lives in their own way. Some believe the world is against them. Some believe the world is their's. But when your world has been destroyed, what would you do? What would you pay, to get some part of it back. What would you pay, to balance those scales? At what price; love? Safety? Sanity? Justice? At what price; Revenge? *Warning- Does contain hyper-violence*

Deidra Pohlton stood on the sidewalk waiting for the tram. Six other people stood along with her. It was early morning and they were all heading to their various places of work. She had known the most recent for at least two years. The rest, had been there before she moved into the neighborhood.If any had bothered to actually look at her face, they would have seen her barely holding back tears. She was ready to break down at any second. A shuffle of one's feet alerted the rest to look and see the tram approaching.

Last night she had taken a bath and dressed for bed. Before turning in, Deidra laid out her clothes for the next day. A blue floral print on white background cotton dress, belt a shade darker blue, white silk lingerie and mid-heel white sandals. She went to bed after that only to wake up to renewed horror. The clothes she had picked were not where she laid them out. In their place, a completely different selection lay. A solid red silk dress, black lace lingerie, nude thigh-hi's and red patent opera pumps. The clothes she had chosen were nowhere to be found anymore. Completely gone, not hidden like last time.

The tram was slowing down to stop. Deidra looked at it. The trams were so big. They looked very heavy. If a person fell in front of one, they were sure to be crushed. Would that hurt? Would it hurt for a long time? Would doctors be able to save her if it happened? Could she do it before anyone stopped her? Deidra lurched forward and was bumped by the person next to her.

"Oh, it's here already?" a man asked then tucked his newspaper under his arm and picked up a briefcase.

Deidra snapped out of the spell. She had been about to throw herself under the tram in hopes of killing herself. Quickly she turned to the man beside her.

"Mister Collins, what day is it?" Deidra asked.

Mister Collins chuckled. "Deidra, if the paper didn't tell me today is Thursday; I would be asking you. I really should get one of those old watches that tells that. I hear they're coming back into fashion."

Deidra nodded. "Maybe. Thank you Mister Collins."

'Thursday. Amy hits the shops on Thursday morning while the kids are at day-care.' Deidra remembered.

A plan formed. This chance was slim, but possible. She called into work on the tram, but only after switching to another at the next exchange. That wasn't all she wanted to change, but felt that might not be the smartest idea. The rough plan began taking more shape after that thought. It all hinged on her sister being her usual self. Two hours later, chance broke in Deidra's favor as she waved to get her sister's attention.

Amy Halifax blinked then walked forward to greet Deidra. "Sis, aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Amy saw the clear look of desperation on Deidra's face. She knew her sister was being stalked.She had tried to help, but nothing changed. He was very good. They couldn't catch him, prove he was doing it or even stop him. They couldn't even find out who he was. For the past six months her sister was being steadily driven to the breaking point. She would break or submit to some insane man's obsession to control her very life.

"I need to pick up some things and I hate shopping alone, no fun." Deidra replied and stood up.

Together older and younger sister went toward several shops. The picture became even clearer, when Deidra directed her sister away from her usual shops. In fact, they left that shopping center altogether and went to another. Amy wondered what exactly her sister was doing when she led them into a lingerie store. She pulled two chemises at random, not even looking at the size, and practically dragged her to the fitting rooms. Amy was by no means, stupid. She caught on fast. They went into separate booths and changed. Amy was about to drop the chemise over her head when the curtain moved. Deidra stopped her and gestured to remove lingerie and jewelry too.

'Oh dear God, she believes he may be messing with our underwear and jewelry now!' Amy thought, but did remove her bra and panty set.

Deidra pulled her from the booth after the chemise was on and into another one three spaces down. She pulled her sister close and whispered frantically into her ear.

"Amy, help me! I almost threw myself under a tram!" Deidra confessed and started sobbing.

Amy hugged her younger sister tight and said quietly. "I've heard of somebody. A revenge-broker. They're very expensive, but never fail. We'll have to pay. they'll get this guy, but we can't not pay. Do you understand? I can get the money together, I hope. If not, I'll have to sell Grandma's stuff to make up the difference."

Deidra still sobbed and nodded then said the words that couldn't be taken back. "Please, they can even have me for a while, if they want. Anything! Just make it stop!"

Amy's heart broke for her sister, that she was willing to go such lengths. She now began to pray it wouldn't come to it.

"I'll find them Dee. I'll get help." Amy said.

Deidra took another moment then began to collect herself. "We can't stay like this. It'll be bad."

Amy hugged her once more then joined her to go back to their changing booths. They got dressed, went out to the sales floor, selected a matching lingerie set each and checked out. Deidra tried to pay for her set and the card was rejected.

"He locked my card!" Deidra cried.

Amy spat angrily. "Son-of-a-bitch! Here, I have CASH!"

After paying Amy looked down at Deidra's purse and gestured for her to take out her phone. She knew the bastard had probably hacked it and was using it to spy on them. She took it and saw that not only was the phone on, the camera was up. She filled the screen with her hand, giving the middle-finger.

"Go To Hell you crazy shit! Leave my sister alone!" Amy demanded then not only turned it off, she removed the battery. For good measure, she did the same with her own.

"Ladies, what's going on?" The saleswoman asked.

Deidra looked whipped. "I'm being stalked. Nobody has been able to catch or stop him. Now he steals my clothes while I'm asleep. I didn't want to wear this today. He took what I picked. If I wore something else to spite him, he will steal all my clothes."

"First, we get you a burn phone. Second, we go to the bank and get your card unlocked." Amy ordered and took her sister out of the store.

An hour later, they had accomplished their goals. The bank manager suggested that they leave the card locked and simply freeze the account to only indoor service. Deidra would have to stand inside the bank at a teller to make transactions. He also suggested that they get her a prepaid card and only load a little money onto it, just in case. He then read off the email address they had for her.

"That's not my email. How did that get on there?" Deidra asked.

The manager checked his information and sighed. "It was filed online, from your computer. The stolen card notice also came from it. Your stalker is very good. He knows how to really disrupt your life, Miss Pohlton. Please confirm ALL you information and I will lock it. No updates unless in person."

Deidra gave him the correct information. It was entered then secured with notation that only in-person updates via his terminal could be entered.

"There Miss Pohlton. No more shenanigans. Unless they can impersonate you enough to fool me, your banking is secure now." The manager stated then added. "And nobody fools me. Place your left ring-finger on that pad."

Amy looked confused. "Why that?"

The manager smirked. "People are always asked to use their thumb. When security comes into doubt, I ask for a different finger. I've never been by-passed. If it came to it, I could even use your foot-print to secure your account."

Deidra thought about then said firmly. "Do it!"

"Yes Ma'am." The manager smiled and brought out a long scanner.

He connected it to his terminal then laid it on the floor. Deidra slipped off the red pump and gently rested the bottom of her left foot on the plate. A moment later he smiled again.

"Done. Other than drawing out more than twenty dollars per day, you have to come see me and be scanned." The manager said. "Withdrawing twenty dollars two days in a row will flag for the person to be detained. More than twenty dollars per withdrawal, the person will be flagged. Any attempt to access your account will require the person to be photographed."

Amy was shocked they could go to such measures at the drop of a hat. "Have you ever dealt with a situation like this before?"

"Similar. A bank-robbery team and some embezzlers. They were good, but I'm better. I caught each one." The manager smiled.

Deidra finally smiled a little. "Thank you."

The manager nodded. "Free advice. I'd make sure my employer knows not to allow any redirection of pay. If needed, issue a check and you sign for it. Good luck."

"We'll take all we can get." Amy said and ushered her sister out.

The rest of the day was spent going from place to place and putting as high of security measures as could be provided. The final stop was Deidra's work. Her boss looked defeated, only because there was nothing else he could do to help her. He promised not only to begin issuing an actual check to pay her, he said he and his secretary would escort her to her bank personally and extend the lunch hour to do so. Then he changed his mind, she would not go to lunch until returning from depositing her pay. He deemed it company business and therefore should be conducted on the clock.

Deidra sat in her bed. She had fixed her closet so that it would not open without giving off a sound, as would her bedroom door. She also set up a tiny camera that recorded in the dimly lit room after turning off the lights. It looked like a piece of white plastic. The reason why was evident. It matched up to her bed's headboard. Finally she scooted down, after an hour and tried to sleep.

Amy had been surprised when the message came in. It was very simple. She was to simply go to the botanical garden at sunset, wearing a white dress and walk the paths. She did as instructed for several minutes when she encountered a man in a brown suit sniffing one of the blooms.

"Lovely fragrance." the man said with a British accent as if the flower cared he was complimenting it.

Amy smiled, she could smell it's perfume from her distance. It did smell nice.

"Fussy little flower. It likes to be left alone." He commented then said in a lower tone. "Too much attention; can be a bad thing. Wouldn't you agree, Amy?"

Amy froze in mid-step. The man knew who she was. She regarded him. He was the same height as she was, but older. He looked to be in his mid-fifties and held a cane in his left hand. He turned and put her left hand into the crook of his right arm and encouraged her to walk. A moment later a soft squeal was heard. He gently took her purse and concealed it behind a border wall and walked them down the path.

"What just happened?" Amy asked.

The man sighed. "It seems that someone has some type of listening device in your handbag, my dear. They know that simply accessing your cellular telephone is not reliable as a means to eavesdrop on your conversations."

Amy looked at him incredulously. It had been that simple.

The gentleman chuckled. "I'm afraid my cane is a bit more than just a simple walking stick. It is also a means for detecting any electronic devices that transmit a steady signal. Bugs, you call them."

"My friend never mentioned you were British." Amy stated.

"Mister Banner met one of my associates. You were so nice to omit that the one he met was also a very attractive young lady as well." The Gentleman chuckled, that confirmed he was who he was supposed to be. To her at least.

Amy blushed. she had meant to smoke out an impostor, perhaps even the stalker. She now relaxed some, she had met the Revenge-broker.

"So what do I call you, Mister?" Amy asked.

The Gentleman chuckled. "Manco. My parents were rather enamored with a certain star of the screen."

"Ok Mister Manco." Amy replied.

Manco nodded. "Now. As I understand it, the problem seems to be attention. Too much of it, correct? A would-be suitor. I'd think your husband would be deterrent enough for such matters."

"It's not me Mister Manco. My sister. Attention is understating things. Deidra is being stalked by a lunatic trying to control every part of her life. He even tried to get her fired from her job two months ago. Now he's trying to lock away her money and stealing her clothes to force her to dress for him. Mister Manco, I'll be blunt. Deidra almost tried to commit suicide this morning. Can you stop this? Can you save my sister?" Amy asked.

Manco sighed. "That does put a fine head to it. I appreciate your frankness. The answer is, Yes. I can uncover this person. I assume you've been to the local constabulary and met with disappointment?"

"Yes. Deidra even hired a security man. He lasted a day. He got arrested for having child porn on his computer. The only reason he got off, was the fact that the techs discovered the time stamps. Turned out that when the porn was put on his computer, he was in court testifying. However, the firm didn't like that Deidra's stalker would go after their people in such a way. They refunded her money and dropped her case." Amy stated.

"Bugger." Manco commented. "That was rather nasty. Very well then. You do understand, I am not a public servant. My services do not come gratis."

Amy nodded. "Yes, Mister Manco. You do this for a fee. How much must we pay?"

"Twenty-five thousand. This is not negotiable, dear. It is, however, the minimum. I understand and sympathize, but this is the price I set." Manco replied.

Amy stopped walking. "I can have that by Tuesday. Is money all you want?"

Manco looked at her in puzzlement. "Of course. Were you under the impression I accepted some other form of payment, a non-currency, such as precious metal or gemstones?"

Amy looked relieved. "No. I was just hoping that you would only want money."

Manco now understood. "Amy, I am many things. I am not, however, going to victimize you or your sister. Whatever you or she thought I would demand, put it from your mind. I would not end one suffering, just to inflict another."

Amy noticed they had circled around and were coming back to the spot where her purse was concealed. The funny part, was that he had obviously been able to see it the whole time. He had been watching to see if anyone came to retrieve the bag.

"You will be contacted with the instructions on things to do and how to make payment. You will definitely know it is real. From now on, do not discuss me in any form or fashion. It will be a bit before I have this sorted out." Manco smiled then stopped them at her bag and pulled it from concealment. "Here you are."

Amy smiled then tipped the bag to spill it's contents on the pathway. "Oops! How clumsy of me!"

Manco chuckled, he knew she wanted him to find the device. He swept the head of his cane over the scattered objects then the bag itself. The cane squealed passing over the bag's strap. The bug was implanted at the center, where it would sit close to her face so all conversation would be picked up. Amy nodded, now aware of its location and began to gather up her things.

"Have a nice day, Sir. Enjoy the garden." Amy said and turned to leave.

Manco nodded and went back to wander more. "Tah."

When he began to whistle to himself she froze then wanted to laugh at recognizing the tune. It all made sense now. Manco. The man with no name, played by Clint Eastwood. He rode in, caused all kinds of trouble for people doing whatever they liked and rode away after the job was done. Amy smiled to herself. It seemed this revenge-broker had a sense of humor. She went home in a good mood. Daryl went back to walking the garden. It was going to take time and patience to smoke the stalker out.

Daryl knew the first thing he needed to do was secure Amy's house. Then he could move on to her sister and start counter-surveillance to catch him. Stalkers had one thing in common. They wanted to completely dominate their prey. Make nothing available to them, but the stalker. Deidra wasn't picked randomly. She had interacted with him at some point and that was when she gained attention. It would have only been once, but that would be enough. Stalkers had obsessive personalities. They devoted everything to whatever fascinated them. Their focus only widened to detect threats, any who would shield they prey from the efforts to isolate and dominate.

That would be the chink in his armor. Stalked people withdrew from people, as they wouldn't know who could be trusted, hoping to block off the stalker. That was ineffective. In fact, it actually helped the stalker more. Daryl played the old Leonard Cohen song and even sang along as he worked. He needed to find the ways the sisters interacted with the world first.

Deidra woke up and looked at the spot on her headboard. The camera was missing and her closet door stood open as did her bedroom door. The closet was empty except for a single dress and pair of very high heels. The message was beyond clear; she was to wear those clothes, period. In just the nightgown she went out and knocked on the woman across the hall's door.

The door opened and the elderly woman smiled. "Hello sweetheart."

"Hi Mrs. Goldmyer. Could I use your phone please?" Deidra asked.

Edna nodded. "Of course."

Deidra went straight to the phone and dialed. The building manager first. Deidra raised Hell for a few minutes uninterrupted then hung up. Edna Goldmyer was shocked at what had happened. Deidra was already dialing again.

"Hello?" Amy answered the call.

Deidra didn't waste a second. "He broke in and stole all my clothes last night."

"WHAT? Nevermind. I'm on my way now. I'll bring you some things." Amy said.

An hour later Deidra watched as the locksmith changed the locks on her door. In fact, he actually had to set the pins and cut the key to fit it. The building manager began going through each room. He looked over anything he saw, looking for cameras. He was able to find one in each smoke detector. That was obvious, as there were only supposed to be three. Deidra wanted to kick herself at that. She never paid them any attention before. After that she began to look around. She was looking for things she couldn't remember buying or if given, by whom.

As the sun went down Sunday, nobody paid much attention to the ragged woman pushing a shopping cart full of cast-off things, cans and decorated with what looked like Christmas tinsel; turned into the alley of a building across the street. Anybody that thought of venturing in, quickly veered away. The woman could clearly be heard crooning to herself about how the secret people were doing things to rule everyone's lives. As dark fell, anyone that even thought about taking up the alley was dissuaded. The rambling woman started wrapping tin foil around her head and secured it with an old stocking cap. She didn't stop there. Sheets of the crumpled and straightened foil were being tucked into her grubby sweater, up sleeves and around legs to be held in place by dirty socks pulled up to her knees. Nobody, no matter how destitute, wanted to be around a 'Foiler'. On and on she rambled.

Unnoticed, a small square object flew up from the cart and silently zoomed away. It went up then flew across the street. It hovered and slowly began to orbit in front of the windows. It stopped at one and landed on the small ledge. A few minutes later, several more did the same on other window ledges. More took place on top of the building. Twelve in all. Each drone had a camera and was looking in different directions. The feeds being sent over encrypted channels.

Diedra was lying in her bed. She had seen the cameras pulled from the smoke detectors and the fake ones removed completely. As a last second thought, she put the next day's dress and lingerie between the mattress and box spring directly under her. She also wedged a chair from Mrs. Goldmyer under the doorknob of her bedroom. Her eyes were getting heavy and started to drift closed. Eventually she began to sleep.

Daryl sat in the alley in his disguise. Nobody ever figured out that the rambling that was constant wasn't really him talking anymore. It was actually an hour long recording on a loop. The foil served more than one purpose. Yes, it convinced people that the bag-lady was unbalanced, but it also confused his heat signature. That was needed for the counter-surveillance. A smart stalker would use some type of night-optic to check for anybody lurking too close to his prey. With enough of the foil wrapped around him, Daryl's body heat became more randomly emitted. Anything, but a human body. Under the blanket, he watched the shifting images from the drone cameras.

Just after Two in the morning. Daryl's patience paid off. A man stepped out of the stairwell and walked down the hall. He stopped at Deidra's door and crouched down. Daryl counted to thirty then used his phone to send a signal. Five seconds later, the fire alarm on the floor below Deidra's went off. Lights went on all over the building. The man in front of Deidra's door bailed. He tore back down the hall and into the stairwell. Daryl watched the screens for the exits. People streamed out in their night-clothes, including Deidra with an elderly woman similarly dressed. The building was now totally clear. Daryl wanted to swear. The man didn't come out any of the doors. Nor had he went to any of the other floors.

"You're coming in through the basement or you're holed up in it." Daryl whispered to himself as Firemen began entering the building.

He watched them sweep the entire building. He had counted them going in and again when they came out. No additional members. The stalker was coming and going through the basement. He had either found an access point or made his own. The tenants were being allowed back into the building. Daryl settled back and waited for things to settle down, then he could turn on the motion sensors for the cameras and take a nap.

Deidra walked back up with Edna Goldmyer. She stopped at her door and noticed something odd. The was a slim metal tool on the floor in front of her door.

"Deidra? What is it sweetheart?" Edna asked.

Deidra shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe one of the Firemen dropped it?"

Edna bend down and looked at it then shook her head. "That's one of those lock picker things! I'm calling Earl!"

Deidra gasped and felt fear slam into her. Within minutes the building manager came up and looked at the object.

"Son-of-a-bitch! That's a lock-pick alright! Damn it!" Earl swore.

Deidra was confused. If he was picking the lock, why would he set off the alarm? Why would he leave the pick behind?

"I don't think he set off the alarm." Earl said.

Deidra looked up. "What?"

"You were talking out loud. He wouldn't have left that behind, other than by accident. He wouldn't have set off the alarm either. He dropped it because the alarm went off and had to leave it behind or didn't realize he was leaving it behind. He got spooked by the fire alarm. It got set off on purpose though. The Chief said it got overridden and set off." Earl told them.

Edna hugged Deidra and whispered in her ear. "Sweetheart. I think you finally picked up a guardian angel."

That's when it hit. Deidra want to fall to the floor, crying and laughing at the same time. It wasn't an angel. Her sister had done better. She had found her help at last. Deidra went back into her apartment and checked things. Everything was exactly as it was supposed be. She locked the door, wedged the chair then went back to bed. She fell asleep almost instantly, with a smile.

Wilton Kanick kicked the wall and put a hole in it. His computer revealed someone else had been in the fire alarm system and overrode it to go off. He started going through all the cameras. No strangers had entered the building since the locksmith had changed her locks. He had went to pick the lock. Once inside he could disassemble the lock, make a key then put the lock back together. He would also replace the cameras they had found. He still had four cameras in the apartment.

"SOMEBODY'S TRYING TO INTERFERE DEIDRA! I WON'T HAVE IT, YOU'RE MINE!" Wilton yelled at the screen showing her sleeping peacefully, with a smile on her face.

He went after her computer. He'd go through it to use her online pay information to sap her account. She would be punished for other people trying to keep her away from him. He went to the access screen and typed in the code. Nothing happened. He typed it again, no response. He ran a test and found the problem. Her computer wasn't connected to the internet at all. He went back to the cameras and backed up the video. She had not only disconnected it from the modem and turned it off, she'd unplugged it! That wasn't all she had unplugged. The television and phone as well. He couldn't remotely switch on the television to wake her up or cause a noise a complaint. He couldn't call to wake her either. He knew her cellphone was no longer in service. The clone he had made had done nothing since she had met her sister and went shopping. Even the clone of the sister's was dead too. His rage flew as he went after anything that didn't matter at the moment.

Amy was all smiles Monday morning. Deidra had called first thing that morning and told her that she'd had her first actual sleep in weeks. She didn't go into detail, she was at work and happy. Amy hung up after Deidra did and sighed in relief. the ringing of the doorbell caught her attention and she went to answer it. A glance through the peep-hole showed a woman in some type of service uniform.

"May I help you?" Amy called out through the door.

A feminine voice answered back. "Manco Exterminating."

Amy threw the locks and opened the door to a cute woman with shoulder length brown hair carrying a sprayer and a satchel.

"Please come in. I'm glad you could get to me today." Amy invited her in and read her name patch. "Holly."

"I had a cancellation. Client's boy has the chickenpox so I was able to come by." Holly explained.

Amy closed the door and locked it. Holly pumped her sprayer and began at the front door and went around the perimeter of the room. Amy noticed the wand wasn't the only thing in Holly's hand and forced herself not to smile. Insects weren't the only bugs she was going to deal with.

"Not to worry. This is made from chrysanthemums, harmless to people and pets, but effective against insects." Holly explained and sprayed around an air vent.

Amy watched her work. She certainly acted like a real exterminator, even talked like one too. Finally Holly finished spraying and set the tank down at the front door. She started going back through the house, carrying the satchel and began taking things apart and removing pieces. The things she removed were put into a metal looking box kept in the satchel. After finishing in the living room she nodded to Amy.

"Your house is now clean. There was a tap on the hard-line, but I killed that before coming down here. The only vulnerability is your car and cellphone. So I'll need you to unlock it for me when I go back out." Holly stated.

Amy nodded. "Oh god, I'm so glad now. I was worried that he bugged my house too. Wait, what about the computers?"

Holly smiled. "Taken care of half an hour before I arrived. There was a penetration. The trapdoor is closed for now, but he can try to access again. With enough time and effort, he will regain access."

"Ok. What now?" Amy asked.

Holly brought out a DVD case. It was a common romantic comedy movie that many women liked.

"Take this to your sister at work this afternoon. It's the real deal. It'll entertain her tonight. She needs to call you from her apartment hard-line tonight and arrange to meet you tomorrow morning to return it. He's going to think messages are being passed. He'll try to steal it. Let him. Put up a fuss, but let him get away with it." Holly instructed.

Amy nodded. "Ok. If that's what we need to do. Deidra called just before you came. She actually slept last night. Did something happen?"

"From what I understand, yes. What, exactly, I don't know. Not my thing." Holly admitted.

Amy was puzzled at that. "It isn't? What is?"

Holly tilted her head. "I'm just a sweeper. The old man sent me. Oh yeah. He told me to give you this."

Amy was given an envelope.

"That's it. My part's done. Take care." Holly said and gathered up her things to leave.

Amy showed her out and used her remote to unlock her car. She watched Holly go over it and seem to collect a couple of things then close the door and wave. Amy re-locked the car then opened the envelope. Inside was a single page from a printer.

Hello Amy,
I'm sure by now you have many questions. I can answer some. Firstly, the young woman has been instructed to remove all surveillance devices in your home and car. Holly is very competent I assure you. I do apologize that she is not very knowledgeable about the full going's on. Last night, the stalker tried to gain access to Deidra's apartment. The attempt was unsuccessful due to interference. He should be rather angry by now and I need to provoke him even more. This is where you can help. Holly will have given you a simple movie to loan to your sister for entertainment. It is quite real and I hope she likes it. I understand it is rather popular. Instruct her to call you after watching it to arrange a time in the morning to return it. This must be done out in the open. The ploy is to make him think you are passing communication between yourselves. Her stalker must have a chance to attempt to steal it. Let him succeed. Make a token display of resistance and distress. No need for an award performance. Just give a one-time show. I did mention payment instructions. I shall give them to you now. Please send the payment to the following account number. I do apologize if you expected it to be in the United States, but alas, it is a foreign account. Take heart, things are progressing. It will be sorted soon.
Manco

Amy laughed to herself. This Manco gentleman was definitely that. Amy suddenly remembered what Holly had said. Deidra's apartment wasn't her area. She had only been given the job of sweeping Amy's house for bugs. This Manco gentleman didn't seem the type to be doing physical things. he sounded more like an organizer, a planner. It was starting to sound like a team was at work, different people that did different things all working together on the same thing.

Daryl drove away and used counter-tactics to detect any tail cars. He was clean. that meant the stalker was focused on recovery. Good for Daryl, bad for him. The van was dropped off and 'Holly' was put away. Daryl mounted his racing bike and put on headphones. He needed to make every minute count. A list of dance mixes played as he pushed hard to cover the distance. At the city planners' office he found all the blueprints and technical drawing for the building. That was where he found what he was looking for. The building had a connection to the building directly behind it via the basement. It wasn't a residential building. Another night to be spent in an alley, Hobo Joe was needed this time since Contrary Mary had already been in the area.

Wilton parked at the office building's parking lot and walked toward the side door. A night watchman sat in the lobby, so he used the side-door. As he approached he used his phone. It sent a signal to turn on a video loop of the building's camera feeds, allowing him to go through unseen. He went down to the basement then a hidden panel into the service tunnel. Within minutes he was quietly walking up the stairs of Deidra's apartment. He had cursed himself at losing the pick. He was certain it was dropped in the hallway. He luckily had a second set of picks. Before leaving though, he made sure the override for the fire alarm was disabled and locked out. No surprises this time.

He inserted the pick and tension bar and began working the pins. Wilton knew there was a chair wedged under the knob. It wouldn't deter him. He knew how to get by that as well. The first pin shifted and he applied tension to hold it there and work on the next. It clicked and he smiled. The smile dropped and he almost swore when the lights came fully on and a buzzer started sounding loudly, in the very hall he was in. Snatching both tools and holding them firmly he tore back down the hall and burst into the stairwell. He hopped to cover distance down the stairs and back into the basement. In the tunnel, he swore and kicked at the wall. Someone was still getting in his way! The sister must have hired someone. He had lost all feeds from her house and car that morning. Feeds he wouldn't be able to replace for at least a few more days, which would require him to divide his attention from Deidra. He wrote off the night and began making his way out.

Daryl almost chuckled aloud. The man coming out of the building showing obvious anger was practically broadcasting himself. It wasn't that he was shouting, swearing, stomping or such blatant display; it was the fact that he was moving too calm. He was forcing himself to act cool and that was all Daryl needed. After the car drove away, Daryl used a small laptop to run the plate. It was fake. Not surprising. He entered the picture he'd taken of the guy's face and sent it to his own system to run identity. Meanwhile, he had other things to do. Hacking into the building's security feed was no problem. He couldn't find any recent intrusion. That was a problem. The stalker had set up a hardware package. Daryl began shedding Hobo Joe and get ready to penetrate the building. Two hours later, he was back in character and making his way home.

Deidra enjoyed the movie. It was a good one and she had seen it before. Neither she nor her sister really understood what was going on, but they were doing as instructed. They met at a coffee shop and sat at a table on the sidewalk. The movie case rested on the other edge of the table. Anyone could simply walk up, take it and be halfway down the block before either one could finish objecting. Which was exactly what happened. A young teen did just that. A few minutes later, their waiter walked up and said their coffee and pastries had been paid for. Then he whistled a tune as he cleared away their table, looking like he hoped to not look idiotic for doing so.

Amy gave him a tip and looked at him intently then smiled. "Thank you."

He whispered. "Lady, the guy paid me to whistle like that. I have no idea why."

"I know why. Thank you." Amy said then looked at her sister. "Well, I have errands and you have work."

They hugged and went their ways.

Wilton paid the purse snatcher and sent him off. He then opened the movie case and found, a DVD. The Princess Bride. It wasn't a copy. It looked very real. In his car he put it in his laptop and scanned it. It had the movie, making of and deleted scenes. It was real! It was beyond infuriating. He just paid a hundred dollars, to steal a movie that could be purchased online for one dollar and ninety-nine cents or even a dollar at a second-hand shop! that's when he caught sight of something in his mirror. Something was on the back-glass. he turned around and saw, to his horror, a reticle had been drawn. Cross-hairs. Below that, two words: MINE NOW.

Wilton struggled to get out then looked around. He'd been found. They had gotten somebody to discover him and he had been. Quickly he abandoned the car. It was disposable anyway. He hurried down the street and caught a tram. Four times he switched then picked up a spare car then used every counter-surveillance trick he knew to flush out a tail car. None. He wasn't being followed. At his home, in an old warehouse, he raged. How had anyone discovered him. Then it hit him. The movie. Specifically the case. It must have held a tracker. Whomever they had gotten had set it up to flush him out and he had taken the bait. Again he raged upon things that wouldn't matter to lose. Walls acquired more holes.

"THIS WON'T STOP ME DEIDRA! YOU'LL SEE, REAL SOON!" Wilton swore.

Wilton went back to his car. He'd sit and wait until she got off work. He'd follow her home, then when she went to bed, he'd get into her apartment for sure this time. Had he not been so angry, he'd have seen a person on a bicycle ride by front of the warehouse slowly.

Daryl wanted to shake his head. The guy had been so concerned looking for a car or person getting on and off trams, he completely missed a bicycle courier. Not that it was hard to do. There were so many in the city; you could close your eyes, spit and probably hit three if the wind was right. Daryl went in easy enough. The alarm wasn't even a level-1. He moved fast. His laptop was able to crack the guy's security encryption for his computer network in a mere five minutes. Daryl downloaded what he needed then loaded new software and brought it back online. He now owned it. The really fun part; it was now a weapon against the one who built it.

Daryl continued his search and found several boxes of things that belonged to Deidra. Those boxes were secured then taken outside. He called Billy to come pick them up and deliver to Amy's house. An hour later, 'Holly' went into Deidra's building. Only she wasn't wearing an exterminator's service clothing. She wore the uniform for SightUnseen, an actual counter-surveillance company there in the city. She was even verified as a legitimate technician by the company. She went through the building and found each device then the central junction relay on the roof. Holly's instructions were very precise, locate all illegal devices and install bypass on them, but leave in-place. Earl, the building manager, had followed her to watch. He was shocked at what he learned. Over fifty cameras with audio pickups were all over the building. He had no idea how they had all been placed. That wasn't all Holly did before she left.

Deidra received a call at work from her sister. Boxes of her things had suddenly been just dropped off. Along with a message. 'He belongs to us now, no more fear.' Deidra dug deep within herself and found that last bit of hope to galvanize herself with. At the end of the day, she went home and held her head high all the way. Walking into the building, Earl hugged her and apologized profusely.

Amy showed up and brought several items of her clothes. She had washed some and dropped off the dry-clean items at a service she had never used before, just in case. Deidra used a notepad to write to her sister, knowing the cameras were indeed there, but talked about random things.

What now?

Amy wrote back. I was told to tell you, act like he can't do anything anymore. Make him angry. Set him off.

Amy took the page with her when she left. She was hoping it would all be over soon and her sister would be safe.

Wilton watched his small receiver and grew steadily angrier. The sister was bringing her more clothes.

"What the hell?" Wilton said aloud to himself.

Deidra had gathered up the dresses he had left then smiled and began cutting them into scraps with a pair of scissors. The more she did it, the more she got into it and started just ripping them to shreds. She laughed as she destroyed them. She laughed and cursed him.

"UNGRATEFUL BITCH!" Wilton spat. "Well! Since you won't wear the clothes I pick for you; YOU WON'T HAVE ANY!"

An hour after she turned out her lights and got into bed, he was moving. He went into the building, down to the basement and through the tunnel. Wilton was so angry, he almost forgot to trip the loops for the security systems. He practically ran up the stairs and stomped down the hall to her door then began working on the lock. Right as the last pin clicked into place and the door opened, a very loud alarm went off. It was a piercing wail, easily over a hundred decibels. Not only that, but two brilliant beams lit him up and he could see writing on the door now.

Smile for the camera, Wilton!
Oh yeah,
the cops are coming.

Wilton quit the door and ran. He didn't bother with any form of stealth, he just ran. At the tunnel exit, the door wouldn't open. He had to kick it open then run up. The basement exit door opened and an alarm sounded. He bailed for the side-door, which set off an additional alarm. He ran down to his car and jumped in. Savagely he cranked the key and the engine roared to life. He threw it into gear, floored the pedal and spun the wheel over. He had to escape. He had just gained the edge of the parking lot when all four tires blew. Two seconds later the engine stalled out.

Wilton stared in horror for a second then came to his senses; Of self-preservation. He bolted from the car and ran down the street. Down alleys, the wrong way along a one-way street, across a pedestrian bridge and finally onto the Greenway. His legs felt like they were on fire, his lungs were ready to burst and his heart just wanted to stop. Suddenly, laughter rang out over the public speakers. Not just any laughter, Deidra's laughter. She was laughing and cursing again. Just as she had done when destroying the clothes he left for her. He ran. He ran as hard and as fast as could to get away from there. All the way back to his warehouse. Fumbled the keys and yanked the door open.

The computer system was awakened as he sat down. Another tap of the keys and Wilton's world shattered. There on every screen, was the image of himself, looking horror-struck.

An artificial voice spoke from the system. "Wilton Kanick. Thirty-two. Male. Caucasian. One hundred-seventy-six pounds. Five feet-nine inches. Born Riverside, California."

He sat there completely frozen as his entire life history was recited. Every school, every class, grade point average, known friends, even extracurricular activities and groups were given. Then his entire work history and specialist training was given. Especially being fired from a Los Angeles Private Investigation firm for taking surveillance too far on a subject. then the independent Private Investigators that fired him for the same reason. The state revoking his license. Losing his bonding. Criminal charges, and the trial for them. He was supposed to still be in California for his parole. He had violated it. Clips of his stalking of Deidra began to play. The cameras he had used to watch her had also seen him and all he had done.

"As you have watched, you have been watched Wilton Kanick. You will BE watched. Your data has been forwarded to local, state and federal authorities. The California Board of Parole has been notified of your present whereabouts and recent activities." the voice stated.

Suddenly a police radio feed came over the speakers. Units were dispatched to apprehend him. Wilton bolted from the chair and ran to the door. He had to get out. They were less than five minutes away. He tried the door, it didn't open. He twisted the knob and it came off in his hand. Deidra's laughter rang out over the speakers.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Wilton screamed.

He kicked at the door to no avail. It was an industrial door.

The voice from the computer spoke again. "We own you Wilton Kanick. You belong to us. There is no escape. All you have done, will be returned upon you."

"OWN ME? NEVER!" Wilton bellowed back. "NO! NOBODY CAN HAVE ME!"

He looked around, searching for an alternate way out and saw old, left over rope. It had been there when he took over the warehouse and hadn't been thrown out. He strode over and snatched it up. The laughter had returned and wasn't stopping this time as a countdown clock ticked down the time remaining before the police arrived. He would not go back to prison. He wouldn't leave. He yelled a vow to haunt her until she died then seize her in the afterlife while he tied a loop and secured the rope. After standing up on the computer station, he tightened the improvised noose around his neck then jumped as high and far as he could. Wilton's body jerked violently at the end of the rope.

Daryl stepped into the light as Wilton gurgled from being strangled. His neck had been snapped and could not save himself, even if he wanted to.

Daryl looked up and focused on the hate-filled eyes looking back. "The police weren't really coming here. That was fake. That 'haunt her and get her in the afterlife' bit was new. Never heard that one before. I'll be honest, you might want to be careful if there is one. There's somebody even angrier than me there already. Probably waiting for you to show up. She'll have a whole lot of fun with you."

Wilton's eyes were glazing over as he watched the mystery man tie pieces of black string around his wrists and ankles while singing a song. All went black as he left him there. Minutes later, the computers began to overload and burn.

Amy and Deidra walked the garden path with the British gentleman they knew as Manco.

"So it's really over?" Amy asked.

Manco nodded. "Yes it is. Things were going all to plan until the finale. One small thing overlooked came into play."

"Will he come after me again?" Deidra asked.

Manco sighed. "No my dear. He will not. Please take that to heart and think no more on it. The affair has been sorted. Not to my personal satisfaction, but it is acceptable. In fact, there is no choice but to accept the outcome as: resolved. Do go on with your life. Find some happiness how you can and put Wilton Kanick behind a door of the past. Lock that door and toss away the key."

Deidra deflated a bit. "Thank you so very much. I don't even know who you are."

Amy giggled. "Of course we do. He's The Man With No Name."

Deidra sputtered to laugh. Manco looked rather smug at that answer.

"Ah. You've indeed pinned me." Manco chuckled then began to walk away. "Look after yourselves."

As he walked away, they heard him whistle the tune from the movie For a Few Dollars More.

Deidra looked at her sister. "Amy. Why on earth would an Englishman use spaghetti-western names and songs?"

Amy was laughing and shook her head. "I have no idea, but he's definitely funny as all get-out. It worked too. We knew it was him when it was him."

Two days later they read in the newspaper that the body of Wilton Kanick had been found in a warehouse, an apparent suicide. It was evident he had been stalking someone, but the information was so corrupted, the authorities had no clue as to whom. They now understood everything Manco meant. He hadn't wanted Kanick dead. He wanted a different outcome. Perhaps Wilton to feel as Deidra had and go to the authorities for help, which would reveal all he had done to her.

"All done Dana." Daryl said as he shut down his system after a clean and leaned back in the chair to sing along to the song. "THAT'S HOW IT GOES. Everybody knows."

To be continued.

People go about their lives in their own way. Some believe the world is against them. Some believe the world is their's. But when your world has been destroyed, what would you do? What would you pay, to get some part of it back. What would you pay, to balance those scales? At what price; love? Safety? Sanity? Justice? At what price; Revenge? *Warning- Does contain hyper-violence*

Daryl was pushing hard. Once they got to the crest of the hill, they had it. The only threat was twenty yards behind and closing. Daryl crested the hill, shifted left and was overtaken.

"GO DANA! GO!" Daryl yelled as she started to pass him, he planted his palm to her back and shoved hard to launch her down the hill.

Dana yelled back. "I'M GONE!"

Most people would look at the two and shake their heads. Not surprising, they were twins. Dana and Daryl Tempton, born exactly one minute and forty-seven seconds apart. Dana was the elder of the two. The joke was that since Daryl had been larger, he had to wait. Their mother would smile and say that Daryl had been born already with good manners, letting a lady go first. Daryl would joke back that he had such a good thing going already and knew it, therefore was reluctant to give it up. They had grown up looking extremely similar and it would take a parent to really determine which was which if they decided to play a prank. Dana's hair was thicker, Daryl's had more wave. Daryl's was also slightly lighter. They could hide that fact simply by Dana not wearing her hair in a confined style. Daryl wore his hair tied back most of the time and therefore it appeared Dana had the lighter hair and his was the darker.

Dana pedaled, even though she was going downhill. That would be needed to maintain their lead. Halfway down she heard some noise behind her, but didn't look. She wouldn't do anything to give up the lead her brother had worked for. At the bottom of the hill and a hundred yards further, she crossed the finish line and raised her left arm in triumph as people cheered. Minutes later, Daryl and one of their rivals crossed. Dana was puzzled. That wasn't the one she expected. Where was he?

Daryl took the water bottle handed by their mother. "Thanks Mom!"

"What happened to Jimmy?" Dana asked.

Daryl shook his head. "His front rim failed. He went down and was out cold when we passed. He was being picked up by officials. Just one of those things. Not your fault or his. Unless he knew it was weak and rode it anyway. I don't think he'd do that though."

"No way." Dana shook her head. "He loves his bike too much to do something like that."

The third place finisher came up. "Good race."

Daryl shook hands. "tough, but good. Sorry about Jimmy, Miranda."

"Yeah. Not fair, I wanted to go to line against him." Dana said.

Miranda sighed. "That's what he wanted too Dana. Maybe next time. They're taking him to the hospital, he planted hard."

Dana hugged her. "You held tough on the climb. I was worried about the final sprint."

They all knew that though Dana was light, Jimmy's weight would have given him the edge going downhill. The true battle would have been that flat leading to the finish line. Daryl was an all-arounder and Dana was a sprinter. Miranda was a climber and her cousin Jimmy a sprinter. Two teams that were hard to beat. Sprinters were fast and excelled on flat or mostly flat runs. Climbers were just that, they excelled at going up hills. All-arounders, like Daryl, were strong at all terrains. Not many actually made good all-arounders. Daryl was the best in their age-bracket of mixed team racing. They were jokingly referred to as the Wonder-twins. During a race, the only way to tell them apart, was the fact that Dana was a girl. Her feminine attributes. They rode identical looking bikes and matching shorts and jerseys. Even their shoes and helmets were the same. the only other difference was their sunglasses. Daryl wore purple mirrored-lens wrap-around shades. Dana wore pink-lens of the same style.

After the last pair crossed the line and cooled down for ten minutes, the officials began calling up the place-winners. Dana and Daryl stood holding up their tokens, a bouquet of flowers for her and the trophy for him. They hugged and shook hands with the other place winners then came down. A couple of Dana's girlfriends had arrived just before that and swarmed her as she came down. They teased and joked at Daryl. The twins separated to talk to those they wanted. For Dana, it was her friends, ogling the male competitors. For Daryl, it was the vendors and sponsors for the event. Some had shown interest in the twins' bikes as they were custom by Daryl. That was how things went until everyone finally went home.

To everyone, the twins had a typical relationship that any set of twins would, or just a bit better. Only their parents knew the twins had a secret. Most twins, as children, would try to imitate each other to fool people. Not so easy to do when they aren't the same gender. For Daryl and Dana, it had been. When puberty hit, they adapted. Daryl was able to maintain the voice his sister was developing. Dana could mimic his natural voice. For the most part, they even stayed the same size in clothing. Shoes were the only difference. Daryl began to wear larger shoes. For some reason though, it stopped at just the one size larger. They shared everything though. Both had their ears pierced. Both knew how to apply make-up. both could build and maintain their bikes. They knew how to dance and could do so in either role. If they dressed alike, wore the same make-up and styled their hair the same. It would take their mother several minutes to tell them apart, if they stayed still.

They did that quite often. Daryl impersonating Dana. She had two circles of friends and sometimes wanted to be in two places at the same time. Daryl usually had a good time so they did it often. At fifteen years old, social demands on Dana were getting harder to manage though. That was where things usually went wrong. And in the twins case, that's exactly what happened. There were two parties she had been invited to. A birthday slumber-party of one of the less popular girls she was friends with, and Saturday night bash with a group of the populars. Dana went to the birthday party, Daryl went to the social.

All had been going just fine, until Daryl started feeling tired. That's when things start becoming flashes. Someone held him. He was half carried to walk. Stairs were climbed. A voice laughing. Being laid down. Then voices that became angry. Being moved around. Being pulled at. Something heavy. Pain and being pushed. Angry voices. Another something heavy. More pain, being pushed and angry voices. Another something heavy. More pain, being pushed and angry voices. Pain. Voices angrier. More pain. Blackness.

Daryl woke up on grass. He looked around. It was blurry. Slowly things began to focus. Things began to hurt too. His legs didn't want to cooperate. Slowly he was able to roll over and crawl forward. He was in his front yard. Pain was coming on stronger now. His butt hurt. His balls hurt. His face stung. Blood was in his mouth, he could taste it. He looked down because the skirt didn't feel right and he couldn't feel panties anymore. The skirt was ripped. Not good, it was one of Dana's three favorites. He could see now that his balls were turning a dark color, like a bruise. That's when he noticed the spots of blood on his inner thighs and felt down there. His fingers explored upward and came away from his rectal area bloody. Daryl now understood and began to cry. He'd been raped. Savagely raped. His anus now felt on fire. It took what seemed like forever to get to the door. He punched in the code for the key-less lock and got inside.

Unfortunately, he'd made too much noise. The foyer light came on.

"OH MY GOD!" Carol Tempton shrieked.

Adam Tempton came running. "What's going on? OH GOD, DANA!"

Carol was reaching out to Daryl on the floor and shook her head. "No. It's Daryl. They did it again. Oh dear god, what have they done to you?"

"H-H-Hurt. Hurts, Mama." Daryl managed to mumble then passed out.

Dana had a good time at the party. She was walking home. It wasn't far, only ten minutes. A car passed, slowed to stop then drove off.

"Like I'm going to get into a random car?" Dana muttered to herself in disgust.

She was just about to reach her driveway when the same car screeched to a stop beside her and three guys jumped out. Dana got worried. They looked vaguely familiar, but she didn't know their names. They also looked VERY pissed off. One threw a punch as they reached her and she wasn't able to duck fast enough. The punch connected and she went down with a screech of pain. They kicked at her and were shouting something. Calling her names. then one said something that really made no sense.

"I dunno how you could possibly walk after last night, but everybody's gonna know what kind of freak you are!" One guy said then opened a jar and dumped it.

Liquid splashed on Dana's face and she felt intense burning immediately. Dana screamed for all she was worth from that pain. Her scream was cut off by a kick to her face. She felt the pressure and then her teeth breaking and passed out from it. She never heard the neighbor come out yelling, her attackers leaving with tires squealing or the ambulance and police arriving.

Dana finally woke up and was in alot of pain. Her face was bandaged and felt swollen. She turned slightly and saw through her right eye Daryl laying in a bed next to her. Their parents sitting on a couch, crying. All she was told later, was that she had been attacked. Her attackers had not only kicked her teeth in, crushed her nose, cracked her right cheekbone and broken four of her ribs; they had also poured acid on the left side of her face. It had burned to the bone, disfiguring her permanently. Nobody was telling why Daryl was there. In fact, he was taken out of the room for examinations. That was for three days. Miranda came by on the fourth, while their parents were taking a break and Daryl was being examined again.

Dana labored to talk, but managed to say. "Nobody is telling me anything. What happened to Daryl? Why those guys did this to me? I don't understand."

Miranda said as a tear rolled down her cheek. "Everybody knows that it was Daryl, dressed as a girl at that party. Some jerks Rohypnoled him, they thought he was you. They raped him anyway. There was a couple girls in there too. They were recording it. They hated you. It was supposed to be you. Those guys and girls got so pissed off that it was Daryl, they raped him with more than just the guys' dicks. They stuck other stuff up in him too. They wanted to hurt him really bad. Like, go away and never come back bad."

Dana started crying. She had no words to say, she couldn't find any. Miranda wasn't done though.

"Three of those guys saw you walking down the street. They thought it was Daryl again, trying to act like nothing happened. They're all star football assholes over at Able Forester High. Nobody'll do anything to them. They're football champs and rich. Them and those girls posted the video online. Everybody knows." Miranda informed her. "Nobody is taking your side. Or Daryl's."

Dana cried more. It was all her fault. Miranda had nothing more she could say or do. She offered her sympathy and left. As she was not hooked up to any monitors, Dana could move around. However, if she tried to go out of the room, she would be stopped. That night, after her father fell asleep and the night nurse had made rounds, Dana took the notepad from the nightstand. She took the pen as well and went into the bathroom. What she wrote took two of the small pages. She hid the notepad pages in Daryl's things then took her father's disposable razor from his shaving kit. Dana took it back to the bathroom, got into the shower stall and broke the razor apart. She made every effort to stay silent as she slashed into her wrists several times to be effective. Dana Tempton was successful. The Nurse making final rounds before shift change screamed, waking all.

Daryl was taken out of the room as his father broke down. He didn't understand. Had Dana had an accident in the bathroom? He was put into another room and a nurse stayed with him. He asked her what was going on, but she wouldn't tell him. Three hours later, some man he never met before came in. He said he was a Reverend Something-or-other and patted Daryl's shoulder.

"Son, I am sorry to be the one to tell you. Your parents are distraught, they can't break this to you, so I was asked. I'm very sorry, but your sister is no longer with us. She took her own life sometime during the night. We don't know why. We can only guess. Right now, that guess is that she could not go on with her life after being attacked as she had been. I'm so sorry, Son. I can never imagine what you feel, but I can tell you that she is in a better place." The Reverend said gently.

Daryl sobbed. Dana had always been there. She was part of him. He was part of her. The had always been together. Now they weren't. He didn't understand. Why had all this happened? The reverend left. An hour later, a woman came in.

"Daryl. I'm Christine. How are you feeling?" Christine asked.

Daryl sobbed. "I don't understand! Why?"

"Let's talk about that. Did Dana seem depressed? Had she ever mentioned hurting herself?" Christine asked.

"NO!" Daryl exclaimed then demanded. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

Christine tried to side-step. "Let's talk about something else. Did Dana seem withdrawn? Was she pulling back from everybody?"

"I WANT TO SEE MY PARENTS!" Daryl shouted.

Christine again tried to side-step. "You're upset and that's natural. Was Dana upset?"

"Stop your inquisition, this INSTANT!" A commanding female voice ordered.

Christine turned around and glared. "I don't know who you are, but I'm with a patient!"

The woman strode forward and stared her down. "You are badgering MY grandchild and you WILL STOP! GET! OUT!"

Daryl reached for her. "Gram! What's happening? Where's Mom and Dad? Is it true; what they said about Dana?"

Evelyn Tempton physically pushed the other woman away and sat down next to Daryl and sighed. "Dana is dead sweetheart. She killed herself during the night. We don't know why. Did she tell you anything at all?"

Daryl shook his head and sobbed.

Evelyn nodded in acceptance then went on. "Your father couldn't handle it. He broke. They've had to take him to the psychiatric ward. Carol went into hysterics so they've sedated her."

"DON'T TELL HIM THAT!" Christine demanded.

Evelyn turned around. "I told you to get out. Do it, or I will have you removed."

"He's my patient." Christine countered.

Evelyn played her card. "In absence of Parental supervision, I have guardianship over the children. That means I CAN make decisions regarding their care and treatment, including dismissing YOU. I am. Get OUT!"

Doctor Jason Firmin came in and heard the last statement. "Wait. What's going on?"

"Jason. Remove that woman. I want her nowhere near Daryl anymore. She isn't helping." Evelyn stated.

Firmin sighed and hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "Mrs. Tempton isn't playing around. You need to go. Don't argue; just go."

Christine wanted to protest, but the look he gave implied things would go from bad to worse. She left, throwing on last look of hostility over her shoulder.

Evelyn pointed to the floor. "Here, Jason. You WILL talk to us."

Doctor Firmin sighed and stepped to the place she indicated and began. "Alright Evelyn. Daryl was drugged, beaten and gang-raped. Dana was beaten and disfigured with acid. It's believed to be connected."

"What are the police doing?" Evelyn asked.

The doctor told her. "Daryl was processed as a rape victim when he was brought in. We took a rape kit and the police came. They collected evidence and the kit. Daryl was tested for STDs, those came back negative, thankfully. Dana and Daryl were both interviewed when they were conscious and coherent. That's what I know. Daryl's things are being brought in. Right now, in fact."

A nurse came in bringing a box of things and a duffel bag. She put them in the closet. Evelyn instructed that the investigating officers be called in. They arrived within the hour. The news was bad. Video of Dana at the slumber party was accessible. The party Daryl had attended, was denied ever taking place. It hadn't happened at the home of anyone he knew, so it couldn't be confirmed. The two girls that had invited Dana; denied Daryl ever being in their company, claiming they went on a double-date. In short, alibis and no contradictions. Ten minutes. The two Detectives gave them ten minutes and all it did, was make things worse.

After they left Evelyn sighed. "Well. It seems as everything has been all tied up in a messy knot."

"What now?" Daryl asked.

"First, you get released in the morning and I take you home with me. This weekend we have to bury Dana. It seems as though it would be a bad idea to hold a large event. Better to just be us. After that, we'll have to think more about." Evelyn said.

Daryl wept.

Evelyn looked at her surviving grandchild and said firmly. "Daryl, I have lost my granddaughter. My son is broken. My daughter-in-law isn't much better and you have been brutalized. Am I going to lose you to whatever all this is, too?"

Daryl took a moment then shook his head and asked. "No Gram, but what am I going to do? How do I; how do I?"

Evelyn knew what the question was that was refusing to come out. How was he to go on without Dana and his parents?

"That; we will have to figure out." Evelyn said.

As she said; the next day Daryl was released. He went to her home. That weekend, they buried Dana privately. It turned out, the hospital wanted her death kept quiet too. A patient committing suicide in the hospital wasn't something they wanted to be well known. Adam had practically dropped out. He was barely responsive and had to be attended to for practically everything. He wouldn't be leaving serious care it seemed. Carol went the other way. She became hostile and violent towards the staff and had to be sedated then secured as well.

Daryl was sorting through the things that had been brought with him from the hospital. In a jeans pocket he felt paper. He pulled and out came note-pages. Daryl sat down where he was and looked at them in horror. They were in Dana's handwriting. She had written first an apology then recounted everything Miranda had told her and then added the signs of trouble she had not recognized as such.

Evelyn came in and saw Daryl on the floor looking horrified. She slowly sat down beside him.

"Talk to me." Evelyn said.

Daryl shook his head. "No good. Nothing's going to happen. Everybody knows what happened to me and Dana. They know who did it. Dana figured out why. I got raped by ten guys. Three of them were the ones that attacked Dana."

Daryl went on to explain how they had been set up and why. Destynee, the girl that had invited Dana to the party, was angry. Her boyfriend dumped her when he found out she had slept around before taking up with him. He was a virgin and wanted the same in a girlfriend. Dana was as well, which was well known. Also, Dana was arguably more attractive. It seemed that Destynee and her cohorts knew well that Dana would not attend any party that the parents weren't there. The 'parents' Daryl had seen, weren't. They were members of household staff for one of the boys that had raped him. After being seen and assumed to be said parents, they were dismissed for the night. Drugs and alcohol were already being consumed, but not obvious to Daryl. After the bulk of the party attendees had left, that's when he was given the drugged drink.

Angry that it was not Dana to be raped of her virginity, they went ahead and savaged Daryl. The next day, the main three ringleaders saw Dana by chance and recognized her. However, they got the wrong twin again. They thought she was Daryl in disguise again. That was the whole of the reason they attacked and especially dumped the acid on her face. They were made aware of who their victim was. It made no difference. They even assigned monikers to further mock and humiliate the twins; the Fag and the Hag. No longer would they be able to fool anyone. To add further insult, the three boys were able to throw money at the local District Attorney. Even if any evidence or witnesses were produced, it would do no good. The investigation was being buried. Just like Dana had been.

Evelyn sighed. "Well. It seems they covered every angle."

"What now? They do all that, just because they can? We have to take it and nothing happens to them?" Daryl asked in dismay.

"It certainly looks like that is the way it's supposed to be. Is it that way?" Evelyn asked.

Daryl took on a look of anger. "Hell no, Gram! They need to pay!"

Evelyn mulled that over. "Ok. They need to pay. You want to get even?"

"No. Getting even isn't good enough. Getting one better isn't good enough." Daryl growled.

Evelyn looked at him intently and asked. "What do you want?"

One word. It said everything and so much more.

"Revenge!"

Daryl was withdrawn from school. For a month he searched over the net and made a list. Then he gathered up two bags of things, took the keys to his car and left with all the money he had. Two years he was gone. He went from place to place, seeking out people to learn from. Honest and not. If they knew something he wanted to learn, he found a way to convince them to teach him. Martial arts, street fighting, street chemistry, stage makeup, costuming, how to imitate accents all over the world, surveillance, theft, breaking and entering, searching and even blackmail. He learned every dirty criminal art there was. Then he turned around and learned the flip-side. Every method of countering those things the authorities used. How they succeeded and failed. He even found a teacher for electronic eavesdropping and more. A Cracker that finally had a crisis of conscience. He passed on all that knowledge and disappeared. It was assumed he went to some remote place and intended to live off-grid.

Daryl returned late one night to his grandmother's house. His whole demeanor had changed. He now had an intensity to him. Only it was not 'him'. It was Dara that had come back. The simple skirt, top and mid heels did not look out of place. In fact, Evelyn almost fainted, thinking Dana had come back from the dead. Quickly she came to her senses and ushered her grandchild inside. She listened until dawn. Dara laid out the entire plan down to the last critical detail.

She looked over to the radio.

"What's that song?" Dara asked.

Evelyn listened. "I believe that's Leonard Cohen. I can't remember the title though."

Dara went over to the computer and entered the lyrics. Leonard Cohen's Everybody Knows. She found it easily enough and listened intently. It struck deep to the heart. It described exactly how she felt. The town would never be the same when all was said and done. This wasn't simple revenge anymore. This was going to be 'scorched earth'. Daryl worked secretly for two months to get all pieces and preparations in place. He had found out more before returning. He now knew exactly how deep things went.

The police were easy to get out of the way. The officers that would actively protect the corrupt families had their bonding revoked. Without bonding, they had to be suspended without pay. The District Attorney found himself in front of the State Attorney General having to explain over two-hundred cases that suddenly come up for administrative review. All at the same time. His problem, many of those cases had been influenced. Too many to just ignore or marginalize as an overworked legal system. That was when the other shoe dropped. The State Bar Association had received the same information. They had better resources at their command than the A.G. No sooner than the D.A. started the review, he was informed his license to practice was now under review as well, therefore frozen. He could only review with the A.G. and nothing more.

Legal muscle now out of the way for the duration. Daryl went into local action. He hacked the computers of all involved in his rape and found the videos of it. Now unedited, he set up a file to store it in, as well as the full identities of each one. They could not hide or deny their involvement anymore. Now for the mind games to begin.

Dara began making appearances around town. People around Destynee noticed the pretty blonde looking at her intently from a distance. When she turned to look, the girl was gone. For days that went on. Then she finally caught a glimpse and tried to look better; only for the girl to disappear again.

Destynee asked her best friend, Fallon. "Hey. Have you seen some blonde girl around?"

Fallon nodded. "Yeah. People say that there's a blonde girl staring at me, but when I look, nobody's there."

"I saw her for a second." Destynee said.

They were sitting at a table in the mall talking about it, then Fallon paled. "Oh my god! There she is."

Destynee turned around and saw her too. A pretty blonde wearing a blue denim skirt, white tank-shirt and white mid-heel shoes. Suddenly, she noticed the sunglasses. Pink mirrored lenses in a white frame, the sporting wrap-around style. Only one girl they knew of wore sunglasses like that, but she was supposed to be dead. A group of people passed in front of her and she was gone. They looked around, but she was nowhere to be found.

"Dez. Did that look like?" Fallon started to ask.

Destynee shook her head. "Can't be. The little bitch killed herself. And even if she hadn't, the guys nailed her in the face with acid. No way could it have been her."

Fallon's phone rang. She went to answer and stared in horror at it.

"What?" Destynee asked.

Fallon turned the phone around and showed the display: Dana T. It even showed a picture, very much like the girl they had just seen.

Destynee grabbed it and answered. "Who is this?"

"Don't. That hurts. It hurts. Why does it hurt Dez? What's happening to me Dez? Fallon? What's happening Fallon?" A voice from the past asked.

Fallon had been able to hear as well. Both were looking at the phone in stunned silence. The past had come back. They both knew that voice. Had heard those questions. The voice didn't stop.

"Who are you guys? Don't hit me. No. I don't know what you mean? What did you pour on me? My face is burning! It hurts, it's burning! Don't kick me! Please stop! Please stop!" The voice pleaded then the call disconnected.

"Oh Yeah? Try this shit!" Destynee spat and hit the return-dial then stared in horror as her own phone began to ring and show Dana's picture on the display.

Fallon grabbed it and answered for her. "This isn't funny!"

They both looked at each other in shock. The return-dial had been directed to Destynee's phone, but gave Dana's name and picture as the ID. When they checked, the call to Fallon's phone had originated from Destynee's and the return-dial showed Fallon.

"Come ON!" Destynee ordered.

They grabbed their purses and left the table. Several times they saw the girl at a distance as they went around the mall. Finally they left, only to find the tires were flat on Destynee's car. She tried to call home for help, but her phone was no longer active. Fallon tried as well, but had the same result. Their phone service had been turned off. Destynee threw her phone to the pavement in anger.

"DAMNIT! Somebody's playing games with us!" Destynee shouted.

A woman passing by let them use her phone. Unfortunately the call home, didn't go there. Instead, they were informed the number was disconnected. She called a friend she just happened to remember the number of and begged her to come get them. They were dropped off at her house and she went inside.

Destynee's father looked up at the ruckus the two were making. "What's your problem?"

Destynee snapped. "All my tires are flat, my goddamned phone got cut off and the fucking house number is disconnected!"

He picked up the cordless handset. The dial-tone was clearly heard. He dialed her phone and to the girls horror; a ringing was heard in another room.

"You left your phone here, so what are you talking about?" He asked.

Destynee and Fallon went into the kitchen and saw the phone in question on the counter, showing a missed call. From home, just moments ago.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Destynee demanded.

Her father came in and glared. "Alright! What's going on?"

Destynee was about to say then caught herself. "I DON'T KNOW!"

"Uh-huh." He replied, staring at her intently.

Destynee knew he wasn't buying it. However, she had to keep her mouth shut. Her father would have no qualms over turning her over to the police for her involvement in any crimes. He'd been car-jacked once and been shot in the process. He absolutely hated criminals. He hated people that helped criminals just as much. To find out what she had done, and especially why; he'd lock her cell door personally and melt the key in front of her.

Destynee grabbed Fallon's wrist and pulled her to follow upstairs. In her room she made a call.

"David!" Destynee snarled when he answered.

David Mullen huffed. "What is it Destynee?"

"You said Dana killed herself. You hit her in the face with acid. She's dead. Right?" Destynee demanded.

David sounded bored. "Yeah and the freaky-fag brother is locked up in a nuthouse. Total Veg-out."

"You sure about that?" Destynee asked.

David huffed. "My cousin, Christine, is a psychiatrist. She did the transfers herself. Hell, even their bitch mom is locked up. What's your deal?"

Destynee insisted. "Yeah, well somebody is running around loose!"

She recounted what had been going on. He listened and sputtered. David jeered at her for making things up or confusing herself and over-reacting. They began to argue the point back and forth. Finally David hung up on her. His phone immediately rang again, but was someone else.

"What is it Mike?" David asked.

Mike said angrily. "LOOK AT YOUR FUCKING FACEBOOK PAGE!"

David went over to his computer and brought it up. A video was posted. He clicked on it and saw a video of himself drugging a drink and talking about it. It was very clear what he was doing and why. The drink was being spiked with Rohypnol and was going to be given to a girl. The girl was alleged to be virgin. He and several other boys drew lot as to who would have her first. It would be Mike.

"YOU ASSHOLE!" Mike swore over the phone

David couldn't believe it and protested. "No way!"

"WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?" Mike demanded.

David protested. "I didn't do this! I don't even have any videos!"

He checked in folders and was shocked into silence. Every video of every rape they had committed was there. Almost a hundred of them.

"NO NO NO! I SWEAR I DIDN'T POST IT!" David screamed into the phone.

Every single one of them was tagged in it. His phone started indicating other calls coming in, and from who. The rest of the boys tagged in the video. The video was posted on his page, using his account and apparently; from his own computer. He tried to go in and delete the post, but the password was changed.

"Mike! My account's been hacked! I can't take it down!" David said in frustration then realized it was worse than they thought. "FUCK! IT'S ON ALL MY PAGES! Twitter, Instagram, EVERYTHING! FUCK!"

The house phone rang and he looked at it in fear. It stopped ringing. Someone had answered it. Slowly he picked it up and listened.

"Hi Sophia." His mother greeted.

The woman on the other end spat. "Don't you 'Hi Sophia' me, Julia! That little bastard of yours needs to be hanged!"

"WHAT?" Julia squawked.

"I just saw a video of him and his gang drugging my niece and raping her! She was only fourteen! A virgin, Julia! We had to put her in a clinic for depression!" Sophia yelled. "Your sick little deviant posted it on MY Twitter page!"

Julia went over to her computer and pulled up her best friend's page. A video had been posted half an hour ago. She clicked and slowly became sickened. Her own son and his friends drugged a drink, gave it to Sophia's niece. It took effect fast. They drew lot and David started unzipping his pants, laughing. The drugged girl was dimly aware of what was happening and tried to protest. When David finished and tagged another boy, she almost vomited. The words she heard him utter dashed that feeling and sent her into a fury. She bolted from the chair and stormed up to his room and threw the door open.

"HOW IN THE HELL COULD YOU BE MY SON? YOU FILTHY, SICK, DISEASED." Julia screamed then slapped him. His phone rang again and she snatched it up after seeing the caller. "HOW DARE YOU ALL! I'M CALLING THE POLICE!"

David tore the phone from her hand and slapped her. "You won't! You, Dad and all your friends'll be ruined! Make it go away!"

"I have a BETTER idea!" His father's voice called from the doorway.

David looked at him. "Make it go AWAY!"

Two State Police officers came into the room.

"David Mullen. You are under arrest. Possession of controlled substance, distributing a controlled substance, statutory rape, accessory to statutory rape, conspiracy to statutory rape, obstructing justice, production, distribution and possession of child pornography" One informed him while the other cuffed him.

David's father snarled. "Lock his ass up!"

David realized now, that he was not getting out of his situation and began to struggle all the way to the cruiser.

Destynee opened her bedroom door and was faced by a male and female State Police officer. Destynee and Fallon were promptly arrested. After being processed, they were shown to separate cells. They had seen all of the boys being processed. The next morning they were arraigned and transferred to the county's facility. Or so they thought. When the transport van's doors opened. Both girls knew they were in very bad trouble. They were in a warehouse. They also weren't alone.

One of the transport guards chuckled as he said in a Latin accent. "Show a good time, maybe we take you somewhere not a prison."

The girls looked and tried to count the men. They went into double-digits fast, so stopped.

"Desnudar, chicas." The other 'guard' said then repeated in English. "Strip."

Fallon whimpered and began to undress. Destynee slowly began to do the same. Men came forward unzipping their pants. What both girls saw almost made their minds shatter. The men's penises were deformed and covered with bumps or lesions and some were dripping a colored discharge. Both now knew, they were not only being forced to have sex, they were also going to be infected with more than one sexual disease. The men took them and not just one by one. They began to go in multiples, forcing the girls to do more than vaginal. For over three hours the girls were used. They were allowed to redress, taken to a point in town and dropped off. Police units were on them within minutes. They had now been deemed as escapees and therefore held under higher security.

The boys were fairing no better. Word spread fast that they were child-rapists and had even posted videos of their rape-parties online. There was one factor inconsistent with the truth. It was being said that their victims were not teen girls, but prepubescent boys. Boys of a certain ethnicity; African-American. Their first night in County was anything but calm, quiet or gentle. In fact it was loud, brutal and didn't stop until almost dawn. All of them had to be taken to the security wing of the hospital. Their situation didn't improve. Under sedation they were relocated. For several days. When they managed to leave the warehouse they were being kept in, State police were on them immediately. It seemed that Mike's father, who had been very good friends with the District Attorney, had moved his boat to the docks five minutes away. It was stocked with enough supplies for ten people to consume for three weeks, full fuel tanks and very convincing fake passports.

At their trial a week later, they had been deemed extreme flight risk prisoners and would be held in the State's maximum security facility. That night; two managed suicide, one attempted unsuccessfully and another managed to provoke one of the most violent on the cell-block into murdering him in anger.

Two weeks later, the unthinkable happened. They had all escaped again. The remaining boys and both girls were unaccounted for. they were very nervous for quite a while, then started to relax. The boys were uncaring now of the diseases the girls were infected with and had repeated sex with them. They assumed they were in the place for only four days. They were wrong. Police announced themselves outside. One of the boxes they had access to contained guns. Guns they quickly put to use. Unfortunately for them, the ammunition was actually Simunition. Harmless rounds that marked hits with paint. It had only infuriated the police even more, and those officers were anything but good-natured.

All the escapees ended up in the hospital, heavily guarded. The strange part was, the day they were all being taken back to their prisons, each awoken to find short lengths of roughly cut black string tied to their wrists and ankles. As the two prison vans were turning out of the parking lot onto the road. A girl walking down the opposite side of the street took off a large sunhat to reveal long blonde hair and wearing mirrored sunglasses with pink lenses. As they looked at her through the window, she smirked and wiggled her fingers at them. Puppets on strings. It sent Fallon over the edge along with two of the boys.

Evelyn watched the realtor drive away after handing him the keys to her house. The movers had already left with all her things. Her grandson walked out of the house and pulled the door closed, locking it. He wore cycling shorts, jersey and shoes. He rolled his bike out of the garage. It had saddlebags that bulged and his helmet hung on the handlebars.

"That's that. What now?" Evelyn asked.

Daryl sighed. "We can't stay here Gram. I got you a house down in Florida. It's a retirement community. You'll be able to make friends there. You won't be lonely."

"Adam and Carol?" Evelyn asked.

"Already in long-term care facilities there. You won't have any problems seeing them and they will be taken care of." Daryl stated.

Evelyn nodded with relief but asked. "You said that psychiatrist was in with them. What about her?"

"Yeah. About her. It seems that she got caught having an affair with a patient under another psychiatrist's care. Her license got revoked. That and dummying up prescriptions for her cousin for narcotics. She got into a good amount of trouble." Daryl informed her.

"I see." Evelyn sighed. "What about that girl, the one that told you everything?"

Daryl's eyes became glassy as he said. "I gave her Dana's bike. Dana would have wanted her to have it."

"You never did tell me why you tied strings on them. Why Daryl?" Evelyn asked.

Daryl shrugged. "One of my mentors was a marionettist as well. To learn what he knew; I had to learn that too and help out in his theater. He liked that I wanted to get revenge. He told me that getting them wasn't enough. That I wouldn't be satisfied, until I had them all dancing on the ends of my strings."

Evelyn thought about that. "Quite the image."

"Yeah. He was right too. If hadn't done all I did, I wouldn't have been satisfied." Daryl admitted.

Evelyn asked. "So you are done with them?"

Daryl smiled. "They can die whenever they want to now. They won't get out and have pissed off so many people, nobody'll help. Dana can rest in peace now. I can if I want to."

"What will you do? Where will you go?" Evelyn asked as they hugged.

Daryl mounted his bike and put on the helmet and sunglasses. "I can work on bikes, even build them. As for where; I'm not sure Gram. There's a place I can disappear into. I just need to find it. I thought I'd do the old cliche first."

Evelyn chuckled. "Oh? Run for Mexico?"

"No Ma'am. Ride off into the sunset!" Daryl laughed then pushed off. "I'll be in touch."

Evelyn watched him ride away and sighed. "No sweet child, you won't. I'd be very surprised if you actually did. Please find peace. That's what your sister would have wanted most."

Four months later, Daryl passed a road sign.

Port Klasten
one mile

"Port Klasten." Daryl said to himself. "I hear you're a good place to be nobody in. The perfect place; to disappear."

He rode into the city and found a cheap room. The next day, Daryl paid a month's rent on an old machine shop on the Southern edge of town and set up residency. A month later D's Wheels opened and a pleasant looking guy stood in the door. People soon learned the new shop owner was very good when it came to bikes. He could even make custom tailored to the individual. Especially Road Racing bikes, those were where he truly shined. Several of the city's bicycle courier agencies' began referring their riders to him and he never let them down. Such became his day to day. Work on bikes. Build bikes. Sell bikes. He even found time to compete at regional events and did well.

That all changed one evening as he closed his shop. A man and a woman were walking by. A car slowed down and the stopped. A man in suit got out, walked up and stabbed the man. In seconds he was dead. The woman was in hysterics and quickly struck down. The killer looked over at Daryl and saw the strangest thing. Daryl glared then pointed at him, the car and a direction. As if ordering him to leave. Then Daryl started toward the woman. He gathered her up and walked her back to his shop. The suited killer got into the car and left.

Daryl called the local police. He wasn't very helpful to them. When they were alone, the woman asked why.

"There's more to this story lady. Why'd he really get killed?" Daryl asked her intently.

The woman choked then confessed. "He was a pilot and had his own charter jet. He wouldn't smuggle for them. He went to the DEA. He had no proof though, so they wouldn't protect him. Why do they get away with doing whatever they want? To whomever? Why won't somebody stop them?"

"You want justice, or revenge?" Daryl asked.

The woman understood immediately what he was offering and answered. "Revenge!"

Daryl stood directly in front of her. "It won't come cheap."

She nodded and said the words that changed things forever. "I'll pay!"

Here and there. People reached out for help, to be answered by Daryl. Word began to circulate about a strange new Revenge-broker. Bits of black string were being found on people that claimed to be set up, but had done horrible things. The worst of the worst. A crime-scene tech commented the strings were similar to those used on puppets and earned a moniker; The Puppeteer. Only one actual detective had interest in this mystery-player. He refused never say why he was so angry at this Puppeteer.

One thing was certain. Nobody could really pin down who the Puppeteer was. Conflicting reports denied identification. In fact, there were so many contrary stories; they didn't even have a real suspect.

Daryl put aside the remembrance as he set the small birthday cake on the kitchen table, opposite was the small framed photo.

"Happy birthday to us, sis." Daryl said then sang softly. "Everybody; knows."

To be continued....

People go about their lives in their own way. Some believe the world is against them. Some believe the world is their's. But when your world has been destroyed, what would you do? What would you pay, to get some part of it back. What would you pay, to balance those scales? At what price; love? Safety? Sanity? Justice? At what price; Revenge? *Warning- Does contain hyper-violence*

Gerald Darnell stared at his screen in stunned silence. It would have taken someone else weeks to see this, but it was very clear. He was shifting funds away from the company into an offshore account, in small amounts. Small, but frequent. Over a good bit of time as well. Over three-hundred thousand dollars at the moment had been moved. Embezzled. That was the more appropriate term. He would not only be fired, he would also be prosecuted and sent to prison. Not jail, prison. The Federal kind.

As fast as he could, Gerald began tracking backwards. It continued to go back to him. Rather, his terminal. Then one stamp stood out. It was the day of his wedding anniversary. He had even asked to leave an hour early that day and did. The stamp was five minutes after his usual time for leaving the office. He went back looked at all of them. They were almost all the same. At, or just after, the time he usually clocked out for the day. He shut down his terminal and went down to the personnel office. He checked his time cards. They were consistent with his habits, but it wouldn't really mean anything. It could be said that he clocked out and went back.

In the hallway he hissed to himself. "I'm being set up! Who? And why me?"

All the way back to his office he wracked his brain, trying to figure out who would want him out of the way. Did they want money and he was just a fall-guy? Did they want his job? Was it somebody pissed-off that he had given them a review they felt wasn't what they deserved? Each one drew a blank. On the way home he stopped in a bar and saw his old friend, a barber.

"Ger. How's it going?" His friend asked.

Gerald shook his head and sighed. "Not good. Ted, somebody is messing around with company money. Stealing it."

Ted frowned. "Not good, bud. Do the right thing, man, report them to the bosses."

"I can't." Gerald said and sipped his beer. "They've made it look like it was me."

Ted winced. "Oh man! That's not good at all."

"Whoever it is, they're good. They know exactly how things work. I mean in detail. They know the in's and out's of everything. It's only a matter of time before it gets attention or I get ratted out to be the fall-guy. I'm so screwed. I'll end up in prison." Gerald said heavily.

Ted glanced around then said quietly. "Remember last year; I had that problem with those guys trying to use my shop as front? They wanted to hang out and sell dope?"

"Yeah. They even beat you up and a couple of your regulars, too. What about it? Thought that was over with." Gerald said.

Ted nodded. "It is. I just never told you how."

Gerald looked at him, puzzled.

"I, uh, I hired somebody to take care of it." Ted admitted.

Gerald was now thinking. "What, some tough-guys or something?"

"Or something." Ted said. "A revenge-broker."

That startled Gerald. He'd heard rumors of such people. "Whoa! Those guys are really dangerous, Ted. Maybe even worse than the problem."

"Oh this one was dangerous alright. For them. Those guys not only got busted, they caught hell in jail. Word has it, they were named as informers. Not good to be one of those in lock-up." Ted nodded firmly. "Know what I mean?"

"Right about that. What's all that got to do with me?" Gerald asked.

Ted looked around then continued. "Maybe YOU could hire them? Figure out who's doing all this to you and fix it? Get it now?"

Gerald sighed and looked deep into his glass of beer. "I don't know Ted. I hear these guys are expensive. Some are even crazy."

"Look; it's your situation. But if it's how you said it was, it won't be long and you're left holding a bag, with nothing in it but blame." Ted said then pulled a business card from a hidden pocket of his wallet.

Gerald watched as Ted had him hold it out of sight then used his cigarette lighter to warm it from underneath. The card's appearance shifted. It changed from blue to black and instead of some restaurant's logo and information, in red lettering, an email address appeared. Gerald stared in amazement. He'd heard people talk about secret business cards for mysterious people. Here, in his hand, was one of those cards.

"This guy, I'll never forget his name, was César Echagüe. Latino, well groomed and dressed high-end. He talked like he was really cultured. Easy-going. I never actually saw him do anything, just the results of what he did. I'll be honest; at first, I thought I had gotten the wrong guy. I hadn't. He took care of the problem. He seemed to think his price was reasonable. I guess I did too, I didn't argue and paid it." Ted said frankly.

Gerald was now looking at the card intently. He was rethinking his previous opinion. He trusted Ted, they had met in high school and been best friends ever since. If Ted said the guy was ok, he had to be.

"Ok. I'll do it. I'll meet with him." Gerald said.

Two nights later, he went into a jazz club and sat down. The instructions had been simple. Go to a club called Tribulations, sit at a table near the stage and order a glass of Raveneau Chablis Grand Cru with whatever he drank. When the waitress came, he did exactly that, with a bourbon and coke for himself. The waitress returned, placed the drinks down and left, without asking him for any money. He watched her go and wanted to stop her, but movement caught his attention and he turned to look. A stunning woman in a blue sequin club-dress standing in front of him.

"Bonne soirée, Monsieur Darnell." The young woman said in a heavy French accent then gestured to the empty chair. "Since you have already ordered my drink, shall I join you now?"

Gerald was off-guard, but stood up anyway, as he always did when approached by a woman. He had expected a Latino gentleman, but was now facing an elegant French woman. His wife would skin him alive if she caught wind of this and got the wrong impression. He was past the point of no-return now though.

"Uh. See voo play?" Gerald struggled and gestured to the chair.

The woman smiled and took the seat. "I speak English very well Monsieur Darnell."

Gerald sat down. "Sorry. I never learned French. I just know hello, goodbye, thank you and I think I managed to say 'please'. That's all I can come up with. Miss?"

"Marguerite St.Just. Please, call me Marguerite." Marguerite replied with a smile and mega-watts of charm.

Gerald actually felt himself blush. "Gerald, please. I have to admit, this is really surprising. I thought I was meeting someone else."

"Ah." Marguerite said, now understanding. "These things can become very complicated Gerald. Please believe that you are meeting who you should be and that I can help you. That being said, this must be also. What you ask for, does not come free. There is a fee for such service and it must be paid in a timely manner. You understand this, oui?"

Gerald nodded. "I understand."

Marguerite patted his hand gently then sipped her wine. "Bonne. Now, you say there is someone from your work that is stealing money and it is being made to appear as the one doing the stealing, is you. Non?"

"Yes Ma'am, er, Marguerite. I'm being set up to be the fall-guy. I don't know who or why. It won't be much longer, the higher-ups are going to figure money is gone and I'll be the one holding the bag." Gerald said.

"Very bad for you." Marguerite commented.

Gerald sighed. "I don't have a lot of cash. I do have stocks I can sell. I think about forty-thousand, but I'll have to pay a penalty which means."

"Oui, you will not receive that amount. Fortune does smile on you a little. To resolve your problem will only cost you twenty-thousand. You will not be taken for all you have Gerald. It does not work that way. When all is done, all will be done. The only part you must worry over, is paying that amount by the agreed time." Marguerite said reassuringly.

Gerald began to relax now. "I can have it by next Thursday. Is that ok?"

Marguerite smiled again. "Indubitablement! In fact, I was going to suggest next Friday."

"Friday works better. Cash?" Gerald asked.

"Gerald! To carry that much money around, invites danger, non? It would be much easier to transfer it electronically to an account I will provide you the number of. Much better, non?" Marguerite asked then added. "Of course, it must come from your personal account. I am sure your financial adviser would be able to accommodate that."

Gerald thought about that and nodded. It was a good idea. There would be no questions about that, even if someone caught wind he was up to something, there would be no argument that it was actually his money being used.

"We now have contrat, oui? A deal?" Marguerite asked and offered her hand.

Gerald gently shook her hand and nodded. "Yes. We have a deal. Please help me Marguerite. I'll pay."

Marguerite stood up, taking her glass. "Laisse moi ça, Gerald. I will look after you. Bonne nuit."

Gerald watched her walk away. He had to resist the urge to just sit there slack-jawed. The woman was all grace and elegance as she made her way out. He even felt a slight stirring in his pants. Now all he had to do was pray she could do what she promised and that he wouldn't fantasize about her in his sleep and say anything.

Dara walked into the dimly lit room and turned on the computer system. As she sat down and begin to type, a song began to play.

She began to sing along softly. "That's how it goes. Everybody knows."

Chester Beirman preferred to be called Chet. That wasn't all he preferred. Working, wasn't one of those things. He only worked for the company because his father demanded he work somewhere. After a month of not getting a job, he had him hired and put to work in the Accounting department. He hated it. None of the women were single, nor were they pretty. By his standards, of course. He tried to bully his way into Personnel, but an old man ran it and they had no positions vacant. It only got him an ass-chewing from his father. He had tried to stay at college longer, but his father put his foot down at the end of his fourth year. Graduate or be cut off. He graduated with an associate's degree in Business.

One thing he had liked learning, was how money moved around. He was good at that. In fact, it became a hobby during class. Seeing how much of the theoretical money he could divert before the Professor caught on. One of his classmates ended up trying to do the same, they both were caught and ended up being friends. They soon started working together as opponents. Each trying to find ways to steal that the other couldn't catch. Eventually, they learned how. Now he was doing it for real. The best part, his supervisor would catch all the blame.

Chet chuckled to himself as he checked the balance of the offshore account with his phone. "Two more weeks and I'll blow the whistle on your ass Gerald. I'll have them give me YOUR job as a reward. Too bad I just won't be able to find exactly where you hid the money."

Chet smiled at that. As the supervisor, he'd need a secretary. Not that ugly cow Francine that Gerald has. Nope; he'd get a cute, young and not bright girl. Smart enough to do what he'd tell her, and be on the pill, but not so smart he'd have to be careful around her. The picture on the wall acted somewhat like a mirror. He could see Gerald in his office when the door was open, which was almost always. He only closed it when someone asked to talk privately or one of the higher-ups went in. They closed the door, he didn't care. Gerald was one of those 'if it affects the company, everybody should know' types.

Chet saw someone going into Gerald's office. It was a guy, one he'd never seen before, so he didn't care.

Gerald looked up at the knock. "Yes?"

"Mister Darnell? I'm Ryan. I was called in to service the computers here in your department. Won't take long. You're all about to take lunch, right?" Ryan asked then handed him a clipboard.

Gerald looked at the documents. They were work orders, signed by the Vice President of Operations. Gerald knew his handwriting without a doubt. At that moment, his phone rang so he answered it.

"Accounting." Gerald stated.

The voice on the other end was unmistakable. "Gerald. It's me."

"Yes Sir Mister Golson." Gerald replied, acknowledging the VP of Operations.

Pat didn't mince words. "We finally got in a tech to perform the updates on all your terminals. Send everybody to lunch at the same time so he can get that done. I was told he only needs an hour to do it, get him set and get out of his way."

Gerald didn't need to be told twice. "No problem Mister Golson. He's here now and everybody is about to go in three minutes."

"Good. Have a nice lunch Gerald." Pat said then hung up.

"Yeah, that clears everything up alright. Go ahead and do your thing." Gerald said then grabbed his suit jacket, walked out the main area and whistled. "Get a stopping point. Two minutes and go to lunch, full hour today."

Everyone did as he instructed and made their way out. Gerald looked over as Ryan was already working on his terminal. "I guess you got it."

"No Sweat. I'll be gone by the time everybody is back." Ryan said holding some handheld unit, but using the terminal's keyboard.

An hour later, Gerald watched the last person come back in. That brat, Chet. Gerald didn't like the guy, he had an attitude and it slipped out a good bit. Gerald went back to his office and sat down. It was real easy to see what the Tech, Ryan, had done. Things were moving faster and looked better. That was good. He wondered what was going on with Marguerite though. He had yet to hear from her, though it was only Monday.

Daryl parked the car in the garage and got out. It only took a few seconds to pull the magnetic signs off for the IT service. He put them away, along with the clothes and other gear for 'Ryan'. He rode back to his bike shop and finished out the afternoon then rode home.

After a shower and dinner, Daryl went down into the secret room. The computer system had been running for quite a while. Daryl brought up search parameters and ran them. He saw what Gerald had seen. Someone had indeed been siphoning off money in small amounts then diverting to an offshore account. That account was numbered and therefore anonymous. Able to be accessed by anyone with the correct codes. Daryl frowned. The last noted diversion had been Friday. He would have to wait until it was done so again, then he would have information he could act on.

One thing for certain, it was someone within Gerald's working group that was doing the dirty work. Daryl began looking into everyone. Two stood out. One was a long-time employee, the other was a recent hire.

Daryl looked at the two and mused aloud. "One that's been there forever, one that just came on. Let's dig deeper on you two."

It didn't take long to discount the long-time employee. He had been investing heavily into the company ever since they offered that option. All things pointed to him being a serious protector of the company. He not only bought stocks for himself, he also bought for his wife and children. The purchases were deducted directly from wages and had been for years. In fact, there was even a note that the man had only used sick leave once in fifteen years and returned the next day; against doctor's advisement.

"Hardcore. You wouldn't hurt that company no matter what. You love it too much." Daryl remarked then began digging deeper into the other candidate.

"Chester, Chester. What is there about you?" Daryl asked the screens as information came up.

The more he read, the more he wanted to look for and commented. "This guy reads like a resume for Assholes 'R Us."

Everything from Middle school on to present screamed the guy was egotistical, self-serving and over-indulged. Teacher and school adviser comments all read the same. College showed worse. Chester demanded to be the center of the universe and expected everyone to cater to him. Complaints had come from all directions. Faculty, staff, other students; pretty much anyone he came into contact with more than once.

"Sexual harassment. Authority issues. Money mismanagement. Immaturity. Lack of direction. What's the matter, Chester, nobody wants to just give you blank checks and let you screw to your heart's content?" Daryl asked. "How'd you ever get hired?"

He went back and looked at the personnel file again then rolled his eyes. "Figures. Daddy is a V.P. I should have caught that right off the bat. He must be forcing you to work, thinking it'll make you Man-up. That's optimistic to the point of dumb. Admit it Chester, you aren't about to grow up for anybody."

Daryl liked Chester for the embezzling, but he needed more before he did anything. The one thing he hated more than people like Chester, was making a mistake. Mistakes were killers in the business, in that they could get the wrong person killed. He would take no chances and wait for more information to come in. The nails were ready, all he needed was someone to hand him a hammer and show the coffin.

Daryl was at the bike shop, working on a mountain bike when the alert came over his laptop. He set his tools back in the box and went over to look. Sure enough, money had been diverted into a hold account. Daryl then attached his tracker into that account. the next time it was accessed, it would trace back through the system to the actual terminal and he'd have them. That was the magic of keystroke loggers. It wasn't just software, it was also hardware and therefore no way to confuse it or counter with any scanning programs.

At Four that afternoon Daryl set everything aside and began watching his laptop. Thirty minutes later, what he had been waiting for started to show. Someone at a terminal was entering redirection coding. Camouflage. He pinged the terminal then brought up the camera he had placed in the office. None of the terminals had a camera so he had to place one. Daryl wanted to roll his eyes. It was Chester, as he'd suspected. He activated the tracker now attached to the money that had been pooled. A moment later, it went through Gerald's terminal and transferred to the offshore account. Daryl waited and received a pop-up with the routing and account number. Daryl looked at the camera and smiled. Chester was using his phone to check the account. Daryl grabbed the number and hacked in. He now had GPS for everywhere the phone went, networks it registered and everything downloaded and uploaded. Dating sites, porn, clubs, music and videos. Daryl had almost all of it now.

"Time for your string of cleverness to be cut." Dara said.

Chet stood at the bar, trying to work the blonde beside him. He had been talking her up for ten minutes. If he could touch her, he could kiss her and if he could get a kiss, then getting her into bed wouldn't be much more of a challenge. Being bumped, interrupted him.

"Hey!" Chet turned around and received a bored look from a slightly built man, similar to his own age, but better dressed.

The man gave him an intense look. "You have problem?"

Chet took note of the Russian accent and knew immediately to check himself. The Russians in the area weren't regular people. They were all in one Mafia or another.

"No. No problem." Chet replied and tried to refocus on the girl.

The Russian moved on after a few minutes. Chet relaxed. Real criminals made him nervous and the local Russians were very real criminals. The girl's phone caught her attention. She excused herself to the ladies' room. Chet waited then came to the obvious conclusion that she had moved on. Looking around better confirmed she wasn't even in sight. He decided to call it a night and went to his apartment.

Daryl had to laugh when he got outside the club. Chester had no idea that his phone had been lifted from his pocket and returned. Daryl hadn't needed to keep it. Just borrow it long enough to clone it. Now he had an exact duplicate of Chester's phone. Anything and everything Chester did, Daryl would see and know. He would also be able to interfere or even reverse. Once Chester logged into things, Daryl would have those passwords on the clone as well. Things like banking information. Since he was already dressed well, Daryl stopped off for a late dessert.

Gerald sighed Friday afternoon. Two more transactions had happened. At lunch he had went to his broker and authorized the transfer from the sale of a good portion of his portfolio. He'd had to pay a penalty, but hoped it would be worth it. He had just stood up and about to put on his jacket to leave for the day when his phone buzzed.

He answered it. "Accounting."

"Gerald. It's Brad Weller, could you come up to my office?" The C.E.O asked.

Gerald's heart froze, but knew there was only one answer. "Yes, sir. On my way right now."

He took the elevator up the two floors and went down the hall to the last door. Inside, the secretary buzzed him.

"Go right in." She said.

Gerald went in and saw three people he really didn't want to. Brad Weller, the company's C.E.O. Ellen Chisholm, the Vice-President. Winston Beirman, Vice-President of Distribution.

Brad waved him over to a table that had several sheets laid out. "Gerald, come in. We need your help sorting something out."

"Yes sir." Gerald nodded and went over.

Gerald began looking the pages over and realized what he was looking at. It was the theft of money. The very theft he was hoping would be sorted out before the very people he was in the room with, found out.

"This looks very bad sir." Gerald said.

Brad nodded. "Exactly. Somebody in your department has been embezzling and trying to frame you for it."

It took a second then hit. They knew it wasn't him.

Ellen sorted through and pulled a page and tapped it. "The money was returned last night. It was shifted into a very old account that hasn't been used in ten years. If we hadn't been notified, we wouldn't even know it had been done."

Gerald looked at the information. "Four-hundred, twenty-nine thousand, six-hundred and eighty-one dollars?"

A pinging sound was heard and Brad went over to his computer then printed up a page and came back.

"Another four-thousand and change just went out and came back." Brad said as he handed the page over.

Gerald sighed. "Please forgive me. I found out, but didn't know what to do. I'm sorry. I didn't think you would believe me if I told the truth."

Winston shook his head. "We probably wouldn't have. We know who is responsible. Please have a seat over there."

Gerald sat off to the side, partially hidden. The secretary buzzed again and the door opened. Chester Beirman swaggered in, looking straight at the group of executives.

"Chester. We have something that needs to be discussed about the Accounting department." Winston said.

Chester smirked. Seemed like things happened without him needing to push.

"Know who I am?" A man asked.

Chester shrugged, he didn't know. To be honest, he didn't care.

Brad introduced himself. "I'm the C.E.O. that means I AM the boss. Look at this."

Chet took the page he was handed and read. To his horror it was a transcript from his terminal.

"That is code. It pulls small amounts of money from transactions and diverts them into a side account. That money is then transferred to an account in the Bahamas. An account that traced back to being accessed by your phone. All of this was camouflaged to look like it was originating from Gerald Darnell's terminal. The problem with that is, the timestamps all show consecutively that he was not at his terminal when the commands were given. Commands that were input from YOUR terminal." Brad stated.

Chet looked shocked. How did they know? How did they find out? His plan was perfect and the code would delete itself after execution.

"That old fart is lying!" Chet tried to counter.

Ellen arched an eyebrow. "How could he, we haven't spoken to him yet. All the proof is right there in front of you. It was fairly easy to recover the money. We just wanted to see how long you would go before you ran off or tried the frame up. I got bored waiting."

Chet couldn't believe it, until she showed him the transfer print out. The money, including the one from only a few minutes ago, was all back in a company account. It even showed where it had come from.

"NO WAY! You couldn't get access to my account!" Chet blurted out then realized he hung himself.

Winston sighed. "Now even I can't help you."

Two police officers came in from a side room and began to arrest him. Chet couldn't believe it. Not only had he been caught, they had the money back and acted like it was nothing out of routine. Now he was being arrested.

"Dad. I didn't mean it. I won't do it again." Chet said quickly.

Winston shook his head. "I gave you every chance. You have chosen to be everything your mother and I tried to raise you not to be. You have chosen to be a criminal. You will be treat as such. You chose this on your own, so on your own you will be. We will not help you in any way, shape or form."

Chet was taken out.

Winston sighed. "I need to speak with my wife and attorney. Chester is beyond our help. Gerald, you have my apologies."

"I'll take care of the money." Ellen said, taking three printouts as she left.

"You drink Gerald?" Brad asked

Gerald nodded. "Yes, sir. I could really do with one right now."

Brad poured for them both then handed a glass. "Hope you like Scotch."

Gerald sipped and felt it but shook his head. "It's fine Mister Weller."

Brad leaned back against the table and sipped. "Who helped us?"

Gerald's eyes popped.

"Things cleared up too neat and tidy. I've been doing the C.E.O thing for a while. This is the first time I worked in Port Klasten. I hear strange things go on. Things like this. We got too much smoking gun to be chance. Plus, there was the way we got it. Something got Ellen's attention and she barely had to tug on it for everything to come unraveled. That kid thought he had things all sewn up. I saw it in his eyes when we dropped the bomb. He was utterly convinced he'd come out clean." Brad smirked then shook his head. "Winston almost resigned. He knew there was no arguing it."

"I. I'm sorry Mister Weller. I don't know anything. Should I resign?" Gerald asked.

Brad shook his head. "Gerald, you're a good guy. You care about this company. It's family to you. Don't resign. I need people like you here."

Gerald nodded. "Yes, sir."

"If there is a next time; come to me first. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." Brad said then pointed to the drink. "finish that and go home. Get drunk there. See you Monday."

"Thank you, Mister Weller." Gerald said then drained the last of his drink and left.

Instead of going straight home, he intended to stop at the bar to meet Ted. His phone chimed with a message though. The message was quite short.
Come to the park, the fountain.

Gerald approached the fountain and saw who he was supposed to meet, sitting on the edge of it.

"Hello Marguerite." Gerald greeted.

Marguerite smiled. "Allo, Gerald. Bonne après-midi."

"Thank you. Unfortunately, the C.E.O. figured out somebody helped the company." Gerald admitted.

Marguerite giggled. "Monsieur Weller is very clever. He has seen inside naughtiness before. It is what makes him good to have."

"Am I in trouble?" Gerald asked.

Marguerite shook her head. "Non. Monsieur Weller is a kind man. As I said, he is clever, he will not throw away what is valuable to the company. You are valuable. Chester, was not. He was a very dangerous liability. You need not worry over any of this anymore."

"Thank you. Merci, right?" Gerald asked.

"Oui, Gerald." The French woman giggled. "De rien. You are welcome."

"So what now?" Gerald asked.

Marguerite smiled. "You go home, love your wife, go to work, do your job. Live your life, Gerald. That; is what you do."

Gerald looked down, she was holding out a business card. It was identical to the one Ted had shown him.

"Ted gave me your card." Gerald said.

Marguerite smiled. "It only works the one time. I give you one of your own now."

"Oh. What about Chester?" Gerald asked as he put the card away.

Marguerite shrugged. "That is up to your courts. He was not as clever as he thought he was. However, it was a large amount of money and he tried to blame you for it. They will not overlook that. You have no more concern. His father should not harbor any ill feeling to you. It was not your fault. They understand you were afraid and rightly so. This is where I say au revoir, Gerald. All is done. Bonne chance et bonne vie."

Gerald shook her hand and watched her walk away. There wasn't anything about her that wasn't charming. Even the smile and pat on the head to a passing child proclaimed a lovely elegance. He took out his phone and dialed. When his wife answered, he suggested that they go to dinner that night.

Dara left the park and walked down the street. At a tram station she stopped at a locker, took off the brunette wig, brushed out her blonde hair and left. To anyone passing her by, she was just another nicely dressed young woman. A tram took her back over to the area where the bike shop was, but she didn't go there. Instead, she went further down and slipped through the backdoor into the restaurant. The waitress came over to her table.

"Hey Dara. What would you like?" The waitress asked.

Dara thought then replied. "Tell Nan I'd like roast chicken, Vicky. May I have a glass of Pinot Grigio with that, please?"

Vicky didn't need to write the order down, just simply nodded. "Sure. I'll tell her and bring your wine back."

A minute later an older woman came out and set a glass of white wine down. Dara accepted and even returned the hug she gave her.

"Nice to see you looking so pretty Dara. I heard you didn't open today." Nan said.

Dara shrugged. "That doesn't mean I didn't work today."

Nan nodded. "Uh-huh. Taking on or finishing up?"

"Finished up. You're not worried about me, are you Nan? Pop?" Dara asked.

"We do worry." An older man said from the door then went back out to the dining room.

Nan sighed. "It's not that we don't appreciate what you did for us, or that people do need you. You do things not many can. It's just that it’s a dangerous business you're in. You could make a good living just with the bike shop and settle down. You're that good. We worry, Sweetheart."

"I know what I'm doing Nan, you don't have to worry over me. Worry over Vicky; she hasn't been on a date, in three months." Dara snarked.

"I HEARD THAT!" Vicky called back. "Mind your own social life!"

Nan had to chuckle. It was just like Dara to provoke a fuss to get attention away from herself.

"I offered to set her up with the Agatha Walker's grandson." Nan played along.

Vicky hollered. "I'LL GET MY OWN DATES!"

"Who's dating?" Brenda asked, walking in and taking a table. "Hi Dara, nice dress."

Nan chuckled. "Vicky is SUPPOSED to be, but hasn't in three months."

Brenda nodded. "Oh. I know a guy."

"Leave me alone!" Vicky said then set Dara's plate down and glared. "You too!"

Dara shook her head. "I didn't make any offers."

"You started it." Vicky said hotly.

Dara gave a fake look of shock. "Me? Nooooooo."

Vicky looked over at Brenda then said to Nan. "You take her order."

All three burst into laughter after Vicky went back out to the dining room in a huff.

Brenda shook her head then told Nan she would like spaghetti and a red wine. Brenda's order was brought out and she began eating.

After a few bites each, Brenda looked over. "Did you shut somebody down today?"

"What makes you ask that?" Dara asked.

Brenda use her napkin then answered. "Bob picked up a case. He knows he won't win. Some spoiled brat tried to embezzle from a company and frame his boss. He got nailed all neat and tidy."

"Some people need keepers." Dara remarked.

Brenda took note that it wasn't a denial. "Uh. Is there going to be a funeral?"

Dara shrugged. "Not that I'm aware of. Bob have a limited wardrobe?"

"Bob's still new. He might not take losing a client, in that fashion, well." Brenda said.

Dara sipped her wine then looked over. "He could lose a client, 'in that fashion', whether I have anything to do with it or not. Your friend needs to understand that things happen in jails and prisons to people sent there that is sometimes cruel and most times warranted. Should something of that nature happen to someone I arranged to be there, then it definitely is warranted and absolutely will be cruel. If I ever make a mistake, I will pay the price for it. With my life and definitely horribly. I feel no sympathy for anyone I go after, they don't deserve any. If you do, then don't send me."

"I just pissed you off." Brenda said heavily.

Dara had finished her plate. She pulled a large enough bill to cover it and a nice tip from her bra and tucked it under the edge of the plate then took her wine glass over to Brenda's table and sat across from her.

"How do you know me, Brenda?" Dara asked.

Brenda sighed. "I asked for your help."

"What did you want?" Dara followed up.

"Revenge." Brenda confessed.

Dara sipped her wine then inspected the faint print of lipstick on the glass. "Have you ever heard of me going after someone who hadn't done something to deserve me going after them?"

Brenda shook her head and all that got was Dara repeating the question.

Brenda admitted. "No. You won't do that. You won't be used as a pawn."

"It was tried. Remember?" Dara reminded.

Brenda nodded her head. "Yes. You made them suffer to the very end."

It was one of the whispered warnings about the Puppeteer. Twice, people had tried to use the Puppeteer. A corrupt cop and a Syndicate Boss. Both met with extreme misfortune. The fatal kind, neither gentle nor quick. In fact, it had been determined that in both cases, they had been kept for several days of suffering before they were allowed to die. Of all the Revenge-brokers in the city, the Puppeteer was the most feared. Many suspected that he was very active, but only proven when the target was dead. Black, roughly cut strings tied to wrists, ankles and neck were all that was needed to know. It was also kept very quiet by the police. The streets knew, the streets talked. The Revenge-broker dubbed The Puppeteer took on the worst of the worst, the untouchable ones, and brought them down permanently. No one dared to cross whoever it was anymore.

Brenda remembered staring at the headstones of her husband and daughter as she said the words that could never be unsaid to a beautiful blonde woman. The same one that sat across from her right now. Brenda had used every source she could to track down the most dangerous Revenge-broker in the city and hired her.

"I'm sorry I offended you." Brenda apologized.

Dara set her empty glass on the table and got up. "If you had offended me; you'd know."

Brenda didn't watch her leave, only sighed in relief after she was gone.

Outside, Dara walked down the sidewalk and sang quietly to herself. "That's how it goes. Everybody knows."

To be continued....

People go about their lives in their own way. Some believe the world is against them. Some believe the world is their's. But when your world has been destroyed, what would you do? What would you pay, to get some part of it back. What would you pay, to balance those scales? At what price; love? Safety? Sanity? Justice? At what price; Revenge? *Warning- Does contain hyper-violence*

Nathan Franko stood behind the yellow tape and watched. He was no stranger to the house swarming with crime scene technicians, patrol officers and Homicide detectives. The two Internal Affairs detectives were known to him as well. That shouldn't be a surprise. He, himself, was a cop. Twelve years on the force and a detective himself, for Narcotics. The house belonged to an older cop. A Lieutenant in the Vice division named Rex Timpkins, they called him T-Rex in the department and on the streets. He'd been Nathan's trainer. Nathan owed the man everything, he'd saved his life more than once on the streets.

Many people were sad whenever a cop died. Even more so in the line of duty. Suicide though, brought out the most raw emotions. Usually guilt and fear. If such an old and street-toughed cop could be driven to that, how could any of them keep it together and do the job? Suddenly there was more activity. Both the IAD men threw down their cigarettes in anger and went inside. One of the patrolmen had come out and looked more than disappointed. Nathan kept quiet as the officer stood beside another, in hearing range.

"Man. Now we know why. T-rex had about two kilos in the house. Almost half was packaged up for distribution." The Patrolman shook his head in disgust.

The second shook his head. "No way man. Not T-Rex. He hated dope. All his busts were clean."

"Maybe they were a little 'too clean'. IAD said they had gotten some rumbles about him. They were getting ready to open an investigation." The first replied. "As far as they're concerned. This is open and shut. He was dirty and figured out they were coming and off'ed himself."

In shock Nathan moved back slowly, distancing himself. When the first call for people to leave went out, he complied.

"No way. Rex wouldn't do it. Something's going on. Guess I need to do the digging myself." Nathan said as he got into his car.

Two weeks later, he stormed out of the Captain's office, having to leave his service pistol and shield on his desk, a statement of unpaid suspension crumpled in his fist. He went down and slammed his car door shut after getting in then pulled out his phone and was about to dial, but froze.

"DAMN IT!" Nathan swore then put his phone away.

His phone had to have been hacked. His apartment and car were probably bugged too. He needed a lawyer. A good one, but not one of the Union lawyers. Sure, a union lawyer would be free for him, but they weren't always more loyal to the cop needing them. No, he needed somebody on the outside, but not so far out they wouldn't understand the workings. He also needed one that had no ties to crime. Nobody that represented actual criminals. He needed one that specialized in real innocent people. He pulled in at a taco stand he saw and went in. After ordering he asked the woman behind the counter if he could use her phone and set three dollars on the counter. With a shrug it was set on the counter and his money taken.

After dialing the County Clerk of Court's office he asked for someone and was connected.

"Nathan? Haven't heard from you in a while." A woman's voice greeted him.

Nathan sighed. "Yeah. Sorry Jana. I need some advice. Actually I need a referral."

"Referral?" Jana asked.

Nathan affirmed. "Yeah. Somebody I know is in trouble. They didn't do anything, wrong place/time and caught in the middle now. Who's a good attorney for them?"

"You want a courtroom crusader; get Brenda Ellory. Be sure whoever they are is clean, Brenda won't defend a crook." Jana advised.

Nathan had written the name down on a napkin. "Thanks Jana. Much appreciated."

He hung up as his order tray was set down. Nathan handed the phone back and took his food over to an empty table to eat. The lawyer's name rang a bell, vaguely. After eating, he asked for a phonebook and looked her up and added the address to the napkin then left. Two blocks after pulling out, he noticed the tail car and wanted to swear. Still suspecting his car was bugged he decided to take them on a tour. For over an hour he drove around aimlessly. They followed diligently and parked at the curb when he pulled in at a building and walked inside. Three minutes later, they were shocked when he knocked on the window.

"Nice day for a drive?" Nathan asked then punched the driver.

It wasn't a real punch; enough to leave redness, but no bruise. He definitely got their attention. He also saw the display for a tracker. It was his car.

"We can have your ass for that!" The Driver snarled.

Nathan snapped his fingers and held out his hand. "See the warrants, let's go. Or I call State, and you can show it to them."

The warrants were handed over. A tracker, cell phone and hardline taps. A hardline tap meant that his computer was monitored as well. It was legal though. Obtained through channels. He had a way around those though and took out his phone to dial his Captain. It was put through immediately.

"Well Captain, since IAD is all over me I'll be direct. I've parked my car as it is bugged and being tracked. The car will be parked at the location it is now until this issue is resolved. Also, I will not be returning to my apartment. When I disconnect, I'll remove the battery from my phone and it will stay out for the duration as well. Have a nice FUCKING day." Nathan disconnected and removed the battery then walked over to the corner and hopped a tram.

At the next stop he got off, blending in with the crowd and slipped away, knowing the trail team would continue to follow the tram. Nathan walked several blocks then caught a taxi. The team thought he was heading West, but he was actually now heading North as intended. After being let off two blocks away, he strolled casually, using every trick he knew to make sure he wasn't followed then circled back and went inside the office of Brenda Ellory, Attorney at Law.

"Brenda. There's a Detective Franko out here asking to see you." The secretary told her.

Brenda looked confused, the name wasn't familiar to her and answered. "Send him in."

The door opened and Nathan Franko almost replaced it then walked in.

"Detective. How can I help you?" Brenda asked and gestured to the chair fronting her desk.

Nathan didn't waste time. "I need to hire a lawyer. I'm under investigation by IAD. I've caused a problem by investigating a case they don't want me to. A Lieutenant in another division is dead, they ruled it suicide. I believe it was staged. Drugs were also found at his house, I believe they were planted. He was my training partner. He was a good cop then, he wouldn't change."

"That's quite a statement, Detective." Brenda remarked.

"Hey I won't lie and say the man was a saint. He wasn't; divorced twice, but not messy. He kept both kids out of the fights and set the support higher than they asked and had no problem paying it. He did some side-jobs, but they were straight. Security for places during events. He put his kids above everything, he wouldn't go dirty. He wouldn't do anything to shame them." Nathan stated intently.

Brenda took all that in. It sounded right, but others had appeared that way before and were just as dirty as any other.

"So what happened?" Brenda asked.

Nathan sighed. "I'm in Narc, Rex was in Vice. I'm not allowed to work the case, and even if I was in Homicide, I still wouldn't be allowed since he was my trainer. I can understand that, but nobody wants to look into it. They want it white-washed and to go away. Look, I'm still young enough that I can go private. Rex is dead. He can't fight anymore, not even for his kids. I can. If it costs me my badge, so be it, I want no part of a dirty department. Rex's kids meant everything to him though. I need to clear his name for them."

"Costs you your badge? Wait. You said they were investigating you now? That's a bit much for a fishy suicide." Brenda stated.

Nathan frowned. "They found drugs in his house. They were planted by whoever killed him and staged it to look like a suicide. They just want it all to go away. I can't let that happen. Rex was a GOOD cop!"

"Ok. Let's say that's true. What exactly do you want to happen?" Brenda asked.

"Rex's name be cleared. Full honors at his funeral and his kids get his benefits. That's all I want. They deserve that much. He earned it." Nathan answered.

Brenda nodded then gave him a hard look. "And what if he was? Don't say impossible. It is and you know it. What if he was everything claimed he was?"

Nathan wanted to protest, even yell at her, but he couldn't. Cops went bad all the time and he knew it. Just about everybody had a number in their head. Say the number, the penny drops and you own them.

"I don't know. I can't picture it. It goes against everything he taught and told me. He was a good cop." Nathan said, shaking his head.

Brenda sighed. "Just so you know. If I get into this, it won't be cheap."

"Yeah. I'm not married, so I have money saved. When I leave here, I have to get a burn phone. They got a warrant for my cell and hardline. Tracker on my car too, so I'm using alternate transportation. By now they probably got a warrant to bug my apartment too." Nathan informed her.

Brenda sat back. "They're certainly going to quite a bit of trouble."

"If he really was dirty, they wouldn't bother. They'd let me do all the work for them and say 'we told you so' afterward." Nathan said pointedly.

"Fair point. I need a deposit to put me on retainer." Brenda said then began printing up pages.

Five minutes later, the contract for legal services were signed and she accepted a personal check. Luckily it was the same bank she used, so it would clear immediately. Brenda gave him the name of a hotel to check into and had her secretary get him checked in while she went to the bank. Her favorite manager let her know the exact contents of the amount and any deposits that weren't from the City. There were some that were cash, but only 6 in the past four years and all under two hundred dollars.

Brenda left the bank and visited her main info-broker. The search only took an hour and turned up nothing that shouldn't be. Another search revealed the same about the dead Vice cop. No offshore accounts in his or any family members' names at all. In fact, the only thing of interest was that the deceased Vice Lieutenant's tax return was slightly off, to the tune of two dollars and forty-three cents in his favor. A check for that amount was pending issuance. No information to the contrary could be found digitally, that left analog.

Brenda met with an old client. He had been a gang member at one time, but had since changed and went legit. That didn't mean he would not hear talk on the street. In fact, his new line of work gave him unprecedented access. He had went to barber school and opened a shop.

"Teyvon." Brenda greeted, standing in the door.

Teyvon waved her in. "Hi Brenda. Looking to sport a new Do?"

Brenda arched an eyebrow at the young man. He was giving an older man a classic shave, with a traditional straight-razor. At least that's what it looked like until she got closer. The razor was actually a safety model.

"Maybe a shampoo and set, unless you lost the pink rollers." Brenda quipped.

Teyvon rolled his eyes and chuckled between strokes. "Walked right into that one. Stop laughing Lamar."

Brenda sat down and waited for him to finish. More than one second-glance was given to her. It wasn't often a woman visited an actual barber-shop. Especially a woman that looked well-to-do. Teyvon finished the shave, wiped away any residue from the shave cream and even applied an aftershave then pulled the cloth and gave it a quick snap. The customer paid him then went out, smiling. Teyvon nodded for her to follow, led Brenda to the back, poured himself a coffee and offered her one as well.

"What's up Brenda?" Teyvon asked.

Brenda leaned against a counter. "Vice cop, named Rex."

Teyvon sipped and nodded. "Already heard. It's shit."

"Oh?" Brenda asked.

"T-Rex was straight-up. If you was young and he caught you high; he'd try to get you in one of the free rehabs on a first. He catch you again, he'd run you in. Working girls, same. First time; he'd take to Sanctuary. After that, downtown. Pimps, dealers; always downtown. He'd try to get kids clean, didn't work most of the time. He kept trying though. If one kid cleaned up, it made it worth it." Teyvon informed her.

Brenda took that in and asked. "Why make him look dirty though?"

Teyvon shrugged. "Probably the same reason to make anybody look dirty that isn't; he found out something he shouldn't. Saw or heard something he wasn't supposed to."

"Anybody in particular?" Brenda asked.

Teyvon laughed. "Girl, if I knew that; I'd sell it to the news and never be seen again!"

Brenda had to chuckle. He was right. If he did know something like that, he'd also have proof that could be sold to the media and escape to somewhere very far away.

"What I do know is; whatever got him checked out was from his own and they want it gone." Teyvon said. "Brenda, you watch your ass. They won't play."

"Thanks." Brenda understood the warning for what it was and left.

Dirty cops were involved and they would have no problem going after her as well. She called up her private investigator. He told her he would discreetly look into things.

Nathan sat in the hotel room and mostly watched television. It was a small place, more like a Bed and Breakfast than an actual hotel, but there were twenty rooms. He went to the back lawn for fresh air. There was a small collection of books and he began reading from it. That was something he'd never really gotten into, but now seemed like a good time.

Brenda hung up the phone and silently cursed herself. Her investigator hit the Blue Wall and barely managed to stay beneath notice. She grabbed her purse and headed out. Fifteen minutes later she walked through the door.

Daryl looked up from the Boys' BMX bike he was working on and frowned. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"Corrupt cops, staged suicide, frame up and a believer." Brenda replied.

Daryl pulled on the back wheel to tension the chain then tightened the lugs. "So, fix it."

"My investigator hit the Blue Wall. They closed ranks. No way to ferret the truth out." Brenda replied.

The chain was lubricated then Daryl turned the crank to check it over. Satisfied; he took the bike off the stand, walked it over to the ready line then pulled off the gloves and laid them on the counter.

"So you think I'm the solution to the problem." Dara's voice asked.

Brenda sighed. "Everything I got says the man was clean as they come, but the officials are hammering that he was dirty."

Dara stared intently at Brenda then finally said. "Tell your client to be at The Museum of Art this evening. He'll be met in the Impressionists' collection."

Brenda nodded, set a single page on the counter and left.

Nathan stood in front of a scenic painting, he didn't really get art. Old paintings of people, places or events that may or may not have even existed didn't mean anything to him. He wandered around then stopped in front of a very realistic looking painting and stared at it.

"Gustave Caillebotte." A male voice with a Latin accent said. "Of all the Impressionists, his pieces looked the most like actual photographs."

"That's pretty much what I was thinking. How old is it?" Nathan asked.

The man replied. "He finished this piece in Eighteen-eighty-three. Unfortunately, Senor Caillebotte died eleven years later at the age of forty-five. A great loss. You would be familiar with great losses, Senor."

"Not exactly a low-key place to meet." Nathan commented.

The gentleman chuckled. "Precisely why it is the perfect place to meet, Senor."

"So what do I call you?" Nathan asked.

"César Echagüe. You are Nathan Franko, Detective with la unidad de narcóticos. You wish to tell me about your Mentor. I will listen, Senor Franko." Cesar said.

Nathan sighed. "Rex. Everybody called him T-Rex. I met him when I made Detective. He was my training partner. He led and I followed. He never told me to leave his side. In fact, he told me to stick like glue. Even on the weekends he had his kids, I was told to be there. He wanted me to see that even though the marriage fell apart, he would still be there for his kids. Not just a father, but a Dad too. On the job; he was tough. The streets will gut a cop. Not him though. He was tough, but never forgot he was dealing with people."

"Si. People always change things." Cesar remarked.

Nathan nodded and put his back to the wall. "That's just it. He constantly hammered in that not all were real criminals. Some did what they did out of pure survival. No choice. Some simply made a mistake and others were hanging on for their lives. Not saying there weren't career criminals, or those aspiring to be, just that some were only taking the only option they could see. Sometimes the addict needs rehab, sometimes they need jail. He taught me that being a cop was more than just putting the cuffs on somebody. Sometimes being a good cop is just listening to somebody that needs to talk it out. We serve, it's on cars and badges. Protect and Serve. It's what a real cop does and he said it everyday."

"Noble sentiment, Senor. I would guess that it was not shared by others, si?" Cesar asked.

"Yeah. I'm not saying he didn't have enemies, he was a cop, it comes with the job. Pimps he busted, dealers, hustlers; they'd have been glad to not see him around. That's expected. But this is all wrong. Rex wouldn't turn and he wouldn't check-out. He loved his kids more than anything else, he'd never do anything to shame them. To see them be ashamed of him, that would kill him. He wouldn't do that to them." Nathan said firmly.

Cesar mulled that over then asked. "What is it, exactly, you wish?"

Nathan shook his head. "I'm not a dirty cop. All I want, is Rex's name cleared. That's all I ask, please. My own investigation got shut down and nobody else will pick it up. That's all I want, the truth to be known."

Cesar sighed then nodded. "Very well Senor Franko. Know this, the truth you find may not be the one you seek. I will find this truth and will not spare thought to whether you like it or no. You may be a public servant Senor, but I am not. I will show some kindness. I will do as you ask, but I ask for eighteen thousand dollars. It must of course, be paid in a timely manner. Today is Monday. It must be electronically sent to this account by next Tuesday and you never speak of me to anyone. Tenemos un acuerdo? You agree to this?"

Nathan took the card and shook Cesar's hand as he said the words that could not be taken back. "Yes, I do agree."

"Buenas noches, Senor." Cesar replied and focused his attention on the painting he was standing in front of.

Nathan made his way out, understanding the meeting was now over. Cesar appeared to be only looking at the painting, but was actually looking at the monitor on his wrist that looked like a digital watch. Franko left and was not being followed by anyone. Cesar slipped out a side door and down a long alley to exit onto the sidewalk at the end of the block and blended in with the foot-traffic. An hour and a half later, the disguise of Cesar was shed and Dara sat down at her computer station. As she typed the access codes, she softly sang along to the song playing.

Dara knew better than to try hacking into IAD's files. That division was deliberately left vulnerable to penetration, so that any attempts could be easily traced. No, instead of that, she went after the Medical Examiner's system. She needed two things to be found there. The case file and exact time of death. After gaining both, she backed out and went into the city's evidence inventory. There she found the location of the container of evidence logged and who had entered it. The badge number belonged to an IAD detective, no surprise. Dara began getting ready to go exploring.

Daryl slowly eased into the narcotics holding area. It hadn't been easy, but the cameras were on a loop now, but only for the next twenty minutes. It took him over twelve to find the box he was looking for and opened it. The box held what he needed to find the most. Two kilos of cocaine. He read the inventory sheet first. It was there; two kilograms of cocaine, rated eighty-five percent pure. The sheet also had the chemical analysis and that gave the most critical information. How the cocaine was 'cut' and any branding to it. There was, but they were contradictory. It had been cut with Sucrose and Manitol, a mix used by the local extension of a Mexican syndicate. The packaging though held the brand of rivals based out of Bolivia. That was what he needed to know. Carefully he left and pulled the looping feed.

Late the next evening Daryl rode down the street, coasting. He was on the street behind the dead detective's house. He slowed down and stopped to dismount. The batteries on the headlight had died. Daryl casually changed the batteries and checked the tires' air pressure then remounted and rode on. Back at home he took a small black box from the underseat bag and connected to his computer system. It was a WiFi reader. He had stopped in front of the dead detective's house and changed the batteries in his tail light. The time it took to change the batteries was used to gain the identifiers for any open WiFi modules.

Daryl used those identifiers to hack in and read all contacts. The detective had a locked signal, but two houses across the street were open. The house directly behind was also open. That one was where he hit pay dirt. Six phones not belonging to occupants had registered on the WiFi. Three burn phones and three registered phones.

Phone One was registered to a Narcotics Sergeant Detective named Eugene Parsons. Phone Two belonged to Lieutenant Drew Kyncade, of Internal Affairs. Phone Three made Daryl sit back and facepalm in disgust. Assistant District Attorney Michael Bellazar. All those phones passed through the time frame for the detective's death.

"Shit just got real." Dara said aloud.

It was now obvious as to who was involved. The problem now was proving it in a way that could not be discounted or discredited. That wasn't the only problem. The involvement of an ADA meant there would be serious repercussions. Each and every single case he had prosecuted would be reviewed and retried, some were likely to be thrown out. Guilty people could be set free, innocent people could be held over regardless. Then was still the obvious. Franko. No matter what, he would go down. More than likely, murdered in retaliation. Not even Witness Protection would be able to help. A message was sent to Brenda then Dara went to nap.

Brenda rode the Greenway. She was trying to maintain a steady Twenty-two miles per hour. Suddenly, a blonde girl on a white, pink and purple road racer wearing coordinating apparel turned onto the pavement beside her and matched speed easily. Like a falcon catching a pigeon in mid-air.

"JESUS!" Brenda yelped.

The girl shook her head. "Not even close."

Brenda tried to focus on the path. "What's going on Dara?"

"Big problems. This isn't just some dirty cops. It's a Brotherhood. No way is your guy gonna get what he wants and survive. I need to meet with him again." Dara said.

Brenda felt her stomach flip. This was very bad. Nathan had uncovered something that would cut deep into the legal infrastructure. Something very much worth being killed over. "Oh God, Dara, am I going to have to run? Disappear?"

"No. You tell him to be at the corner of Twelveth and Ironwood at One this afternoon, empty-handed. He has to send the payment to the account by ten today. His entire account. Everything he has, down to the last penny." Dara stated then broke off onto the next ramp and was gone.

Brenda rode to the next ramp then stopped as the waves of fear went over her. Nathan had to escape, leaving everything behind and never come back or he would be killed. The urge to throw-up hit and she succumbed, emptying her breakfast onto the grass. With shaking legs, she rode home.

Nathan leaned against the wall of the building at the location he was told. At exactly noon, he saw Cesar approaching. A subtle nod indicated he was to join him.

"What's going on?" Nathan asked softly.

Cesar didn't bother with pleasantries. "You have no idea what you have started Senor Franko. It can only end with your death. You must choose whether it is to be on your terms, or theirs."

"Mine. How bad is it?" Nathan asked.

Cesar wore a face etched in stone. "Years of recovery. Senor Bellazar is involved. I will clear your friend's name. I can do it. Many will fall. You will become a sacrifice or a martyr. The choice is yours."

"If I become a martyr, will it help?" Nathan asked.

Cesar nodded. "It will make all the difference for the better. My instructions must be followed to the letter."

Nathan sighed. "Tell me what to do."

"Give me all your personal effects. At the end of this street, a red van will stop. Get inside and hide. You will be taken out of the city. When you get to your destination, you will be given that which will get you out of the country. Never come back Senor Franko. Your other option is to go back to your car and try to go to the State Attorney." Cesar instructed.

Nathan didn't need to hear the part about how if he chose the second option, it would be fatal and more importantly, futile. He handed over everything in his pockets and walked down the street, never to be seen again, as Cesar turned down a side street and went in a different direction.

Daryl spent the rest of the day moving information around. It hadn't been easy, but he did manage to swap DNA records with a John Doe in the morgue then appropriated the body, while stealing all hard copy at the same time. There was an inch of difference, but such was negligible. The next night, Daryl put on one of Franko's suits and a life-like mask to give him the identity. A pair of shoes with hidden lifts gave him the needed height. He made his way across town using blind spots of coverage and acquired Franko's car. A tracking device was found easily, but ignored. In fact, that made things even easier. Now it was time for a cop to die.

The fake Franko raced down several streets with high camera saturation then down a street with none. No one noticed the car stop for several minutes then drive on. By then two cars were following it. After two consecutive right turns, Franko suddenly made a break for it. Like a Robber fleeing a bank, he ripped down several streets with high camera saturation. It drew attention and lots of it. Two very well planned moves and the car was into another blind spot then found in a parking lot. Chase cars stopped as the car upside-down and ablaze. Marks on the street appeared to look like the car had lost control during a turn, over-corrected and lost again, hitting a curb at the worst possible angle. The car had evidently flipped into the parking lot and rolled at least twice. Fire extinguishers were useless against the blazing inferno. Even the fire department just stood back and let it burn down for an hour before using foam to put it out the last of it.

Daryl had pulled off the mask and listened to a small hand held scanner the whole time. The John Doe had been dressed in the suit and made to appear driving. Thermite had done the rest. The fire was finally dying down when they made the announcement he'd waited for.

"All units, all units. Officer; down."

Daryl turned and walked deeper into the alley, favoring his right leg slightly. He would have to wait a day or two before the next step of the plan could be started. The reports on the car would have to be revealed. A thermite bomb was why it exploded, cut brake lines were why it had been out of control. The whole run had been carefully staged. The street he had stopped on had been the only one without cameras it was possible. It was currently being cleaned of the sand and gravel 'accidentally' dumped on it earlier. The street was also sloped and Daryl had entered at the bottom, gravity and friction enabled the rest. The hardest part had been the timer for the bomb. It was the most critical component.

Assistant District Attorney Michael Bellazar happily when about business as usual after the announcement that Nathan Franko had burned to death following a high speed crash five days before. He laid low for a day and waited for reports to hit, then went back to work. He was completely surprised when two men walked in and flashed State Police Detective credentials, even more so when they cuffed and mirandized him.

"Counsel, you're under arrest for the murder of Detective Rex Timpkins." One Detective stated.

Bellazar was now confused. "Wait! What?"

As he was taken out the front of the District Attorney's office, gathered media glared at him and barraged questions, one stood out more than any other.

"Counselor Bellazar! Is it true that you've killed several police officers and ordered the deaths of more that were investigating corruption within the police department and the District Attorney's office?"

The reaction was purely instinctual; he flinched and tried to shy away, but the two Detectives held him firmly. Bellazar was on display for all to see. He was getting the 'Perp-walk'.

Daryl watched the breaking news story and gave the screen a look of contempt. It had been tough over the past week. The first thing he'd done was breaking into the IAD Detective's house and stole the kitchen timer. He also took a pair of boxers from the hamper as well as the razor in the trash can that had a drop of blood on the blades. From those, DNA could be transferred easily. He also took fingerprints from appliance handles in the kitchen. Using all those things had enabled Daryl to produce a thermite bomb made by the corrupt detective and also 'rig' the brakes. In truth, Daryl had drained the brake fluid from the booster, refill with new and pour the old on the pavement to seem like a brake line had been cut. During the unobserved stop was when the brake line was actually cut.

Nobody had been more surprised when two State Police Detectives and four uniformed Troopers quietly entered the IAD office and surrounded him than Drew Kyncade.

"Drew Kyncade; you are under arrest for the murder of Detective Nathan Franko." One of the Detectives stated then motioned one of the uniformed Troopers to take him into custody.

He had been so shocked that he didn't think to protest until they were walking him down the hall. That had only called more attention to him as he gave out too much, by including Franko's name in the shouted denials. The technician processing the bomb residue had panicked and contacted the State Police when he got a hit on a fingerprint. There was also blood on sharp electrical contacts. The State Police was able to get a search warrant secretly and execute it. Supplies to make several thermite bombs were found in the home office. Daryl had even managed to settle dust on the table top and supplies then move things around to make voids of activity and leave more fingerprints. The clincher was a fully assembled bomb that was almost clean of prints.

That wasn't all they found. Drugs, cash and computer files of his own corrupt activities as well as others. Including audio/video of meetings with the Assistant District Attorney taking part of crimes. The most damning had been the murder of Rex Timpkin and the ordering of action against Nathan Franko. Bellazar himself had pulled the trigger after gloating about fabricating evidence against Timpkins. Search Warrants and Arrest Warrants were quickly filed and carried out on thirty other various members of the police department, even the crime lab. By the time the media got wind of the massive move, they had enough time to catch the arrest of the Assistant District Attorney.

Brenda watched the news, stunned. With so many arrests of corrupt police there was no way they could be jailed locally. The State determined they would be held in two county jails on the other side of the state. None would be allowed bail; due to being a risk to witnesses, escape or permanently silenced by any that had been able to avoid discovery. The State Attorney did make the public statement exonerating Detective Rex Timpkins and lamenting the loss of him as well as Nathan Franko.

Brenda stood in the doorway the next morning. "Did you catch the news this morning?"

"Nope. Busy." Daryl replied. "Things piled up around here for some reason."

Brenda walked in. "It seems that there were several suicide attempts during the night. None were successful."

Daryl made a soft grunt of acknowledgement, or exertion, as he was trying to loosen the lugs of the rear wheel on a hybrid bike with a courier logo.

"Will he be ok?" Brenda asked.

Daryl finally cracked the lugs loose and spun them off. "Dunno who you're talking about."

Brenda looked down and sighed. Daryl would not say the man's name or anything else about him again. The true fate of Nathan Franko would never be known by anyone except The Puppeteer. It was another of the many secrets that would be taken to the grave. She knew nothing more would be said on the subject and left.

Daryl knew she hadn't seen the small laptop under the counter. On its screen was the log of two transactions. Twenty-seven thousand dollars had been deposited into the account days ago, followed by the same amount going to a newly opened account at Santander Bank in Cancun the next day. The account was for Neil Forrest and had been opened that day.

Looking at the screen and sighing, Dara said softly. "Sorry I made you think I took all your money, but I had to make it look like they did before I could send it to you. That jerk, Kyncade, had enough cash in his house that I was able to get double my fee and still be plenty for him to get nailed with."

Dara slowly walked to the front window and looked out as she sang softly. "Everybody knows. Everybody, knows."

Down in Cancun, Chief of Police Enrique Cordona shook hands with the man coming into his office. "Welcome Senor Forrest, come in."

"Thank you." Neil replied and sat down in the chair indicated.

Enrique sat on the edge of his desk and smiled. "I'm very glad I am able to repay the favor I owed to our mutual friend and get an added bonus. I know you were told you could be an officer here, but I really need a Captain. You have more training and experience than most of my department combined, I must make the most of this good fortune. Please say 'yes', Capitan Forrest? A man of your integrity; I'd be a fool to let slip away!"

"Guess I'd be a fool if I did. A good Chief, nice house and a car. Ok Chief Cordona, I accept." Neil replied.

Enrique swore him in then handed him the badge. "You will not be sorry, Capitan. Here, I'll show you to your new office. Please be kind to your secretary, she is my wife's cousin and is saving up for college in the United States. She wants to go to Law School at Tulane. She will be the first to do so. Well, the first to complete college."

"Complete?" Neil asked.

Enrique led him into the office and closed the door. "I guess I should tell you how these things come to be. My son, God rest him, went off to college in the United States. He wanted to be a doctor. Unfortunately, he met with tragedy. Murdered, by some men stealing drugs from the hospital there. There I met someone, a woman. Well, not much more than a girl really. She had met my son and befriended him. He had become interested in bicycles, of all things. Racing bicycles. She knew much about that and took him under wing, as you say. I met her outside the morgue. She had been waiting for me, with an offer. She offered to avenge my son."

"Revenge. You met a Revenge-broker." Neil said, now understanding.

Enrique seemed to understand the term. "So it seems. She knew more than the police there. In fact, she knew everything. I had my doubts of course, but gave my blessing. Before the ink had dried on the papers releasing my son to be brought home, it was done. All ten of them, Capitan. Muerte, dead. Proof of their crimes at their feet. There was something strange. They all had black strings tied to their hands, feet and necks. Like marionetas, cut free and tossed aside."

"Marionetas? You mean marionettes, puppets?" Neil asked then his eyes flew wide. "The Puppeteer!"

Enrique looked intently. "You know this person well?"

Neil began to laugh and finally caught his breath. "The Puppeteer! Practically an urban legend. The most mysterious and secretive Revenge-broker in the city. Some say a woman, others say a man. Some even say it's a group of people working under one name. Nobody has actually been able to prove the existence, except for those damn strings showing up every now and then on a body."

Enrique pulled open a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle real bourbon and two glasses. He poured for them both and made the toast. "To our mutual friend; mysterious as she, or he, may be. Saludo!"

"Salute!" Neil chuckled and drank.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Both turned to see a beautiful young woman lean in.

"Tio, is this the new Capitan?" The young woman asked.

Enrique chuckled. "Si. Capitan Forrest; this is your secretary, my neice, Constanza Luna Villanueva."

"Very nice to meet you Senorita Villanueva. Please forgive all future mangling of Spanish by me. I took it in High School and barely passed the class." Neil admitted.

Constanza smiled. "Not to worry Capitan, I speak English very well and as I will go to law school in America, I should get accustomed to being called Connie, yes?"

"Sounds good to me, Connie. We'll get settled in tomorrow and start getting in gear." Neil said then poured another bourbon and offered it to her. "A quick celebration to a new beginning."

"A new beginning." Connie saluted, drank and gasped. "Ooh! I was not ready for that! I am better suited to wine."

Neil laughed. "Maybe so. Chief, Connie, allow me to take you both to lunch. Today we are new friends, tomorrow we will be colleagues."

They went out as Enrique smiled. "Neil, you are going to enjoy life here. I know this for certain."

Connie was smiling for a different reason. She would suggest the restaurant her best friend worked at. Neil was just the type of man Lucia would be interested in.

Back in Port Klasten, arraignments began. Many made deals in exchange for their sentences to be carried out in prisons out of state. Bellazar though had peculiar incidents. He escaped and was caught four times. The really strange part, was that he didn't seem to understand how it was happening. Especially as they kept finding him dazed and naked in malls. While Bellazar declared a guilty plea during his arraignment and agreed to the death sentence with no appeal, no one paid any attention to the blonde woman sitting in the last row of the Gallery with a stoney expression. Dara left with the crowd and meandered down the sidewalk humming to herself.

On the steps of the courthouse, Detective Raul Wheller lit a cigarette in disgust. He had been lucky, only he knew about his infractions. He hadn't been part of that idiotic group. All he cared about was catching that damned Revenge-broker. He wanted The Puppeteer. He knew that was who was behind the collapse of corruption in the department.

"I'll catch your ass, Puppeteer. One day, you'll fuck up and I'll nail your ass. That's a fucking promise!" The Homicide Detective growled.

To be continued....

People go about their lives in their own way. Some believe the world is against them. Some believe the world is their's. But when your world has been destroyed, what would you do? What would you pay, to get some part of it back. What would you pay, to balance those scales? At what price; love? Safety? Sanity? Justice? At what price; Revenge? *Warning- Does contain hyper-violence*

Walter quietly closed the door and walked back to his car. Inside his house, his wife was reveling in the orgasmic throes provided by her latest conquest. He got back into his car and drove away. For the past three years things steadily went further away. Now it was almost routine. Work all day, come home to his wife having sex with someone in their bed, leaving to dine and drink alone, return to sleep in a guest bedroom or in the car if too drunk to drive, shower and go back to work. One night the previous week, she had four at the same time. It hadn't been the first for that. At the bar he was just barely maintaining himself, asking for a drink. The bartender already knew his situation, due to a drunken confession sometime back.

"Walter." The bartender said, standing in front of him and holding out the credit card. "Problem. The card is maxed out."

Walter blinked then took it and switched to his bank debit card. "Sorry Lou."

Lou was back and sighed. "Insufficient funds Walter."

Walter was confused as he took his card. He pulled out his phone and used it to check his bank balance. A large withdrawal had happened that afternoon, of several thousand dollars. Then card transactions upward of hundreds of dollars to a spa, salon, clothing store, shoe store, limo service and finally the restaurant he had eaten at. He was broke, officially.

"Walt, I'll spot you that one. Ok?" Lou offered.

Walter shook his head and pulled a Ten from his wallet. "I got it, Lou, but thanks. I have to go."

Lou shook his head, watching him leave. "Man, you deserve better. That whore is out to ruin you, just for the fun of it."

Walter drove directly home and went inside. Downstairs, Walter logged into the computer and accessed the bank and turned off the online service then cancel all debit cards. That was followed by canceling the credit cards. There would be no way the computer could access anything. He went up to the bedroom and found Ellen's purse. It took a minute to dig through it to find all the cards then the cash as well and walk out. In a moment of anger he reached down into the man's discarded pants and pulled his wallet free and took all the cash inside and walked back out.

Ellen had seen the door open and ignored it until it closed. A quick glance around and she saw her purse was moved and open. She shifted her position and made her lover climax faster.

"Be right back." She purred and went, without covering herself. In the kitchen she found her husband. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?"

Walter was holding the cards over a stove burner with a pair of tongs as they were burning. "Solving a problem. I already shredded the checks. Right now, the bank account is overdrawn. I don't know what you thought you needed that much money for, but put it back in the morning."

"I bought Reggie a new watch." Ellen spat.

Walter turned the cards to make sure they were burning through efficiently. "You'll have to return it then."

"No. He satisfied me." Ellen retorted smugly.

Walter looked at her. "Use your own money. Oh wait, you don't have any; all you do is lay around and fuck all day and night. The money was mine, so you'll have to return the watch and put the money back in the account. Get a job, earn money and then you can spend money on dicks. Or, you can always have them give you money."

"I wonder what Edward would say to that?" Ellen smirked.

Walter wanted to slap her for that. Edward was his personal attorney and she had seduced him along with three others he knew and made friends with several female divorce attorneys if they weren't lesbians she could also seduce.

"He'll probably tell you it was stupid to pull that." Walter leaned closer. "You may fuck him to get him on your side, but he still has to pay bills and if you piss away ALL the money, he won't get paid, which means he won't give a shit about you. Return the watch and put the money back in the account in the morning."

Ellen snarled. "Fuck you! Just for that, I'll go max out the other cards."

Walter held up the melted cards. "These cards?"

Ellen looked and was about to start shouting, but Walter cut her off. "I canceled all the cards and online service with the bank. I also shredded the checks. There is NO money in the account because of you. None! And I don't have any to put in there! You want money; go earn some!"

Walter went upstairs and moments later the man came down, putting on his clothes. He told Ellen he was leaving and did so. Walter came back down moments later carrying a suit bag along with a duffel and left as well. Walter backed out of the driveway and a crazy idea hit him. He pulled over at the end of the street and dug through his business card collection and found one for his bank. It was for a manager. Luckily, the manager was a woman, so he dialed.

"Mrs. Romero? Walter Deitrich. I am so very sorry to call you like this, but it's an emergency." Walter apologized then told her what had happened.

In a very tired voice, Amy Romero replied. "Alright. Good thing I keep a notepad close by. I'll inform the bank president about locking the account and denying card and check privileges."

"I hope this can be done, otherwise I'll have to close the account and go to another bank." Walter stated.

Amy Romero sighed. "I didn't say this, but it would probably be best if you did exactly that. It would put you back into control of your finances. I'll have everything ready for you to close the account first thing in the morning."

Walter sighed. "Thank you. I'll see you first thing."

He checked into a cheap hotel for the night and was standing at the bank door half an hour before it opened. Amy spotted him and let him in. Ten minutes later the account was closed completely and he was on his way to a different bank. By Ten that morning he was in front of the head of Payroll, filling out the direct deposit form for the new account.

"Dietrich. My office." A voice called from the doorway.

Walter signed off on the form and followed his boss. He had a feeling he should cover his ass, just in case, so he turned on the digital recorder he kept in his pocket for reminders. In the office he sat down and looked to Walter.

"Got a call." Walter's boss stated.

Walter sighed. "My wife is out of control, Mister Carothers. I'm having to make new pay arrangements. She's out of her mind and spending like there's no limit."

"She's also good in bed." Carothers smirked.

Walter got close to the desk and leaned forward slightly. "WHAT was that?"

"I said; she's also good in bed." Carothers repeated looking satisfied with himself.

"You're sleeping with my wife? You plan to use that against me? Money or otherwise?" Walter asked hotly.

Carothers sat back and chuckled to himself. "Let her do what she wants and don't worry about money. I'll have your checks sent directly to her. My dick was deep in her ass late last night and she'll be by in an hour to do it again on this desk. You'll be watching."

Walter beckoned him forward. "Jack."

"That's MISTER Carothers to you." Jack Carothers contested as he sat forward in the chair, about to mouth off more.

Walter cut him off with a punch then ran around to the other side as Jack had fallen over. He got behind him and kicked him between the legs twice then walked out. "I'm filing a suit against you for that, Jack-ass."

Walter drove directly over to the Board of Labor and filed his grievance. He had refused to meet with any male case workers. When a woman agreed to take his case, he explained his situation. The woman shook her head in disgust and assured him she would look after him. Walter let her make a copy of the recording and copies of the bank statements. They included card numbers, which revealed which person was responsible for the transaction. She also recommended the name of a divorce attorney, unfortunately it was one he knew she already had slept with.

Walter had left the house with more than had been seen. He also took several high value pieces of jewelry and the sales receipts. Selling them at a couple of pawn shops was no problem and gave him a bit of a cushion. Money in hand, he went to the bar and sat down.

"Something happen? Like, an asteroid hit your house right after you left this morning?" Lou asked, setting Walter's usual drink down.

Walter shook his head. "No. Lou, I have to do something. I can't get a decent divorce attorney here, hell she's probably been fucking the damn judges too. I need help."

Lou looked at him and asked quietly. "How bad do you want it?"

Walter held up his hands. "Whoa! I don't mean illegal. I just want to get a divorce, clean. I need a lawyer or somebody that she can't get to."

Lou and Walter were alone, so he went to his office and came back with a card. Lou struck a match and held it below the card, gently warming it. The card turned black and revealed red letters for contact information.

"She won't get to that person." Lou said and set his laptop on the bar top.

Walter was about to use his email and thought twice. Ellen might have been able to get into it. Quickly he set up a new account with a different service and was about to send out a message.

"Walt." Lou said then added. "Go get a new phone. Prepaid. Then do that."

Walter did just that. Fifteen minutes later he sent out the message. An hour later he got a reply. The message was simple. He was to be at Angela's cafe at Four that afternoon and ask for patio table Nine. Jacket and tie required. Walter went back to the same hotel he had stayed at to clean up and change.

"Ah. There you are. Mister Dietrich?" An attractive young woman with a British accent and long red hair greeted him at the table.

Walter nodded and gently shook her hand. "Yes, Miss?"

"Rebecca Sharp; Becky, if you like." Rebecca said warmly.

Walter smiled. "Thank you for seeing me Becky. Please call me Walter."

Becky poured a cup of tea for him. "Sweet; with lemon?"

"I think so. Sorry, I'm not much of a tea drinker." Walter admitted.

Becky giggled. "Just think of it as a tame coffee, Walter. How may I help you?"

"It's my wife. A simple divorce is out of the question. Just telling you that up front. She has managed to seduce or befriend every good divorce attorney in the area. The woman is beyond comprehension. She'll sleep with just about anyone she can for influence, especially over me." Walter said.

Becky looked stunned. "My. That is direct. Just exactly how did all this get off?"

Walter sighed. "I met her at a mixer eight years ago, dated for a year and got married six months after. Things were great, then. Four years ago, a couple we were friends with invited us to a party. Turned out to be a swinger party, quite a bit of drinking going on. We both got a bit curious and agreed to a one-time thing. Never should have gone to that damn party. She goes into a room with the husband we knew and I found myself getting attention from some woman I didn't know. I thought we had an agreement and went with the flow. Big mistake. Ellen had planned it all out. The woman was a prostitute and I didn't know Ellen had snuck into the room with a video camera. Right when I finished and hadn't even caught my breath, she asked if I got my two hundred dollars worth. I don't mean to get so graphic, but I was still shaking from my climax when she did that."

"Bugger. That was rather nasty." Becky remarked.

"Yeah. That's when I saw her eyes weren't on me and turned to look. Ellen was standing there with a video camera and huge smile. She turned it off and laughed that she now had proof that I cheated on her first. I have, well had, a modest job. I wasn't going to be rich, but I made a decent living. I never thought about a pre-nup. Now I'm nailed. She's ruining my life on every aspect and can nail me to the cross anytime she wants." Walter informed her.

Becky sat contemplating that and finally asked. "Just, off chance, can you make a list of who she has 'influence' over?"

Walter pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "Actually I can. Bluntly; my wife is a slut that will lay down at the very mention of Penis. If it's attached to somebody important, she won't even bother to waste time getting undressed. She hasn't worn underwear in two and a half years."

Becky gave a look of disgust. "So much for subtlety. Just out of curiosity, what about disease or pregnancy?"

Walter shrugged. "I haven't slept with her since that night and she used to be on the pill, but I have no idea now. To be honest, I lost all sex drive after that night. I don't even care to see a doctor about it, she probably got to him too."

"I see." Becky said then began reading the list.

For quite a while she read silently then tucked it away.

"Becky, can you help me at all?" Walter asked.

Becky nodded. "Please understand, I am not some civil servant or Samaritan. I provide a service. That service of course, comes at a fee. It must be paid in a timely manner."

Walter took out the new phone and brought up the information for his retirement and stocks then offered it to her. "I'll give you all I have, forty-four thousand and change. It's yours, but you have to do it now, before she gets it. Will you help?"

Becky looked at him. "The question is: what do you want Walter? If you want to go back to the way things were, I'll tell you now that it won't happen. If all you want is to be free of her, arrangements can be made for you to simply leave. Otherwise, you are wanting revenge for all that she has done to you. Do you want freedom....or revenge?"

Walter thought long and hard then finally looked up. He had made the most difficult decision of his life.

"Revenge." Walter said, knowing the words were final. "I want revenge."

Becky nodded and took the phone. "You shall have it, Walter."

Walter accepted the phone back, then was surprised when she also handed him a thousand dollars as well.

"Check your car for any tracking devices then get out of state for a month. Go somewhere you can prove every minute of being at. Come back in thirty days. Goodbye, Walter." Becky instructed.

Walter stood up. "Thank you."

Becky watched him leave then signaled the waitress for the check. After paying it she left. Passing between two delivery trucks stopped for a light, the red wig and floral dress came off to reveal her own longer blonde hair and short pale blue bodycon dress then slipped on a pair of sunglasses as Dara changed directions while concealing the Becky disguise into her large handbag. No one noticed the quick change, including the man with a video camera she spotted tailing her from the cafe. He merely stood on the sidewalk looking both directions in confusion at losing his quarry.

"So much for amateur hour. That was a very big mistake, Ellen." Dara said to herself then sang softly. "Everybody knows, everybody knows. That's how it goes."

Ellen hung up the phone angrily. Her lawyer's investigator lost the woman her husband met with. The red head was a total mystery. She hadn't made a reservation at the cafe, paid in cash and vanished into thin air. The waitress never even heard the woman's name mentioned. That wasn't the only bad news. He had lost Walter as well. He had found out that Walter had checked out of the hotel and left, but had no idea where he went. The tracker on Walter's car had been found inside a random Uber driver-less car.

Ellen had called her lawyer as soon as she saw Jack Carothers nursing a black-eye and packing up his belongings snarling that Walter was fired, but had filed grievance with the Board of Labor against the company that could not be fought. She was told to leave and no longer had any business coming back as he was now fired. Walter would have a good reference from the company, but Jack would not. Ellen wasn't even out of the building when she called her lawyer. Hours later, he called her back with the news. Walter had met with a mysterious red-haired woman that disappeared without a trace on a busy sidewalk and Walter was nowhere to be found either.

All Ellen knew was that Walter had spent the night at hotel, alone, went to the bank first thing in the morning and closed out the bank account with notice of not being able to be reopened. The credit cards had been canceled and he also had his name removed from renewal lists. She had no way to open anything in his name now. Ellen was left with one option and headed for the bar Walter always went to. Hopefully she could get something out of the the bartender there.

Ellen smirked as she said to herself. "He won't say no to a blowjob for telling me what Walter's up to."

Dara had hopped on a tram and took out her phone after ditching her tail to send Walter a new message. It was plain and simple: on his way out of town cancel all services with next day cut-off, including insurance then obtain new car insurance for only himself through a different agency. The purpose was for the wife to be stuck without comfort. No electricity, no communications, no entertainment. Eventually she would be stopped by the local police and be found to not have auto insurance. She would be ticketed and the car would be impounded as well. Dara made it home and cleaned up before receiving a message from Walter that her instructions had been followed and he had even went one step further. Walter had sneaked back to the house and removed all her jewelry along with the receipts, she would not be able to sell any of it. He was now on his way out of town.

Daryl sat down in front of the computer system and brought it up. Within seconds information began coming in on the life and times of Ellen Deitrich. Any niceties ceased after Middle school for her. The online yearbook for High School made him face-palm.

"Wow Ellen. I've never seen somebody actually voted: Most Likely to wind up in low-grade porn and/or get multiple STD s. Damn, that's just bad." Daryl sighed, he had hoped her current M.O. was a recent development.

Shaking his head he then hacked into the home computer. There were many videos of her trysts, usually with references intent to humiliate Walter via comparison. Suddenly her phone came up on the network. Daryl hacked it. He could only get contacts and any stored data. Anything added after that moment or any calls or next texts would not be available. For that the phone would need to be cloned. No problem. He committed her identity to memory then began to get dressed. Long cycling pants and long jersey. It looked solid black. With that he also grabbed a black helmet then strapped on black shoes and brought out a black racing bike. Rolling onto the street he pressed a button under the seat and the entire frame lit up. A button on a box in the center back pocket of the jersey was pushed and the pants and jersey lit up similarly. Ribbon lights. They were very much like micro-LED lights but flat and flexible. Waterproof and gave off so little heat, they could be taped directly to the body and used for hours with no discomfort, save for the tape itself. Perfect for riding at night.

Almost an hour later, the lights suddenly went out and Daryl became a void in the night. A blur of darkness narrowly avoiding any pools of light from streetlights. A single lap around the block revealed all had settled in for the night. Only soft light came from the upstairs of Walter's house. Daryl coasted up the driveway and dismounted the bike. Carefully looking around the corners he checked for motion sensors and saw none. Until looking around into the backyard. There was one motion sensor there. Around the other side of the house Daryl used his scanner to try locking in on Ellen's phone. It was there but not alone. There was another phone coming up in the proximity as well.

"Well now. Who might you be?" Daryl whispered to himself then used his own phone to access the reverse-directory.

An expanded search made Daryl want to groan. "Judge Wilfred T. Brahmski. Family Court. He's who would hear any divorce proceedings. Oh? Hello. What are you?"

A new WiFi entry came up on the scanner. It wasn't a phone as it was linking to the computer. It was a wireless camera. Daryl pulled the signal and was surprised to not only pick up video, but audio as well. He had to mute it until plugging in an earbud then brought the volume up and started recording.

Inside, Ellen was now working to get past her earlier disappointment. Trying to pump the bartender for information on Walter had been a bust. Not only did Lou know all about Ellen and her antics, his husband hadn't like her making passes at him. Though the bar wasn't strictly LGBT patron-ed, there were enough there to make things very uncomfortable. Almost to the point that she began to feel threatened and made a hasty exit. Now she was pulling the most effective card she could; the Judge that presided over all divorce cases in the city. Ellen had already known that the Judge was a philanderer, he had been married to the same woman for thirty years. However she was reputed to be very conservative when it came to sex.

Ellen danced a striptease, removing her dress to reveal she wore only thigh high stockings under the dress. She sauntered over to the edge of the bed, turned around and began to grind and rub against the Judge. She turned around and helped him take off his own clothing until naked then knelt down and gave some oral attention to finish completely arousing him.

"Ellen, this is turning out to have been well worth the wait!" Judge Brahmski chuckled clenching her hair.

Ellen lewdly let her mouth pop as she released him and said. "I'm filing for divorce and couldn't hold back anymore Wilfred. I'm sure I'll prove my side of things. My husband simply doesn't have your air of authority....or girth. There's just nothing to appreciate."

Wilfred firmly pulled her up, still clutching her hair and pushed her onto her elbows and knees on the bed as he moved up behind her. "I'll give you plenty to APPRECIATE, Ellen. Now, do you solemnly swear to give your ass, the hole of your ass and nothing but moans, so fuck you hard?"

"Oh YES! I DO solemnly give: my ASS, the HOLE of my ASS and nothing butt MOANS, SO FUCK ME HARD! I THROW MYSELF ON THE MERCY OF YOUR COCK! Oh please Your HONOR, DISPENSE your jizz-tice!" Ellen cooed and giggled then yelped as he took her.

"Court is now IN session!" Wilfred laughed thrusting into her.

Outside Daryl tilted his head and whispered to himself. "Really? They couldn't come up with anything better, seriously? Adultery is reason enough, but these two have to go down after that idiotic dialogue. I have to, off sheer principle now. Judge, you need to be out of the picture, fast. Ellen, you are bad luck for guys."

While recording the session inside, Daryl also cloned Ellen's phone then the Judge's and muttered. "I'm sure I can get some shits 'n giggles somehow."

That's when it hit him and Daryl grinned at the pure sadism of the thought and sent out a text using the Judge's clone at the perfect moment. He almost lost it when the answer came immediately and the judge swore at the distraction. The orgasm ruined, Wilfred dug through his pants and found his phone only to swear more. A text from his wife:
pick up milk on the way home

Outside Daryl was silently howling. He had sent the text to the Judge's wife, stating he was now on his way home and asked if anything was needed. The Judge was snarling and Ellen was griping, they had both been right on the edge of climax and a phone ruined it. To make matters worse, he would not be able to justify staying out any later to try again. In the past, Daryl had many of such incidents due to his sister barging in after fiddling with the lock on his door and knew the frustration. It was fun to inflict that on someone such as those two. After the judge left, the camera shut off. The small netbook monitoring the home computer revealed that Ellen saved the video into a file and marked it with the Judge's name. Then it was backed up onto an external device.

Daryl used a mirror to watch her movements through the windows. Finally climbing up onto the roof to see into the bedroom. Ellen had a secret hiding place in the stool of her vanity table. He then saw her start texting. The message, when sent, showed up on his clone. It was a message to her lawyer stating that she now had leverage on the Judge to ensure any divorce hearing went her way. The lawyer told her she needed to visit his office in the morning and to wear something convenient. Daryl had to roll his eyes at that. Ellen replied that she would see him at Ten. Daryl watched her go to bed, turn out the lights and begin masturbating. That was his cue the night was over. He left as silently as he arrived.

The next day, Ellen paid no attention to the cyclist that passed her on street. She was too angry. All utilities and other services were suddenly off. To make it even more infuriating, it had happened while she was in the shower, shampooing her hair! Hair still damp, she was able to put on makeup and dress then leave. She would have to stop along the way for coffee.

Daryl rode past the house once, checking his scanner. No WiFi signal detected. He pulled in at a house for sale down the street and made his way back, using the roof tops. At the Dietrich house he leaned over the edge and saw no indicator for the motion sensor and went to a window. The contact detector revealed the alarm system was off. No power to the house. Carefully he finessed the window locks and opened it then went inside. With no power, not even the cellular back up for the alarm system worked. Without delay, Daryl went to the master bedroom and picked the lock on the vanity stool. Inside were a passport, several flash-drives, file folders, two phones, computer discs, digital recorders for audio and video and seven bundles of hundred dollar bills. Daryl went to work, he had no time to waste. Everything had to be copied or cloned. Only one thing could he take with him, the video of Walter. Daryl set out three netbooks and a laptop, each connected to a burn phone he had slaved to them. He had no idea how much time he actually had.

Ellen went into her attorney's office in a huff, slamming the door behind her and pulled off her dress. "Hurry up!"

Melton Felds stood up unzipping his pants. "In a mood Ellen? Good, me too!"

She climbed on top of him as he laid back on the couch and snarled. "The Judge didn't get me off, the batteries died in my vibe and on top of ALL that, everything got cut off at the fucking house while I was in the shower!"

Melton rolled over with her and thrust in. "Then I'll just have to fuck you like I hate you and you take it like the cock-craving slut you are."

It wasn't long, the secretary in the outer office put in her earbuds to drown them out. It wasn't anything new to her, though she couldn't stand either one. Not even three days after going to work for him, he tried to sexually harass her. Being new to him, didn't mean she was stupid. She had kept a digital record turned on every time he spoke with her and she caught it. Two threats kept him from ever doing so again. Sending the recording to the Bar Association and a visit from her husband, who happened to undefeated for the past two years on the amateur MMA circuit made her stance very clear. Leave her alone and pay her fairly.

Ellen lay back afterward and finally caught her breath. "What's going on with Walter and who did he meet?"

"He is not in the state and I have no idea." Melton replied as he lit a cigar.

Ellen sat up. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'YOU HAVE NO IDEA'?"

"Exactly what I said. I have no idea. My guy wasn't able to get a picture of her and the cafe doesn't have cameras he could pull footage from. He gave a composite and the search came up with nothing. She has no criminal record, no issued ID or passport. The staff at the cafe had never seen her before. Whoever she is, she's damned good. So good; she could completely disappear on a crowded sidewalk and nobody paid any attention." Melton said after a puff on the cigar.

Ellen used some tissues to wipe herself then looked over. "So? What's that supposed to mean?"

Melton glared at her. "That means she is some kind of professional. Sophisticated enough to go around to meetings in the daytime in public."

When she didn't get his implied meaning he leaned forward. "Professional. Sophisticated. Untraceable. Like; an assassin."

"An assassin? You think Walter would...." Ellen trailed off.

Melton puffed his cigar. "Put out a Hit on you? I wonder why he hadn't done that already. You rub everything in his face enough. If it all came to light, I doubt a jury would convict. Oh and you may have a divorce judge, but you don't have a criminal judge and you won't get one either. They don't play. You aren't that good of a lay or have enough money to buy one."

"I can get money. I can get into Walter's retirement portfolio." Ellen sneered.

"Yeah? Is it worth ten million?" Melton countered then added. "Of course that's just the deposit. To fight the appeals, two million per year after. Oh that's assuming you can find out who she is and buy her off, so you don't get killed first. That's also assuming she'd let you. Not many will switch like that. Bad for the reputation and all that."

Ellen dug her phone out of her purse and made a call then started making demands when it was answered. "Yes. This is Ellen Dietrich. My husband is preoccupied at the moment but wanted to know what the latest is with the retirement portfolio. What? What do you mean it's been liquidated? I demand to know who authorized that! Walter did?"

Ellen disconnected and almost threw the phone across the room.

"Obviously, he realized you might try getting to that and jumped first." Melton speculated.

Ellen swore. "Bastard started laughing! Said he had been told to tell me 'too late, you're cut off'. If he hadn't been so old I was scared it would kill him, I'd have tried getting him in the beginning. Two heart attacks and six bypass surgeries; the man barely risks anything that might be exciting."

Melton sighed. "I'll draw up the papers and file for your divorce in the morning. My guy is still trying to find him. Once he does, he serve him the papers."

"Fine!" Ellen huffed. "Now get over here."

Daryl had only started his work when he glanced over at the money again. If he took it, she would know. Still though, it was another resource she could use. How could he make it worthless? Then it hit him; by making it worthless! He used his own phone and made a call.

"Fitz. Hey, I'm in a rush. You still have that counterfeit money, the hundreds? How much do you have? Two hundred K? I'll buy seventy K for ten grand but I need it in half an hour. You have a drone right? Good. Use that." Daryl then gave the address, location of a good spot to park and his location in the building.

Thirty-five minutes later a drone hovered at the window with a box strapped underneath. The drone landed on the roof and Daryl quickly took out the fake money and stuck a bundle of real money inside. The drone took off and disappeared. Minutes later a message thanking him for the business came in as a text. Daryl put the stacks of counterfeit hundreds back into the stool along with everything else, except the video of Walter. He had checked for cloud service previously and only found business entries for Walter. If Ellen had any copies, they would be in real-space, probably with her lawyer. He finished up, made sure he was leaving no trace and left.

Brenda answered her phone. "Yes?"

"When you have dirt on a lawyer, how do you leverage it?" Dara asked.

Brenda almost held the phone to look at it, but answered. "I go to the Bar. They deal with them. It has to be pretty much spelled out though, so the attorney can't spin it. Why do you ask Dara? I thought you knew that."

"What about a judge?" Dara asked.

Brenda groaned. "Oh dear God Dara, what have you gotten into now?"

"Oh, probably the biggest sex scandal since Madame Fluffy's appointment book got delivered to the newspaper." Dara remarked casually.

Brenda wanted to lay her head on her desk. "Oh hell! You did that?"

"No. But it was really funny! I have a guess who did, but I won't tell since I have no proof." Dara giggled.

"GAH." Brenda responded. "Just how bad?"

"Poor guy can't get a divorce attorney she hasn't fucked in the city. She has Melton Felds and she slept with the hubby's attorney. If she isn't sleeping with them, she's friends with them and now she has the Judge in her bed too. The upside is, she got them all on video with audio and there are timestamps in the video." Dara informed her.

"Melton Felds?" Brenda asked.

Dara replied. "Yep. I can put up some money for one of your office people to watch for him down at the clerk's office, but it has to be cash."

"Jenny just found out she's pregnant, so she needs the money. She just needs to watch for him and if possible, hear what he's filing?" Brenda asked.

Dara answered. "Yes. Three grand. Front steps of the courthouse at eight tomorrow, a purple bike messenger will hand-off deliver. Tell her to wear bright blue. Pay and instructions in envelope. Can you find out who Felds' P.I. is?"

"Oh I can tell you. It's a guy named Herman Stanfield." Brenda said.

"Stanfield? Where do I know that name from?" Dara asked.

Brenda sighed in disgust. "He's a low-life. He used to be a cop, but got kicked off the force for trying to extort some underage working girls. He didn't know the State had a sting going at the same time to try catching their trafficker. The department couldn't cover that up, neither could the A.D.A. It was state level and the A.G. wasn't happy. Stanfield is real bottom feeder. Be careful around him. He has nothing to lose."

"Everybody has something to lose Brenda. You know that." Dara reminded and disconnected.

Brenda cradled the receiver and sighed. "Except you Dara. You can drop everything, run, never look back and not have a second thought about it."

That night Dara crouched outside Melton Felds' office watching a small monitor. She had managed to sneak in a small drone only two inches by two inches like a small car when a courier came by to make a delivery. It was able to be positioned to see the alarm system keypad. Melton had been the last to leave. An hour later Dara, in all black form-fitting spandex and balaclava, picked the lock on the door and slipped inside. Melton's code was entered and the system turned off. Dara had been impressed, he used a twelve digit. Now she owned the office but wasted no time. First was the file room. She pulled Ellen's file and read while making copies.

Dara searched the rest of the files. In Melton's actual office she searched his private cabinet. Ellen had a second file in there that was thicker. What looked like an inventory was in there with entries of names and numbers. None of the files were numbered which made Dara stop and think. What could they be? Thinking it better to stay moving, she resumed searching the room and found a safe in the floor under the desk. It took an hour a half to manipulate the lock, but only because the lock was loud enough to be heard perfectly by the audio of the netbook's audio software. It was an update to the old classic technique; listening to the tell-tale clicks of the tumblers.

The safe opened and there was a rising rack that could be lifted up. The rack held plastic bins on the shelves. In one were a collection of flash-drives. They were numbered. Dara retrieved Ellen's file and checked the inventory. It matched. It clicked now. The flash-drives were her insurance policy against any that would try to fight back against her influence. Dara took them all then also pulled the inventory page of the file. Doing so would tip her hand, but it would cause considerable mayhem. Now she turned her attention to Felds' computer itself and the external drives. Forty-seven minutes to crack his password, the guy actually took decent precautions against intrusion. There was cloud service and the same files were there.

Normally, when someone deletes items from a cloud service, they never ask if it can be recovered. It could, but the service charges you a hefty fee for that. However, for those very familiar with cloud service capabilities, there was a way to remotely delete items that could not be recovered without a full system shut-down and reconstruct. The problem with that was, it didn't always work. Dara worked for nearly twenty minutes and was amazed to be asked if she wanted to purge those files. Purge was altogether different. Not even with a reconstruct could the files be recovered. She smiled and launched it. Dara was closing the safe when she noticed something. There was an odd wire under the desktop. She traced it and found it running to the phone. In complete silence now, Dara all but tore the room apart. She found three cameras and two microphones. The phone was also tapped as well as hardware installed on the computer to monitor it.

'SHIT!' Dara mentally raged.

Dara was glad she had worn the face-covering now as she retrieved her mini-drone. However, it was beyond time to leave. She would have to be extremely wary as she left, others were watching. She re-entered the alarm code, went out and locked the door. With very deliberate movements, she left the building and immediately cleared the area. Dara even looped back on her travel to see if she was being followed then rode her racer through permanent camera traps she had set up. After another hour, she decided she had nobody following her and went home. The shop would have to be closed for the day while she rested and worked her new acquisitions.

Melton Felds shook his head in disappointment. His investigator came up dry. Walter had cleared out of the town he was staying in and moved on. There were three towns within five hours of each other the man could stop in and stay for days before being found again. He had went to file the divorce papers first thing that morning, but now it was all on hold as Walter couldn't be served until found and there could be no legal ruling for two years minimum without doing so. Ellen would have to actually file a Missing Person Report, which would bring all her own activities to light and ruin any chances of getting a ruling in her own favor.

Walter had found a pawn shop in the first town with a very sympathetic owner. Walter had said the magic word; divorce. The shop owner quickly agreed to give him fair price for the jewelry, including the very watch he wore. That set Walter up to move around for a while. He didn't know why it popped into his head to switch towns after one night, but he did, going further and further across the state. It seemed like the thing to do, so he did. For now though, he had found an efficiency apartment cheap. He then signed up with a temp agency to do unskilled labor and they got him a job working on a construction site as a laborer. It wasn't rocket science, nor comfortable work, but they were paying him a fair wage and not asking questions. That was enough for him for the time being. The best part, they didn't even bother with his references.

Daryl finished eating a salad and sat down at the computer. All the flash-drives had been the back-up copies of Ellen's sex videos. Her insurance policy. He pulled up the picture he had taken of the ones she kept at home and smiled. He had been so focused, he missed the obvious. They were all identical in appearance. He called a friend with a computer service and asked if he carried the same flash-drives in stock. The answer was yes and even had more than enough for Daryl. Daryl took an hour and half to go purchase the drives and back at his house, used pictures of each one to copy the written numbers on them. Including Walter's. Just for fun, he loaded them with enough Off-the-wall Indie music to seem like serious data was on them.

Ellen's text messages revealed she had opted to stay in a hotel for the night. That would make it easy enough to swap out those drives. She hadn't gotten into the counterfeit money yet apparently. Pity, it would simplify things more. Possession of such a large amount of counterfeit currency would take her out of the picture. Felds not having any of the videos anymore would negate anything else she could think of to save herself. A glance at the picture of the undisturbed contents reminded Daryl of the passport as well. It too was a resource that should neutralized.

"Hmmm.. maybe you should become Russian, Ellen. Maybe Elena, da? Elena sounds right for you, blagodarya." Dara said in a Russian accent.

With that she dug into her collection of ghost passports and found one for Russia. A picture online was able to be added and now Ellen had a Russian passport proclaiming her to be a woman from Moscow named Elena Todokova. There was just one catch, Elena Todokova was wanted by the Moscow Police in connection to a Prostitution and blackmail ring. Dara went to dress in the stealth riding apparel again and rode off on the bike. Dara wanted to shake her head. Sure, leaving all that evidence there helped, but she wondered just how the woman had gotten away with all this so long with such a monumental blunder.

An hour and a half later, the flash-drives and passport had been switched. As far as Dara knew, she now had all the evidence. There were none online anymore. As she turned onto the main street and switched on her riding lights it hit. The lawyer. Walter's lawyer. The guy was too easy to change sides. Something had to be wrong with him. Unfortunately, it wasn't possible to search his office at the time. It would have to wait til the following night. the day wouldn't be wasted though, there was still the judge to deal with. He needed to be out of the picture before anybody made the docket.

Daryl sent his packets of information with the video of the judge out first thing the next morning. It would be a two-pronged attack. One packet was going to the Attorney General and the other to the state's Bar Association. It was very tempting to send a duplicate to his wife, but that wouldn't have the desired results. With that accomplished, he began to look into the lawyer for Walter. It didn't take long to find bad news. The lawyer had gone to the same high school as Ellen. Things went further downhill. In law school; he not only went to the same college as Felds, they were in the same fraternity. They interned for different firms at one time, for the same firm another time. They went to work for the same firm after graduating. That was when things became interesting. The firm dissolved a year later.

Daryl dug deeper into Dark Nets and found out why. The Senior partners were both involved with a sex scandal. The woman was one Ellen Atkinson. Atkinson was Ellen Dietrich's maiden name.

Daryl sat back and sighed. "Now I see how this started, but I don't understand how they got to where they are now. Walter is just a regular guy working a 9 to 5. What's the end-game?"

Suddenly Daryl grabbed the inventory sheet and started looking at the names then began searching them. There he hit pay-dirt. It was the lovers that were the real targets. They were almost all married and well-to-do. The ones not married were not so high-up but appeared to be on the fast-track for upward movement.

"They aren't really blackmailing Walter, it's these other guys! Walter is just there for appearance, no. Walter's company has some kind of connections to the companies these guys are with. He's interacted with them socially. HE'S THE INVITE! Damn why didn't I see this sooner?" Daryl exclaimed.

Now it all made sense. Walter's company was needed by the others. He attended social functions, to which Ellen would be along and she would meet the executives. Those executives would then be targeted, seduced then blackmailed by the two lawyers and they made sure that any mistakes she made, couldn't be exploited. If the blackmail ran out, either of the lawyers would represent the wife in divorce and therefore be able to 'earn' part of the divorce settlement.

"I have to get into the other lawyer's office, tonight!" Daryl snarled then got up to get ready.

It took seven hours after the office was locked for Daryl to re-emerge from inside. He had waited an hour before going in. He made sure to check for any out-going video feeds and neutralized it with a ten minute loop. He came out with a bigger haul than he had from Felds' office. Edward Wilton even had dirt on Felds, just in case. The funny part, it was a double-edge sword. It all incriminated him as well. Daryl now had it all. Including some very shocking things about Ellen that Felds hadn't known about. The State Attorney General was about to get a rather large box.

A week later, things came crashing down. Melton Felds, Edward Wilton and Ellen Dietrich were arrested by State Police. Judge Brahmski was stunned when Marshals entered his court and halted the case in progress then arrested him, for Judicial Misconduct. Walter was easily found and summoned by the State Prosecution. He gave his testimony without flinching. The Defense team wanted to crawl into a hole after hearing it. There was no way they wanted him on the stand, for anything. In fact, with all the overwhelming evidence, the three scrambled to make plea-deals only to find themselves being slammed instead. None had anything to deal with that the Prosecution team didn't already know about. The worst of all, it had made National news.

Walter walked along the garden path and stopped as the red-head turned around to greet him.

"Hello Walter." Becky greeted.

Walter nodded back. "Hi Becky. I guess it's all over now?"

"Yes. It was quite the mess. I believe you have certain questions though, yes?" Becky asked as they began to walk along the path.

Walter sighed. "I don't even know which to ask first."

Becky frowned. "Such is no surprise Walter. Ellen became a horrid creature back in Middle School. It seems that her principal was a pedophile. Her grades had become below standard and she would not promote. She exchanged her virginity for passing grades. In High School she befriended your lawyer. They began to work together, exploiting the student body and teachers for their own gains. From grades to money, nothing was off limits to them. Edward was the brains, Ellen was the means."

"That had me coming and going, didn't they?" Walter asked.

Becky continued. "During High School, there was an incident. Ellen was arrested for solicitation. She was sixteen and therefore the records were sealed. Somehow, Edward had a copy of those records. She was diagnosed as a sex addict also. Their 'relationship' continued through Edward's college years. That was when Melton entered their partnership. Some details become rather foggy, but it is possible that they tried to blackmail Edward and Melton's professors. It was unsuccessful, professors are more cautious than practicing attorneys of such things. There was a botched attempt to overtake a law firm there after they graduated. That made them relocate here and they started over. It was pure chance you entered their scene."

"What made them pick me?" Walter asked.

"At one time, you were being groomed for higher promotion. You met Ellen and married her. However, nepotism took place and you were passed over in favor of a relative. Not that he didn't have the proper skill and training, but you had seniority with the company. Time in the trenches so to speak. He got the promotion, you were given a raise and stock-options. From a financial stand-point, you received the better end. Unfortunately; Edward, Ellen and Melton wanted more than you were in-line for. You became the pass-key to others for them to exploit." Becky explained.

"Oh." Walter frowned. "The Attorney General didn't seem to want to tell me much of anything. Just said that I could go and handed me divorce papers that were finalized."

Becky nodded. "He understood that you had been duped and were being exploited. Melton will be spending the next twenty years in prison on a variety of charges. Edward will be spending a longer time, about seventy from what I understood, but may be paroled in forty. If he survives. I've heard that the judge was brought up on corruption charges. Turns out, it wasn't the first time he...enjoyed liberties...with ladies going through proceedings. He will spend some time in prison and never practice law again."

Walter gave Becky a sad look. "And Ellen?"

"I'm afraid she will spend the rest of her natural life in prison Walter. She tried to seduce her guards, the prosecutor, the judge. Even the transport drivers. Finally she lashed out in frustration and attacked guards with a broken toothbrush. She will never see freedom Walter. Please try to find a way to put her behind you." Becky tried to console him.

Walter sighed. "Well, a construction company I worked for ended up needing somebody in their office. I had the skills so they made me an offer. I guess I'll tell them yes."

Becky gave him an encouraging smile. "A fresh start wouldn't be a bad thing Walter. Make the most of the opportunity."

"Well, they did keep my name out of the news. I guess I could make a fresh start. Thank you Becky Sharp, thank you for everything." Walter said and shook hands with her then turned to go.

"Make a new life Walter, try to enjoy it." Becky said then continued down the path alone, singing softly to herself. "That's how it goes. Everybody knows."

To be continued.....

People go about their lives in their own way. Some believe the world is against them. Some believe the world is their's. But when your world has been destroyed, what would you do? What would you pay, to get some part of it back. What would you pay, to balance those scales? At what price; love? Safety? Sanity? Justice? At what price; Revenge? *Warning- Does contain hyper-violence*

Matt Kimbleson looked up with fear in his eyes. "Please! I didn't do anything! I have a family!"

"You saw us." A cold voice answered

Another voice agreed. "Yeah. Whatever you told the cops won't do any good, they won't come near us. Somebody else though, might. So we just take you out; problem solved."

Matt shook his head. "I didn't go to the police, I don't want to be involved!"

"And you won't be." The first voice said.

A muffled report was heard then a thump as Matt's lifeless body slumped to the floor followed by a second.

"One for you, one for me. That'll show our new boss we handle business." One of the voices said.

The cold voice replied. "Yeah, pro-style. We even got proof. Let's bail."

Hours later screams were heard and soon after, sirens.

Brett Kimbleson stood over his father's grave then turned to leave as he said quietly. "I'll get them, Dad. I swear it!"

Brett liked gadgets. Especially drones. That little bit of irony had come in handy, in a way. His newest one had saat on a shelf in the living room. The drone had been left switched on, including the camera. That camera streamed all it saw to his tablet which was saved. Brett had their faces, he had their voices. Unfortunately, that was all he had. Suspecting the statement about the police not investigating to be true, he needed other means. The problem was, he had no idea who. Sure, there was a guy that would beat somebody up for you if you paid him, but he couldn't handle guys that kill. Brett walked idly, with no direction, lost in thoughts until he finally looked up. He was in front of the Hobby shop he went to for drone components.

"Brett?" A girl called out as he walked in.

Brett looked over. "Hey Sally. 'S up?"

"Kind of what I was going to ask. You're in a suit. Your Dad's funeral?" Sally asked.

Brett nodded. "Yeah."

Sally came from around the counter and hugged him. "Sorry Brett. I would've come, but I can't close the shop and the owner is out of town."

Brett nodded in understanding. He was fifteen and Sally was nineteen, but that didn't stop him from having a bit of a crush on her. She was smart, pretty and liked drones and other radio controlled toys as much as he did. She even built some and competed. In his eyes, she was the perfect girl.

"It's ok. Somebody has to be here for all us gadget-rats." Brett commented.

Sally pointed at him. "Hey now! I'm just as much a gadget-rat as the rest of you so don't give me that. Tell you what, Fly-buy."

"Yeah, ok." Brett replied.

She went back around to her purse and pulled a couple of dollars and handed them to him. Fly-buy; he'd 'fly', as in go get, and she'd 'buy'. In this case, something to drink. He went two doors down and came back with a bottled green tea for her and a soda for himself. After a few minutes the store was empty. Sally made the most of it.

"So how are you?" Sally asked. "I mean really."

Brett let his real anger show. "I want those two guys so bad Sally. In a way; I want to go to the cops, but in another way I don't. They'd just sit in jail picking up street-cred, you know?"

Sally nodded. "Yeah. Criminals respect being criminal. The more street credit they have, the better off they are. Look, I know you want these guys to pay, but don't go to Joey. He can handle school-stuff, but this is out of his league. He's only seventeen, he can't go up against guys with guns."

"I know. I wish I knew somebody hardcore." Brett admitted.

Sally sat thinking. "Mister Tam might. He had a problem with a gang once."

Brett shrugged. "Maybe. It wouldn't hurt to ask."

With that Brett left. He walked down the sidewalk several blocks to an asian restaraunt and went inside. He went to the noodle shop often, it was quick and cheap to eat there. Money saved to buy more components. Keiko Tam smiled at him.

"Brett-kun! How you?" She asked in a heavy accent.

Brett had to smile back, she was a nice lady all the time. "Hi Mrs. Tam, Konichiwa."

"Konichiwa! Soba?" Keiko asked.

Brett nodded, he was suddenly hungry. "Hai."

The order was called out and a few minutes later Hiro Tam brought it out and set it down in front of him.

"Brett-kun. Daijobu?" Hiro asked.

Brett shook his head. "Not really Mister Tam. My Dad's funeral was today."

Hiro nodded sadly. "Hai. Kimbleson-san good man. You like him. Be good man Brett-kun."

"Not so easy with the guys that killed him getting away with it." Brett replied quietly. "Cops can't do anything."

Hiro patted his shoulder. "You good son Brett-kun. Kimbleson-san proud. I saw."

Brett leaned closer. "They just killed him Mister Tam. Nobody would do anything to them, but they killed him anyway. He didn't even go to the cops and they still killed him. It was fun for them! How am I supposed to let that go?"

Hiro picked up his meal and nodded. "Come."

Brett followed him to the back and sat down at the table in the kitchen with him. Hiro went into a room and came back with something his hand.

"Take Brett-kun." Hiro said offering a small card.

Brett looked at the card and looked up. "How is an advertising service going to help me?"

Hiro took the candle-lighter off the table and held the flame below the card, waving it back and forth. Brett watched in growing shock as the card changed in front of him. The blue card and gold letting changed to a black card with red lettering. A simple email address was all.

"Help, Brett-kun." Hiro said then pointed to the food and said something in Japanese then bowed and went back to cooking.

Brett had heard of business cards that were disguised. Dangerous people used them to hide who they are and what they do. At least, that's what he'd heard. Quickly he ate, bowed to Mister Tam and left. Down the street he stopped and used his phone to send an email. Maybe this person could help. Three hours later, a message was in his inbox. An hour later, he stood over his father's grave again.

"Buon pomeriggio giovanotto." A smooth voice said from behind.

Brett turned around and saw a well dressed man standing there. "Hello."

The man nodded to the grave. "Your Papa?"

"Yeah." Brett answered.

"Scusa, signore." The man said to the grave then kissed his fingers and touched his forehead, chest and both shoulders before turning to Brett and gestured him to step away. "Let us talk."

Brett walked away and joined him. "Are you Italian?"

"Si. You are Brett, no?" The man asked.

Brett nodded. "Brett Kimbleson. I asked for help. Can you help me?"

"Such is possible Brett. You may call me Marco. Marco Venier." Marco replied.

Brett wasted no time. "My Dad was murdered. By these two guys."

Marco looked to tablet and saw the two images. "I see. Why did this happen?"

"Dad accidentally saw them kill somebody. He ran. He was scared, so he didn't go to the cops or anybody. He thought if he did, they'd know who he was and come after him. They found him anyway. Mister, he was scared and I don't blame him. He didn't want anything to do with it. They killed him for the fun of it." Brett explained.

Marco nodded. "Si. Tragic, but things like this; they do happen. Mie simpatie."

"Guys like that, even if they do get caught and go to jail, all it does is make them more important. Makes them look cool. I hate that. I hate them." Brett said. "They shouldn't get away with it."

Marco looked at him. "And you? What is it you want? Giustizia? O vendetta?"

Brett shook his head. "I don't know what you said."

"You want justice, or revenge?" Marco asked then said flatly. "Neither come cheaply. Capire? You understand this?"

Brett nodded. "Yes sir. I'm starting to think I don't have the kind of money you want now."

Marco said nothing which made Brett believe that it was more than obvious that he knew that already.

"We're screwed." Brett surmised.

Marco was looking in the distance. "Perhaps no. It is possible that an agreement can be met."

"Would it be legal?" Brett asked.

Marco nodded. "Si. You like the remote control, si? You can build them?"

Brett blinked. "Yeah. I build and race them. Why?"

"Sometimes, I need them. For work. Not all of them do so well. I lose them, they break. Something you would know." Marco said.

Brett nodded. "Yeah. It happens a lot. The more durable they are, the heavier they are and that's not a good thing for drones that fly."

"We make an agreement. Man to Man. On honor and your father's soul. I provide the parts, you make them for me. You do this, say until you go to college and that will be my payment. You will take this oath, over your father?" Marco asked.

Brett agreed quickly. "Yeah! I can do that!"

Marco held up his hand. "Not so fast. I mean all of it. This is very serious. Il Patriarca. You are the man of the home now, no? Signor Kimbleson? Such oath is not light."

Brett followed back over to his father's grave.

"You must swear, on your honor and your father's soul; you will help me with my work as I have said, You must care for your family as Il Patriarca and you must make the future by going to college. This is your oath as a man. Do you swear to this for the revenge of your father?" Marco asked.

Brett nodded with all the conviction he had and said the words that couldn't be taken back. "I swear it. On honor and my Dad's soul, I'll do it. All of it, for revenge!"

Once again Marco kissed his fingertips and crossed himself. "Then, by God, we have this agreement."

Brett wasn't Catholic, but did the same. "Yes. By God, we do. Can you do it Mister Marco?"

Marco nodded as he transferred the pictures to his phone. "Si. I am Italian, who knows vendetta better than we Signor Kimbelson?"

As Brett watched him go, he said to his father's grave. "I'm sorry Dad. It's gotta be this way."

Daryl sighed as he climbed onto the tram and thought to himself. 'Good thing that kid wasn't paying attention earlier. He'd have seen both those idiots at the burial.'

Daryl had hacked the cemetery's camera system before going. When Brett showed him the images on the tablet, he remembered seeing the two men entering casually and watching from a distance. It was a stupid thing to do, going to the funeral of a victim. Stupid for them, helpful to him. He could get into the cameras surrounding and track them. He did feel for the kid. After all, in a way, he could relate. However, revenge came with a price. Someone always paid. The kid needed to learn that too. Nothing ever came free.

Now wearing shorts and a tank, Dara brought up her computer and loaded the two pictures. In a matter of minutes she had them. Both were over legal age and had rap sheets dating back to when they were teens. Some of it was sealed, but the rest wasn't. Mostly misdemeanors: disturbing the peace, vandalism, minor assaults, muggings, some controlled substances, breaking and entering, trespassing. Basically they were street-soldiers in the making. Working their way up to joining a syndicate. The fact that they had now killed meant a major move. Possible an entrance display, a test to see if they could serve a syndicate without reservation.

Dara got up. Some information could only be gathered on the streets themselves. She changed into her pink riding gear and brought out a pink and white hybrid racer. Hybrid racers had the same frame style and gears as road racers. The differences were alloy frames instead of carbon fiber, the wheels were slightly wider and the handlebars were flat like mountain bikes. Hybrid racers were mostly used by couriers in the city as they could handle more abuse than a road racer yet were lighter and faster than mountain bikes.

"Hey Shiftie!" A guy on a blue and gold Hybrid racer greeted the pink clad girl that swooped in behind him.

Dara shifted gears and 'danced' to power around him, picking up speed. "You gonna move that slow jumble of parts, Rumble?"

Rumble shifted gears and stood to 'dance' as well. "OH, don't go bad mouthing my ride Shiftie! It's ON! Hilda's house!"

The two began racing in earnest then. They weaved in and out through the car traffic. Onto sidewalks, down alleys and sliding rails to go down steps. Rumble laughed to see Shiftie do that by simply sitting the rail, side-saddle style, to slide down. One of the best racers he'd ever met, but never let you forget she was a girl doing it. It was like watching parkour performed on bikes. The independent street couriers were the best at it.

Rumble gawked as she managed to slip around him at the last second, kiss her fingers and lightly brush the statue Saint Hildegard in front of Our Lady of Truth cathedral, locally referred to as Saint Hilda's. The statue of the Benedictine Abbess was a frequently used finish line for the couriers and parkour runners. Because of that, the couriers began the habit of whomever lost, had to use the water from their bottle to 'wash her feet'. At first the clerics there were appalled, then saw it as something done as reverence and penance, also prayer. Parkour runners would buy a bottle of water from a nearby vending machine to use.

Rumble slowed down and circled around the statue then stopped to dismount. He took his bottle and stood in front of the statue, crossed himself then knelt to gently wash the statue's feet by hand with the water from his bottle. Dara had circled around as well and waited for him to finish then walked over, bowed her head then kissed her fingers and touched the statue's hands again.

"What do you want to know Shiftie?" Rumble asked as he picked up his bike.

Dara took a drink from her bottle then offered it to him. "Two guys. Desmond Johnson and Michael Rocheter."

"Not the brightest crayons in the box. What they don't have in smarts, they make up for being hard-headed. Word is, they made audition." Rumble answered after drinking and passed the bottle back.

Dara sipped then asked. "Who and what?"

Rumble leaned back. "Street says they took out an Avenger. Story goes, this kid kicks a cat. Cat dies, little girl cries. Avenger hears little girl and kicks kid a field goal. Kid runs and bawls to Daddy. Daddy's a mid-level. Dee-jo and Rocket've been asking for a slot. Mid-level gives them the nod. So they give a stomp-down, no more Avenger."

"More?" Dara asked.

Rumble shrugged. "So said; some Brady saw the stomp and bolted. They found and took him out too. Dunno about that."

Avengers were street-level revenge-brokers. Mostly tit-for-tat and small-scale. A Brady was just some regular person. However, now a syndicate was involved. The targets were now inducted. Killing the Avenger had been their ticket in, audition. Kimbleson was an add-on. They had killed him to go that extra-mile to show how serious they were to the syndicate.

Dara asked. "So who'd they audition for?"

"Leo Turney, with the Scaniatta bunch." Rumble replied. "You working Shiftie?"

Dara nodded. "Yeah. Account."

"Oh." Rumble replied.

Dara stood up. Rumble believed she was merely an info-broker and was gathering information for an anonymous client that she only knew by an account number that she was paid through. An illusion she wanted to maintain and dropped a small packet of money into his lap.

"Need to do something about that bike, that was embarrassing." Dara smirked and went over to her bike.

"If somebody's lookin' for those two; they can be found at Skinny's." Rumble stated then added. "Don't bad-mouth my ride."

Dara laughed and rode away. It was an old joke. Rumble's bike only looked bad. In truth, it was one of the most expensive bikes ridden by street couriers. He just had no talent when it came to painting. In fact, some of the parts had been bought from Daryl's shop. Rumble had commented there was a resemblance between Daryl and Shiftie, but accepted the dismissive story of there being doubles. Even laughing when Daryl complained, that in all the world his double turned out to be female, citing chronic bad luck.

The last bit was helpful. Skinny's was a back alley bar. The clientele was criminals and wannabe criminals. All low-end. The kind of place that swept out teeth once per week, because doing it every night was too much like actual work. You had to watch the drinks being poured, or risk being drugged then robbed and beaten. Once a year some street girl would come in desperate for money and waitress for a night or two. She would usually end up being gang-raped and never go back. The owner had been in with neo-nazis at one time and therefore kept his head shaved clean. The common assumption was that it was why he and the bar was called Skinny. Actually, his last name was Skinnard and that was why. Nobody remembered his first name, nor cared. To the world, he was Skinny and his favorite thing to do was beating down anyone not Caucasian, hetero and stronger than himself.

Back in front off her computer system, Dara brought up the two's files.

"So. You want to be big time? Ok. You're big time now." Dara mused aloud. "That's where you went wrong. You two are going to have to go down, but it won't be enough. You belong to a syndicate now, so going alone isn't an option for you anymore."

Dara now knew exactly what she had to do for Brett's revenge. Some drones would be needed, he could start earning immediately. A box of components and instructions was made up. It would be sent out the next morning. Tonight, Daryl would track the targets. He changed into long pants and jersey of a black and grey pattern and rode out. It was after midnight when they finally came into sight, heading for Skinny's. Daryl used a blowgun to stick a pin to the jacket of one. The pin was a tracker. It would only last for six hours, sending out a signal every twenty minutes. At Four in the morning, the signal came from the same location for a second time. They were stationary.

Daryl followed and stopped two blocks away. The two were in an older building on the Eastern side of town. Daryl managed to get on top of building a block away and sent up a micro-drone that would home in on the signal due in five minutes. Hovering around the top of the building, the small drone was silent and unnoticeable. When the signal came in, the drone went for it. Daryl looked at the screen in confusion. The drone hovered above the mechanical room on the roof. It was where ventilation works were. No windows, only one door. Finally Daryl rolled his eyes and recalled the drone.

"Those two are squatting in the mechanical room. They probably broke in and nobody knows about them. They use the damned fire escape to come and go." Daryl realized.

This was not good. Such a place was unsecure and very noisy. Daryl needed them in a reliable place so he could work more effectively. They needed to be somewhere quieter he could hear them talk. He sent a second drone over that had a better battery and cellular transmitter. The drone landed in a spot it wouldn't be noticed and focused its camera on the door. It also had a motion sensor as well. It would transmit a stream, but also send a signal for any motion detected. That being done, Daryl left. He would have to rig something together to 'smoke them out' and deny further access.

Rocket and DeeJo left the mechanical room just after Two in the afternoon. As usual, they were looking for easy prey to target for money for at least a meal. A sneaky punch at a young man coming out of a coffee shop yielded a wallet holding almost a hundred dollars in cash and some cards. The cards were useless to them, but the cash was kept. They had a meal from a take-away stand then shook-down the counter-worker. Another hundred and fifty to their pool. The two would have done the same to a dealer for some of their preferred recreational powder, but he was armed and jumpy.

As they turned into the alley beside the building they were squatting, they noticed something wrong. The fire escape ladder was up. In fact, it was now out of reach unless they had a ladder to get them high enough to grab the bottom rung to pull it down. The ratcheting noise of a shotgun chambering a shell got their attention and they looked behind them.

"So, YOU TWO are the punks that have been hiding up on the roof!" A middle-aged man with a shotgun snarled then whistled loudly.

Three more men joined him, all armed in some fashion. He went over and butt-stroked the two. While they were down, he searched their pockets and came up with only sixty dollars.

"This goes to RENT." He said and pocketed the money then waved the barrel of the gun. "Best not come back, unless you have money and ready to sign papers."

DeeJo spit to the side and made to move against the building supervisor. "YEAH? SEE 'BOUT THAT!"

The shotgun went off a few inches from his ear, deafening and disorienting him. A punch followed and DeeJo went down.

The Super jacked in a new shell and growled at Rocket. "You?"

Rocket grabbed DeeJo's jacket collar and pulled him away. "Watch your back, Darkie."

Unknown to any of them, Daryl used the blowgun again, lodging the tracker on DeeJo this time. He was unaware of the impact of a dart hitting his leather jacket. Two hours later, they mugged some patrons coming out of a sports bar then shook down another food take-out stand for a meal and cash. They now made their way to the waterfront. There they entered one of the 'hotels' that hadn't been part of the gentrification movement. Basically, a flophouse for seedy-types such as themselves. Daryl smirked in satisfaction. This was exactly what he had hoped for. From the roof of a warehouse three blocks away he controlled four drones to search the windows of the upper floors of the derelict hotel and found them on the third floor, back side.

The drones were recalled and new one sent out to land on the windowsill. It had a hyper-mic that could listen in through the window. Meanwhile, he used his laptop to search for the building's blueprints. He needed the schematics for the ventilation ducts. Once those were found and saved, he transferred to the roof of the neighboring building and crossed over via a rope. A smaller drone fed a cable with camera and mic down to the vent he wanted. Daryl hard-connected the transmitter to the electrical for the HVAC system. Daryl was finished and out of the area by Four in the morning.

Brett finished assembling the last of the drones, wrapped in bubble-wrap and packed it into the box then took off the latex gloves. "Last one! Now for homework."

Everyone had been surprised with Brett's new attitude. He had thrown himself into his studies. He asked more questions in class, making sure that he was understanding the material without doubt. Homework was being turned in, completed. Tests were ranking scores to rival the students who favored the subjects. Brett almost ran to each class. The care-free attitude had been replaced, now it was like he was possessed. Or more accurately, obsessed. The teen seemed to be in pursuit of high grades more than any of his previous interests. In fact, he completely cut off from friends. Turning curt, and almost rude towards anything not related to academics. Neither Brett, nor his teachers, knew that there was someone else monitoring his performance results.

Over at D's Wheels; Daryl listened to the conversation at the flophouse while he adjusted the spokes of a rim.

"Man! My dick is throbbin'. Let's hit the Poker Run." DeeJo suggested.

Rocket replied. "No way. The good ones are still down. They won't come out until tonight. The only ones there are the skags that flush their pussies with Drain-Free 'cause they don't care if you don't wear a rubber. Nothin' but skanks right now and we need cash. Used all we had to get this place for a week. I'm gonna hit the shower then we need to go out and hit up some cash for grub. You need to clean up too. Leo said we could help his guys tonight and he'd pay us. Remember?"

"He gonna make us start wearing suits and shit like his other guys?" DeeJo asked.

"If we keep proving we can handle shit. Having a real place, slick gear and a clean bitch that looks good; that's livin' man. No more grubbin' and putting on two rubbers to nail some skank that smells like a boot in July against a wall? Hell yeah. We gotta handle shit, pro-style." Rocket stated.

"Yeah. Guess we should clean up some. What time we gotta be there?" DeeJo asked.

Rocket was opening the door. "Leo said the truck rolls in at 9 sharp. We should get there half hour before, to look good. I'm gonna try to find a razor and some soap. This is the real deal. Back in a minute."

Daryl had stopped while listening and now resumed adjusting the spokes. "Truck, huh? Wonder what's coming in or going out."

Twenty minutes later; Dara rode away on a night-bike. She hid in an alley after sticking a small camera at the end to watch the front of the flophouse. When Rocket and DeeJo came out she watched them turn to head down the street, away from her position. Dara rode out of the alley, snatching the camera off the wall and tucking it away. Two blocks later she was ahead of them and tagged with another tracker as they passed. Now she could stay on them from a distance again. When the tracker remained stationary for five minutes, she moved in.

Rocket and DeeJo stood in front of a building, casually smoking. Dara was able to get up on a roof at the end of the block and scout. She saw two men settling into a position of observation on the building at the street corner just down from the one her targets were at.

"Lookouts. Not bad. How smart are they though?" Dara muttered to herself.

Cameras to watch both ends of the street were set up then Dara sent up a small drone. It was almost silent and had a nightvision camera. She hovered a distance away from the lookouts and used the camera. They were fairly smart, using nightvision goggles to search for opposing observation. However, without thermal capability, they could not see her through the wall she was hiding behind. The drone was recalled and second sent over that dropped off a wheeled version that had a camera and microphone on the occupied roof. The drone landed in the alley beside the target building and another wheeled spy was deployed.

Dara focused on moving her wheeled drone along the edge of the building to stop at the bottom of the steps in a shadow. Now she waited and watched the split screen as she listened to the two channels of audio. Ten minutes later she heard the lookouts announce that the area was clear. It was obvious they were using Bluetooth connections to their cellphones on a conference call. Two cars pulled up to park across the street from the building and seven men joined the two thugs. One of them men gave them the classic street-handshake then shoulder bump with back-pat. Dara smirked. She knew it wasn't a real greeting, much less friendly. He was checking the two for electronics and weapons. The ironic part, the back-pat actually dislodged the tracking dart.

Over the microphone she heard a truck was expected to arrive any moment. The truck was to be unloaded and the boxes stored in the building. No pilfering would be tolerated and the two would be checked when done to ensure of that. Another car pulled in to park and a man got out of the front passenger seat, looking up and down the street then nodded to the lead man across the street. A box-truck drove up and stopped. Two men got out and went to the back. The door was opened and the leadman climbed inside. A box was pulled at random and he climbed out then cut the tape on the box. Packages of powder were inside. He nodded to the car-man who knocked on the back window then opened the door.

Dara recognized Leo from his mugshots. He carried a briefcase and went over to the truck. The case was opened and he showed it to the two truck drivers. He pulled a small kit from the case and sampled some of the powder while the money was verified. All was in order and both parties said so. The local crew began unloading the boxes and taking them inside the building after it was unlocked.

For several minutes the truck was unloaded then Dara heard the leadman give the two a warning that got her undivided attention.

"Don't get any funny ideas later. The whole place is wired. Every window and door has a shotgun and a pipe-bomb on it. Open it and you're a stain. Cameras too. So we'll know it was you." The leadman warned Rocket and DeeJo.

Rocket nodded. "We're cool."

The unloading continued until the truck was empty and drove away. Leo turned to Rocket and Deejo and pulled a considerable packet of bills from his pocket.

"Fast and quiet, I like that." Leo pulled off a some of the notes and handed them to each.

Rocket shoved the money in his pocket fast. "No problem Mister Turney, we'll work."

"You name it, we're all over it." DeeJo seconded.

Leo looked them over. "That's good. The only problem is; standards. Guys working for me are sharp and look it."

Rocket replied quick. "Yes Sir. We got it. New gear. We'll do that."

"Look pro, be pro." DeeJo added his understanding.

Leo gave them a shark-like grin. "Catch on quick. Tomorrow night, at Ten, be here."

Dara watched them disperse and ten minutes after the observation team departed, moved all her remotes to a location to be retrieved. She wanted to go in and determine exactly Leo was moving, but the counter-measures were deterring that. An idea occurred though. A cruel and very appealing idea. She was going to be very busy for a while.

During the day, Hobo Joe checked into the flophouse. He was able to sneak into Rocket and DeeJo's room while they were in the shower and implant microtransmitter with camera and microphone sets into the used suit jackets they bought first thing that morning. The hard part had been making them waterproof yet still undetectable to a physical search. Electronic search was easy to defeat, they could be turned off and on remotely. The battery pack would last thirty hours. A remote controlled sprayer of anesthetic gas was hidden in the ceiling to spray into the room. Timing had been critical. Hobo Joe was able to get back into his room and close the door, just as Rocket and DeeJo could be heard in the hallway, coming back from the communal bathroom.

Inside their room, Rocket chuckled. "We're scrubbed up, puttin' on some gear, got a week paid on this place. Hell, we can even go to a place and sit down to eat for the rest of the week!"

"Yeah. And we got more work for tonight!" DeeJo reminded.

Rocket punched him in the shoulder. "Was I RIGHT?"

Deejo swung back. "Yeah, yeah. You was right. Icing the Brady made the big difference."

"We wanna be big-time; we gotta show we can be pro. Make sure no probs. Handle our business. Look pro, act pro; get pro money." Rocket insisted. "Finish getting that on, we'll get somethin' to eat."

"Yeah." DeeJo agreed.

On the way out the door Rocket stated. "We pay to eat now. The Boss won't like us gettin' attention for knockin' over stands anymore."

Daryl waited five minutes, then snuck out. He put away Hobo Joe and tracked the pair. Hardly anyone paid attention to the obviously freelance courier sporting black and grey colors. A location was transmitted every one hundred seconds and audio/video came in a burst every ten minutes. Daryl made sure he used very strange frequency settings, that way no one would stumble across them except by the most extreme chance. It would take the latest government grade scanners to find his bugs. Anything less, was too great of a risk.

While the targets ate in a restaurant, Daryl used his small laptop to search for information in the stash building. The records of ownership traced back to a holding company that had gone bankrupt two years prior and the utilities were under a false identity; a retiree in another state. City Planning had a blueprint dated twenty years prior. Essentially, to find out more about the building, he would have to scan it remotely then digitally recreate it. It would take time.

That night Daryl waited until an hour after the crew left to begin. A heavier drone was needed and would be spotted by observers. Slowly he moved it up the front of the building ten feet per scan. Like taking an x-ray or MRI(Magnetic Resonance Imaging) scan. Five times he had to recall the drone to change batteries then withdraw. For three more nights he did this.

"Well. One thing is for sure. These guys aren't playing around." Dara said aloud looking at the digital wire frame of the building.

The scans revealed the henchman's warning to be true. Each window and door had been booby-trapped with a shotgun and a pipe-bomb. They were all tied to a central alarm style system. If the connection was broken; instead of loudspeakers blaring and lights flashing, the shotgun would be triggered. Should intruders not be deterred by that, a pressure-mat would detonate the pipe-bomb. Two feet long, ten inches of PVC pipe filled with a charge of some kind and packed with metallic debris. There was one concealed beneath the sill of each window and one on the ceiling just inside every external door. Every floor had seven cameras as well. Four facing out through windows, two in the hallway and one at the landing in the stairwell. A camera looked out the peep-hole of the external doors and four cameras looked down from each corner of the roof with overlapping views.

Dara looked at the image and didn't like it. The building was secure, but something else was bothering her. It could be penetrated. They had to know that. If someone wanted in bad enough, a way would be found and exploited.

"Those guys were entirely too confident they'd always know who would hit them. No matter what, they'd know. How? By the time the cameras saw anybody, they'd have already concealed their identity. All the cameras look out." Dara mused to herself then stopped. It hit right after the words were said. "The cameras look OUT! They have cameras looking AT the building too!"

The following night Daryl used a drone with high resolution camera and a signal scanner to check adjacent buildings. None set off the scanner, and he saw nothing out of the ordinary on the structures or looking out the windows. As he flew to another building, the scanner spiked. The drone had overflown a streetlight. The drone was made to orbit above the light and arm. The signal was there. A wireless camera was mounted on top of the light itself and looked to be hardwired to it for power. Quickly the drone checked each streetlight and found three more cameras, all using bluetooth transmitters.

Daryl smiled. "Gotcha!"

After acquiring the signal he recorded ten minutes of feed then sent out drones with signal jammers to land on the lights. Once the feed was jammed he began transmitting his loop from a distance. On top of the neighboring building Daryl used a rope and grapple to cross over on to the roof. He checked for laser tripwires before crossing over and had seen none. Now he began the search for an entry point. There was a door, but it was the same as all other exterior doors; camera, shotgun and pipe-bomb.

Using a fiber-optic camera in the vent of the mechanical room revealed the same on both the door and the vent. There was a ray of hope though. The roof of the mechanical room was clear. He climbed on top and used a drill with a long Titanium split-tip Twist bit to test the thickness. Daryl was surprised. The roof was merely corrugated metal coated with asphalt and gravel. He would be able to cut through with only a reciprocating saw. That was the upside. The downside was that he had neither the tool nor time. Also he would need asphalt patch compound. He did have time to use the fiber optic camera to really inspect the interior of the room.

The next night Daryl was back. Once he was safely on the roof off the mechanical room, he ceased jamming the street cameras. Five minutes with the saw and he had removed a square of the roof on the high corner large enough to fit through. A rope was dropped down through the hole for getting back up. First a backpack was lowered down then he slid down inside. There were no motion detectors inside, just the booby-traps and camera on the door. Daryl checked the vent and after finding no counter-measures, opened it. Goggles with special lenses did not reveal any lasers inside so he dropped another rope down the main shaft and began to slowly rappel down. His light weight was held easily by the metal duct-work and he crawled through the ducts of the first floor.

Success came from what looked like an office in a room at the back of the building. It was small and had no windows, only a door leading into the hall. Inside though were several boxes mounted on the wall. Boxes that had key locks. The kind used by freelance security system installers and do-it-yourselfers. Best of all; no cameras monitoring the room, just access through the door.

Daryl picked the locks and began inspecting. He was impressed.

"Nasty. Anytime the building is accessed, three phones get an alert along with picture of the person opening the door. RFID keyfob to initiate a thirty second delay to get to the code panel inside the front door. Laser tripwires at the stairwell doorways and elevator shaft. Surprised they didn't cover the duct-work too." Daryl remarked.

He was about to switch the system off and noticed something. An orange wire leading away at the bottom of the switch. He traced it and glared at its connection.

"You guys are starting to irritate me." Daryl said coldly.

The wire was a counter-measure. Turn off the system and it activated a second system that sent out an alert and a sixty second timer to all the explosives. He disconnected the wire at the switch itself then turned off the system. Now he owned the building. Floor by floor, room by room, he searched. All outer rooms had a picture of an empty room spanning the width. Inside the rooms it looked like a police evidence warehouse. Drugs on the top two floors, guns and ammunition on the Third floor, money and drug processing rooms on the Second floor. The First floor was the fortress. Behind the murals were metal and concrete barricades with firing ports. The barricades went from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. They seemed to be sealed air-tight. In the basement was the biggest surprise. An escape hatch.

Inspection of the escape passage revealed it had been made exclusive for the building. No connections at all to any utility services at all. It was also wired with a charge that would collapse the tunnel ten feet from the building hatch to prevent pursuit.

"This is way too elaborate for mid-level. Somebody gave this guy an education in hardcore paranoia." Daryl commented. "You can't buy this working know-how. He knows somebody that isn't supposed to be running around on their own."

Daryl began placing his own cameras and mics then went back to the central system. Slowly and methodically he manipulated countermeasures onto it for his own use. Finally came the last part, the RFID. He found the precise codes and made note. One could clone them if they could get close enough to a chip, however it was far better to get the whole series from the system. Multiple chips could be made then. Especially the Master chip. Some systems were vulnerable and new codes could be added. This wasn't the case. Daryl would have to work with the codes in it. The sun finally began to peek over the horizon as Daryl returned home.

For a week and a half Daryl worked his systems, sneaking in and replacing the transmitter packs' batteries for the two thugs. In the background, two latex masks were being made and suits hung on hangers. The most dangerous parts were soon to come. Daryl perused his special list, people that could and would do things for him. Mostly for a price. One name topped the criteria's list. Daryl put on a dark suit and wig after sending a message.

Cam Dalten looked around when he felt the hairs on the back of neck stand up. Something dangerous was now close. A soft footfall caught his attention and he looked to the source. A man in a dark suit edged around a pillar.

"Sergei?" Cam asked.

The Russian nodded and replied. "Glad you make time."

Slowly Sergei reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope then held it out. He made a point to keep both hands visible and movements were slow.

"You on the job Sergei?" Cam asked cautiously taking the envelope then stepped back.

Sergei nodded. "Da. You?"

"Nothing time critical." Cam replied then quickly checked the envelope and counted out five-thousand dollars in cash. "Five K. Just to meet and talk?"

"Call, consult fee. You have time?" Sergei asked.

Cam put the envelope in his pocket. "Ok. Consulting fee. Proceed."

"One man. Ten hour. Must imitate. Imitation is American. Appearance I provide. We make deal?" Sergei asked.

Cam mulled that over. "Just impersonate? Hot or cold target?"

"Hot. Live target. I have sample." The Russian replied.

"Do I have a connection and will they need to be neutralized?" Cam asked.

"Street-soldiers for Leo Turney. I need them alive." Sergei stated.

That caught Cam's attention. "Them? I do one or both?"

"One. I will be other." Sergei grinned then spoke in an American accent. "No sweat. Deal?"

"Ten hours?" Cam mused then said. "One hundred thousand. If I end up having to neutralize, for any reason, it goes to five hundred thousand. Deal?"

Sergei nodded. "Da."

Cam stepped forward for the handshake. "Deal then."

Sergei shook hands. "Good, Chameleon."

"This should be interesting; working on the Puppeteer crew." The assassin commented then left.

Sergei felt inside his jacket cuff and pulled the microbug out.

He smirked and dropped it on the ground. "Quite so, Herr Dalten. Gute nacht, kamerad."

Daryl left with smile, knowing that his voice had been heard clearly by the transmitter. More confusion to sow. The meeting had went just as he wanted. The Chameleon was an expert at imitation and impersonation, but only of males. He could manage to sound like any male for limited time, if he had a good voice sample. With the voice sample, mask and clothes, he could convince anyone he was actually that person for a short time. The nail in the coffin would be that it was going to be on camera. Surveillance cameras.

Argument could always be made over manipulated video recordings. However those arguments would never come up if the manipulation came from the actual events being recorded instead of recorded events. Raw video would always reign supreme. It could take up to a year to create minutes of video digitally. However, creating an event or manipulating an actual event could be done in short time and yielded far superior results. This was now the plan.

Cam was given the sample recordings and within two days he had the speech and body patterns down. He could perfectly impersonate DeeJo for up to two hours of speech and 6 hours of non-verbal interaction. Daryl compiled all the video and audio from Rocket and Deejo then added a video of himself as Rocket and Cam as Deejo implanting the surveillance equipment into their suit jackets. Pay dirt came two days later. A delivery was coming in again. The two were going to be unloading.

The Detective from the State Police Narcotics division wanted to shake his head as he turned on the room's camera and mics then went in. Two obvious punks, in cheap suits, noted him with contempt sneers.

Detective Dave Glaass sat down. "Give me a good reason why I should bother with you two wannabes?"

Rocket snarled. "Leo Turney."

"Untouchable." Glaass remarked.

"We can give 'im to ya." Deejo laughed.

Rocket nodded. "Yeah. But we ain't doin' it f' free. It's gonna cost."

Glaass rolled his eyes. "Right."

"We want his territory and action. We got the word on you. You know how to make our kinda deal." Rocket said smugly.

Glaass was puzzled for a moment then it hit. They thought he was dirty. He had pulled a case for Internal Affairs a few years back, pretending to be on the take to infiltrate a corrupt vice squad in a different county. This now made things different. He could play dirty cop and end up taking down all sides at once. The punk was right, it would take a certain kind of deal. The kind Dave Glaass knew how to work.

"Yeah. I can make a special kind of deal. Let's talk." Dave Glaass leaned forward.

An hour and half later the two walked out, Dave looked to the cameras a minute later and said. "Apparently my time working undercover for Internal Affairs still has a use. I am going to convince those two that I am corrupt and exploit that mindset of being able to help them secure criminal activity currently underway. I am not going to extend any kind of offer of immunity to them. They have made it undeniably clear that they have committed capital crimes and have every intention of continuing and even escalating. I will hearby contact the State Attorney General with this case."

With that he dialed on his cellphone, putting it on speaker and informing that the call was being recorded and official.

Rocket felt groggy and heard a grunt. He looked over to see Deejo slowly stirring then realized he was sitting in the driver's seat of a vehicle.

"Wha' happumed?" Deejo groaned.

Rocket rubbed his face to try clearing the fog in his head and wake up. "Dunno. We're in a truck."

On the seat next to him was a piece of note paper and a flashdrive.

Glaass
parking lot; Poplar and Donoterase
don't forget drive for deal

It was his writing, but he didn't remember writing it. He did know where the location was. He shook his head one last time, lit up a cigarette and started the truck. Twenty minutes of driving later he pulled into a parking lot. A single car was there so he parked next to it.

"You're late. I've been here for an hour." The man said when they got out.

Rocket assumed the man was Glaass and replied. "Sorry Glaass. Here."

Detective Glaass took the offered flashdrive then said. "Ok. Open the truck."

Rocket and Deejo went to the back and opened it. It was packed floor to ceiling with boxes that looked very familiar. Like the ones they had unloaded last night into the stash building for Leo Turney.

Glaass pulled a box, opened it and pulled out a wrapped packet. He used his pocket knife to poke into it and withdraw a white powder. Rocket and Deejo watched him tap the powder into a test kit and react to the chemicals. It turned a very dark blue. From what they had seen before, it meant the powder was the highest quality, practically pure.

"You two sure this hasn't been stepped on?" Glaass asked suspiciously.

Deejo went full gangster. "WHAT? You think we'd have anything less than top-grade? Who do you think we are? We dealin' or not?"

Glaass smirked when Deejo held out his hand for a shake.

The Detective shook hands then snapped a set of cuffs on his wrist. "Oh we're dealin' alright!"

Suddenly it seemed like over fifty cops were all over them. They were read their Miranda Rights and shoved into separate cars. Rocket looked out the window and to his horror saw a car stop half a block away and Leo Turney get out. He looked beyond furious. Rocket now realized that whatever was going on, wasn't good for him and Deejo.

Two of the cops were talking outside the car Deejo was in. He could hear them talking and thought his brain was going to melt.

"These guys are seriously stupid." Cop One remarked and lit a cigarette then held out his lighter for the other.

Cop Two took a couple of puffs then blew out a stream of smoke. "They helped unload the shit ito Turney's stash house, then go back to steal enough to fill the truck and call in a tip on the stash house."

"Yeah, but they 'conveniently forget' to warn about the booby-traps. Lost four good cops. One to the shotgun blast and three more from the explosion." A third cop said, walking up.

"Johnson didn't make it?" Cop One asked sadly.

Cop Three shook his head and spit to the side. "Just came in. They lost him on the way to surgery. Him and Carol just had their first kid a week ago. He wasn't supposed to roll, but he said he wouldn't leave the team hangin and went anyway."

Deejo saw them turn to glare at him. He was so confused, nothing was making any sense to him. He hoped somehow Mister Turney could bail him and Rocket out. Even if they had to go on the run afterward.

It was odd to have two suspects in the same Interrogation room, but this was one of those times it was a good idea. The Attorney General walked in.

"I demand my clients be released, immediately." The attorney snarled.

Arnold Hastings glared back. "Not happening. Your clients are fried. The deal they thought was going to happen; won't."

"What deal? We didn't make no deals with no cops!" Deejo spat.

Arnold gave a feral smile then turned on a monitor. For over an hour the two and their attorney sat dumbstruck as a video played. Rocket and Deejo sat there listing all of their crimes and that they had been wired to record it after their second task for Leo Turney. The only two things not admitted to were the two murders. they then went into detail as what they intended to do, why and what their offer to the detective was in exchange for being released as informers. Then they went further to explain their plans for afterward and what they would do for the Detective for making sure they stayed out of any further investigations.

A.G. Hastings turned it off. "All that. That's enough to slam the cell shut. BUT WAIT! There's MORE!"

Rocket and Deejo saw the flashdrive he held up then plugged into the monitor. "It was nice of you to inventory your crimes, but you left some out. Capital crimes. Murder in the First."

A file was selected. A video began to play. It was the murder of Kimbleson. It even had Rocket 'pick up the camera' with a grin. Two shots to the head in his own home, pleading for his life. If the previous video nailed the coffin shut, this one buried it in cement under a toxic waste dump. Even if they wanted to, they had nothing to deal with now. What was worse, they knew it.

"See you at the trial." Hastings smirked and walked out, he had a bigger fish to gut and fry down the hall.

Leo Turney sat seething as the Attorney General walked.

"Leo! Sorry it took SO LONG to get to you." Hastings said dramatically.

Leo's attorney didn't waste a moment. "You have nothing."

Arnold held up a flashdrive, different from the one he had in the other room. "On the contrary, I have PLENTY! Going away for a LONG time Leo."

"Not falling for that." Leo said.

Arnold plugged the drive in and brought up a file on the monitor. It was a feed from the cameras in the building.

"Those cameras were always watching Leo. There you are walking in, then DIRECTLY supervising the processing of narcotics. This is just one of such videos. You really messed up and now I get to finally hang your ass!" Arnold Hastings gloated.

Christmas had truly come early again for Arnold Hastings.

A subtle signal was exchanged between client and attorney, who then spoke up. "My client may be inclined to negotiate."

"There is no way in Hell he's getting off. Best offer; protected custody in a facility out of state. For Life. Otherwise, right here and he gets the needle." Hastings snarled.

All three in room knew that wasn't the best deal, it would be the only deal ever offered. The gangster would have to give up everything he had to get it too. It now came down to two choices; did Leo Turney want to live for a while longer or die immediately?

Slowly Leo spoke. "I'll take a deal."

Rocket and Deejo entered separate cells nervously. They were hoping word hadn't hit yet of what they had done. Hope for naught. All eyes glared at them. However no one made a move toward them. They went untouched, but were fully aware that they had been labeled as rats. What didn't make sense was that it seemed that somebody had given an order that all obeyed. Finally one whisper was overheard by Rocket, an order from Leo Turney. The two were to be untouched until they went to the Federal Prison. The word had come down; they were to serve their full sentences without death or permanent harm. Until the final day. During their final night, they were to be murdered. Until then, they were to be used by any and all for whatever suited the strong.

In the chow hall Deejo asked. "Really? That's gonna happen?"

Rocket just nodded silently. He still didn't understand where everything went all wrong for them. From what he could understand, he and Deejo tried to make a deal with who they thought was a dirty cop to set up Leo and take over his territory and action. All that had happened was, they had hung themselves instead. That night he tried to do just that, but the other prisoners refused to let him finish. they let him strangle long enough to think he would succeed, then saved him from it. They laughed cruelly and reminded him he wasn't getting out things so easily or gently. After that was cellblock suicide watch,only instead of guards, it was the inmates. They weren't kind about it either. The two were looking at a very long and harsh Twenty-Five to Thirty. Even though the Judge stated 'Without Parole', it went without reaction. Many already knew they wouldn't survive Final Night.

Brett stood over his father's grave again and turned to see the Italian walking up.

"Buongiorno signore Venier." Brett greeted.

Marco nodded back. "Ea voi signore. You are learning Italiano?"

"Si Signore Venier. I have a new respect for culture. The language, the food, the people." Brett hedged then added. "One day I would like to visit there."

Marco nodded. "Perhaps after the college you might visit Roma. You would be able to stand in Saint Peter's and declare you have fulfilled you honor, no?"

"By God; I will, Signore. I will do exactly that. A man of word. A man of deed. A man of honor." Brett stated then crossed himself in the catholic fashion.

Marco asked. "Has the Kimbleson family revenge come to pass Il Patriarca?"

Brett had read enough Italian literature by now to know this was as official as it ever would be. Had Marco upheld the terms of the deal to Brett's satisfaction?

"Si. Yes. We are avenged and satisfied. Our lives can go forward now. Thank you Sir. Grazie di cuore, Signore Venier. I will continue to redeem my debt without reminder." Brett stated as he crossed himself again.

The Italian nodded then cross himself as well. "Sotto gli occhi di Dio per tutti e due. Both of us, under God's eyes, Signore Brett Kimbleson."

Brett nodded back. "Si, Signore Marco. I do have one question."

"Prego." Marco replied.

"I was offered a settlement through the Attorney General. I accepted. May I offer you some of it?" Brett asked.

Marco sighed. "Under other circumstances I would accept. However this time I cannot. Such money is watched signore and you would have to explain a large amount. That would put us both in a bad position and worse, undo all that has been done. I do strongly advise that you should entrust that to a reputable manager, use it to pay for your college. Your sister's as well. What is left; to your mother's comfort, as a good son should. Più piacevole? More agreeable?"

"Yes. Thank you for that advice. I'll do that. Ciao Signore." Brett said.

Marco placed his hand over his heart and bowed slightly. "Ciao, Don Kimbleson. Be sure to study for Signorina Westin's Biology quiz, on Friday."

Brett stood in shock as the Italian left. Apparently God wasn't the only eyes watching him. After a moment of thought, he decided he could be comfortable with that. Knowing the man was watching would remind him not to slack off.

"No. I'll stay on it. I made a deal. I have a debt. Not just him." Brett said then looked to the headstone of his father's grave. "I owe you too, Dad. A good man pays his debts, you were a good man. I will be too."

Brett kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the top of the stone then left. He had studying to do.

Dara had shed the disguise of Marco Venier and was now clad in purple and white riding gear, astride a road racer of similar color-scheme. Casually she rode the Green-way and pulled off at wide spot to drink from her bottle. Several couriers passing in both directions nodded to the blonde. An obvious sport rider looked over as he passed and gave a grin.

"Oh? Challenge; accepted." Dara said sweetly and kicked off to begin racing with a smile. "I'll take the right challenge. Everybody knows."

tbc...

People go about their lives in their own way. Some believe the world is against them. Some believe the world is their's. But when your world has been destroyed, what would you do? What would you pay, to get some part of it back. What would you pay, to balance those scales? At what price; love? Safety? Sanity? Justice? At what price; Revenge? *Warning- Does contain hyper-violence*

Tabitha Darby sat with tears streaming down her face. Her computer had started pinging for her KnowMe page account. The latest social media platform was geared for teens. Being fifteen, Tabitha had an account. Her Bulletin Board had the usual postings; favorite songs, pictures of herself and with friends doing the expected activities. She also had snippets of improvised poems and musings. Typical teen cyber-litter.

For the past three hours though, instead of the usual chatter, she had been getting messages. People were trying to post on her Bulletin Board. The problem was what they were trying to post. None of it was either flattering or kind. The first post took her by surprise. A video clip. It was of her and a boy. His face was concealed due to the camera angle, over his shoulder, but her own was undeniable. What was happening was also undeniable. Sex. The thing that made it odd though, was her minimal response. Her eyes were closed and she wasn't making any sounds usually associated with sex. In fact, the only response from her couldn't be determined to be either arousal or discomfort. Another other oddity was seemly like three separate boys were trading off taking her. A hat worn backwards and faces turned away increased their identity concealment, but it was clear more than one male to be involved.

There were three serious problems with the video on her page. The first; she was under-age for such video to even exist. Secondly; she had been a virgin and hadn't wanted to have sex at all. Third, and lastly, she didn't remember any of it happening. Only having pain and deducing it had been from having it taken from her. Waking up and not being able to control herself brought on a panic. Even two hours later, when she was able to stumble into a hospital emergency room, the panic hadn't subsided. The inital assessment: rape. Two hours later it was official. Blood toxicology revealed GHB. Other news was both good and bad. The good; she was not ovulating. The bad; her rapist had an STD. Chlamydiae was the most common and easily treated of sexually transmitted diseases.

Because Tabitha was a minor and had been drugged for rape, a rush had been put on her kit. Unfortunately the results were negative. Her rapist's DNA profile was not in the system previously. Her mother had picked her up from the hospital and drove her to the police department. Now she sat home with bottle of antibiotic tablets, card for a rape counselor and a constant stream of messages and attempted postings on her page. She was being called a slut and a whore. She had been able to remove the video from her own page, but to her horror, discovered it had been posted on several other pages. Pages she had no control over. People she went to school with, but weren't friends and therefore no sympathy.

"What do I do?" Tabitha sobbed.

Abby, her mother, snatched up the phone beside her and called the police. It was Two in the morning when the doorbell rang and a detective called to announce himself.

"Myself and the A.D.A. Aguillar visited each person that had the video of your daughter on their page. They all knew she was under-age as she attends the same school and did not report it to us; they've been charged with child-pornography along with harassment. We'll get an injunction for the web-service, but it'll have to be in the morning. The problem is, the account that posted the video was created just before the posting and used an anonymous email service. It'll take time, but it is possible that we may not be able to find them using the hosting companies. Even if they are U.S. based. I'm sorry; it's all we have for now." Detective Ray Vaughan said sadly.

Across the room, the computer continued to ping incoming messages. Hector Aguillar could see the animosity building in the mother and look of hopelessness in the girl.

"You aren't going to like this, but I have to say it. Tabitha; please shut down your social media accounts. All of them. Get a new email address and set the spam filters to divert all but your contacts to the trash folder. Have only people you trust as contacts. Please don't think I'm uncaring. I do care. I will do everything I can. I'll go for all the law can give. I won't lie though, for you it may never seem to be enough." Hector told them sadly.

Tabitha sobbed. "Nothing? Nothing's going to happen?"

Hector knelt in front of her, held her hands gently. "Please. We will do all we can. I want to help you. I WILL help you. All I can. My cousin was attacked. She was younger than you. She survived. Became stronger. You can too. You have to fight it though. Don't let them win."

"How?" Tabitha sniffed.

Ray leaned forward. "You were given a card for a counselor?"

Abby nodded. "Claire Beaumont."

Hector patted Tabitha's hands. "I've met her. Claire's a very nice person. You'd think with a last name like Beaumont she'd be from the deep South, but actually she's from Rhode Island. She also understands you. Please call her. Claire can help you."

The next morning, Tabitha sat in a comfortable chair looking forlorn and suffering lack of sleep.

"Hector and Ray said I'd understand you. They weren't lying to you. I do understand you." Claire said softly. "I was raped once."

Tabitha looked up sadly. "You?"

"Yes. I was. In high school. Senior year, Homecoming night. A guy in the 'It Crowd' had a party after the dance. His family had money, of course, so he had a party place. He could also get alcohol. Lots of it. Simple story for me. He got me drunk and took me on the pool table. In front of everybody. If they hadn't kept forcing alcohol into me, they'd have actually gotten away with it. In fact, they almost killed me with alcohol poisoning. That was a mixed blessing. Because of that, an ambulance was called for me. He was able to plea-bargain and not go to jail at all. Pretty much a week later, nobody cared." Claire recounted.

"What did you do?" Tabitha asked.

Claire sighed. "Moved away to college, found a nice lady to talk about it with. Moved on. For a two years I pieced my life back together."

Tabitha looked at her. "Two years?"

"During my Junior year I got the shock of a lifetime. My rapist transferred in." Claire said flatly.

Tabitha clapped her hands over her mouth in shock. "No!"

"He did. Didn't take long to find out why. He'd gotten nailed for doing that at Ohio State. His grandfather shelled out a bucket of money to sweep it under the rug, but couldn't keep him there. His grades were acceptable and they never asked around so he got in. The only ones that could find out the real truth was a fraternity, but all they did was black-ball him and forbid him from coming to the house. Brotherhood thing; warning people about him was viewed as betraying the fraternity." Claire explained.

Tabitha looked defeated. "So nobody did anything."

Claire shook her head. "Not true. I did. I was in a sorority. One thing sororities have no problem sharing, are date-rape warnings. If you can prove it, they don't blow it off. I could, and did. Within an hour all sorority house had him on their list. Sororities have lists of guys to stay away from, most with pictures. He went to the top of those lists that night."

"That's good!" Tabitha said, hopeful again. "People knew, right?"

Claire sighed. "The sororities' girls knew. They didn't have to share."

Tabitha gave her a look of not comprehending that. In truth, she didn't.

"Sorority Black-listed boys don't get told why. Girls not in the sorority, if they find out a listing, rarely are told why. Most just assume cheating or something similar. Date-rape is still difficult to understand and not many girls think it could happen to them. Sororities don't share information like that with Fraternities unless there is some kind of official relationship. Nobody wants to give up inner-workings and secrets. Including secrets used to protect themselves or would destroy them. The one thing no sorority or fraternity wants is something that would revoke its charter. They will defend against that unless they can't stop it or find out it already happened. Then they do all they can to deal with it quietly or conceal it until any that could or would be affected are gone." Claire stated.

"Wasn't there anything that could be done? He could just go after other girls?" Tabitha asked.

Claire shrugged. "Some of the fraternities take warnings they find out about seriously. A few don't. It mostly depends on the chapter leadership. I couldn't just go to the campus police, he hadn't done anything to me there. What you know and what you can prove aren't always the same. People can change for the better. In many cases, unless they prove they haven't, you have to leave them alone. Criminals have rights. Unfortunately they know this and can often exploit those rights to continue on."

Claire knew that look of crushed in Tabitha's eyes and said. "I was lucky in choosing the college I did. They have a very active anti-rape group there. Women and very sympathetic men, taking courses for criminology and law, help. You don't find them, they find you. I was invited to tell them my story. I don't know what all they did, or how, but they were able to catch him two months later. He had joined a Frat that didn't pay attention to warnings or didn't know. They had regular parties and he was caught trying to rape a girl that was under-age and drugged. He had learned a new trick since me, sedatives. Once again, his family tried to cover up. This time they failed. He was convicted, as an adult this time, and went to prison. He wasn't well received, I heard."

Tabitha seemed glad. "It's good you got help. He didn't get away with it."

"And now I try to help others that it happens to. Like you." Claire reminded.

Tabitha told Claire her story. All she could remember and what she had learned since. Several times she broke down but managed to go on. When she finished, Claire didn't lie. She told her that hard days were ahead. Nights too. People she didn't know were going to treat her badly. Some would even blame her, saying that it was all her own fault.

That next day, Claire's words were prophetic. Obscenities were scrawled upon her locker, condoms had been stuffed inside. They weren't in their wrappers. Various people passed her in the halls muttering things just loud enough to be heard by her. Looks of contempt, disgust and sneers were everywhere she turned. Even the teachers seemed to want nothing to do with her, skipping her name during roll-call. In the afternoon she hid herself in a bathroom stall and was trying to gather some kind of composure. A few moments later it all came crashing down. Some girls had entered and began to gossip.

"Did you see that slut walking around?"

"Yeah. Can't believe she'd bother to come here after broadcasting what a whore she is. I mean, really! Plastering a fuck-video all over the place like that? Is she advertising or what?"

"Seriously! My boyfriend said that she had to be pulling trains to be so blah about it with the way the guy was going at her."

"She has to be so slack, a bat fits!" A girl spat in disgust.

Tabitha had both her hands over her mouth to hold in her sobs, how could they be saying all that about her? Her breaths from holding everything in were now coming fast and shallow. It started getting dim as the girls voices faded. The walls looked blurry and everything went black.

"Damn. Whoever it was, really did a number on her." An adult voice said.

Tabitha felt cold. She also felt wet. Her face felt tight and sore, as did her breasts, especially her nipples.

"She's coming around. Can you hear me?" A female adult voice asked.

Tabitha still felt light-headed. "What happened?"

That's when she understood she was naked and had some kind of liquid all over her. Her face felt tight and sore, as did her breasts, especially her nipples. That wasn't all. There was writing all over her body. Ink from markers. It took a minute for her vision to clear enough to see what was written and immediately fainted again. The nicest thing written on her was that she was a slut. When she woke up again, it was in her own bed. Her mother yelling and cursing at someone.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Darby; we just don't know who did it." A male voice said.

Abby screamed. "MY DAUGHTER WAS DRUGGED, RAPED AND INFECTED. ALL THAT BEING BAD ENOUGH, BUT THEN THEY POSTED IT ALL OVER SOCIAL MEDIA! NOBODY KNOWS WHO DID IT? MY ASS, MISTER FALLON! YOUR ENTIRE SCHOOL IS HIDING IT! PROTECTING THOSE ANIMALS THAT RAPED MY DAUGHTER! SHE WAS A VIRGIN, YOU INCOMPETENT SON-OF-A-BITCH! HOW DARE ANYBODY DO THIS TO HER AFTER THAT? I WANT THEM FOUND!"

"And just HOW do you suggest I do THAT, MRS. DARBY?" The Principal demanded hotly.

The voice that answered was absolutely cold. "I don't care. Find them. Or you will be regarded as the same as them. My lawyer is already on his way."

"Now see here!" Mr. Fallon protested.

"I DID SEE! EVERYBODY HAS SEEN! THEY SEEM TO THINK IT'S THE BEST THNG TO EVER HAPPEN AND WANT TO KEEP IT GOING! I WANT IT STOPPED! MY DAUGHTER DEFINITELY WANTS IT STOPPED! MAKE IT STOP!" Abby screamed then a slap was heard.

A moment later the front door slammed. Tabitha slowly got out of bed and cautiously went to the living room. Abby sat on the couch with her head in her hands sobbing now.

"Mom?" Tabitha asked hesitantly.

Abby looked up with tears streaming down her face then rushed over and grabbed her duaghter into a tight hug. "I'm sorry, baby! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have let you go this morning!"

The doorbell interrupted them. Abby sat Tabitha down the answered the door. It was her lawyer.

"Oh Mick! Thank you for coming!" Abby gushed.

The attorney nodded. "Calm down Abby. Start from the beginning."

Abby told him all she knew and when she was done he shook his head sadly.

"I'm so sorry. This is beyond horrible." Mick look over to Tabitha. "I'm sorry Tabitha. I think you need to go see your counselor. Tonight if you can. Do you have her emergency number?"

Tabitha nodded. "I think it's on her card Mister Mackensie."

"Just Mick sweetie. Go get the card, we'll call together, ok?" Mick said kindly.

Tabitha liked Glen Mackensie, Mick. An kindly, older man with grey hair and soft blue eyes, he always made kids feel like they should call him Grandpa. He had handled her mother's divorce and custody case. He, however, was more vicious than a pitbull when it came to kids. He checked both sides out, to be sure a child was going to be in the best care, no matter which parent that was. He absolutely forbid the use of children as weapons between bitter parents.

An hour and a half later Claire arrived and was informed of the latest events. She took Tabitha to her bedroom and sat down on the floor with her.

"I thought I'd be ok enough. Why Claire? I don't understand. Why'd they do all that to me? Why won't anybody tell who those guys were?" Tabitha sobbed.

Claire sighed. "So many don't care about victims, until they become one themself. I wish it were different, but it isn't."

Tabitha whimpered. "It's not right! I want it to go away. I want my life back. I want....I want...I want them to feel like this!"

Claire went still and had a far-away look in her eyes. "You want that? Do you really want that? Revenge?"

Tabitha nodded as she sobbed.

Slowly Claire reached into her blouse and pulled a card from her bra. A card she had been carrying everyday for a year and half. A card she had hoped never to give.

"Take this." Claire said holding the card out slowly. "If you use this; there's no going back. Flame will show you the way."

Claire got up numbly and went out. Beside her car, she threw up.

Tabitha looked at the card in her hand. How could a dog grooming service help her? She was still trying to understand when her mother and Mick came in.

"Claire said; flame will show me the way. I don't understand." Tabitha said and saw all the color drain from Mick's face.

Abby saw the look of abject horror on Mick's face. "Mick? What is it? What's going on?"

"Abby. Tabitha. As your attorney, I must advise you, I can not know anything. I can not be involved with any persons connected to a card such as that. That is a Black Card. A card disguised as an individual or business that is innocent, but in reality is not. To know the real nature of such a card, you must gently heat it with a flame. Whomever that card is for, is not in any way a legal avenue. I will do all I can, within the law. I cannot help you if you pursue means using that card." Mick said gravely. "This is where I leave you to decide. I'll be in my office in the morning with a standing appointment for you, if you do not use that card. Goodnight."

Abby led Tabitha into their living room and retrieved a box of matches. Carefully she waved the flame under the back of the card and within seconds, the blue and white card turned black with red print. An Email address was all that showed. Abby took it over to the computer and composed an email using an anonymous service then sent it. They woke up to find a reply. Simple instructions. They would be met at noon in a small park on the Eastern side of town.

Consulting a note-page they had copied instructions to, Mother and daughter walked through the small park. They stopped when they saw a hopscotch court drawn in various colored chalks. That was where they stopped. For several minutes they waited. Tabitha felt thirsty and went over to the water fountain. After drinking, she turned and saw a young woman stepping up to do the same. Tabitha moved aside for her. The young woman with long blonde hair, wearing a white, puffed, short-sleeved blouse and grey pleated skirt casually drank from the fountain then looked up.

"Spasibo, Tabitha." The young woman said in strong Russian accent but soft voice.

"You're wel.." Tabitha began to reply then stood there gaping.

Abby came over quickly, ready to protect her daughter from the stranger. "Who are you? How do you know her name?"

"She is Tabitha. You are Abigail. I am Katya Afonina. I meet you. Privet." Katya answered.

Abby looked her over and was immediately confused. The young woman before them looked at most nineteen or twenty years old. Wearing a white puffed short-sleeved blouse, grey pleated skirt to just above mid-thigh, black opaque thigh-high stockings and black low-heel pumps; she looked more like a late graduating private high school student than of a dangerous type. That and the fact they were meeting during broad daylight in a park next to a hopscotch court. Nothing seemed to match up to Mick's attitude on the matter.

Katya looked to Tabitha. "You were atakovan. Boys, they hurt you, da?"

"Yes. I was drugged and raped." Tabitha nodded sadly.

Katya sighed. "Ya ponimayu. Understand. Is very sad. It happen much, this thing."

"We were told you could help us, can you?" Abby asked, unsure why they were meeting this girl.

Katya locked eyes with Abby. "I can. Help is not free. There is cost. Always; there is cost. You can not help her. Tabitha must do; herself."

Abby felt a cold chill of dread climb her spine from the ominous words. Deep in Katya's eyes was a far-away look.

"Please, don't use my baby?" Abby pleaded.

Katya pointed past them. Next to a bench stood a pink and mint colored hybrid-racing bicycle and backpack. Tabitha went over and opened it. Inside she found two sets of riding clothes, matching the bike, along with a helmet. In the front pocket was a cellphone, pre-paid card and small envelope.

"A courier? You want me to be your courier?" Tabitha asked in puzzlement.

Katya shook her head. "You work for you. Money go to card. First of month, you send money. You do not break law. This you must do. Alone. Thirty-thousand. You will decide how long this take. You understand this?"

Tabitha nodded. "Yes."

"What is want Tabitha? Caught? Punish?" Katya's demeanor changed, to cold and harsh. "Revenge? Prinyat' resheniye. Choose."

Tabitha said the words that couldn't be taken back. "Revenge, Katya. I want; revenge!"

The look of absolute hatred was undisguised as Katya snarled and turned to go. "Da, Tabitha, you WILL have!"

Tabitha felt relief finally as Abby hugged her from behind. "Thank you, Katya."

Dara grabbed the bag she had concealed when she was out of sight. As she walked, it only took seconds to change her appearance. A short black haired wig covered her blonde hair. The blouse and skirt came off to reveal a deep purple Bodycon dress that covered her stockings' tops and the black low heels were switched to high purple stiletto pumps. Unless someone had been watching intently; a student girl disappeared, replaced by chic socialite or possible upscale escort.

An hour later, Daryl opened the bicycle shop. Between repairs on two bikes, he did another search with his laptop. The District Attorney had more information, but he couldn't get to it without his system at home. After closing that evening, he did exactly that. Leonard Cohen played in the background as Daryl searched through the District Attorney's system.

"Court Orders pending. That'll take time, even though they're classed High Priority due to her being a minor. Sorry Tabitha, those hosts are foreign, disguised as U.S.-based. Not even Interpol can help. Just me." Daryl sighed then began bringing the other parts of his system up to start hacking those hosts.

It took all night, but he came up with IP addresses that led to actual names. The email had been set up by a boy named Tobin Rosenthal. The social media account was a boy named Alvin Kuulidge. Searching their pages tied them to a third boy; John Delaney. Photos confirmed statements of unity. All that they did, was done together at all times. The three shared in all things important. Especially anything deemed fun.

"Musketeers, amigos or stooges? To be, or not to be? That; is the question." Daryl surmised as he got up from the chair.

A four hour nap and Daryl left. The green and black racing bike with matching apparel and helmet made him blend in with all the other serious riders in the early afternoon. At a glance, it merely looked like a typical rider. Cyclometer on one side of the handlebars, phone on the other. It was wrong though. The phone was actually a monitor for cameras mounted inside the head light and tail light. The cameras had a five power zoom for the back camera, but the forward camera had a nine power zoom.

Daryl stopped a block away from the school and waited. To anyone passing by; he appeared to be just another courier, watching video on his phone while waiting for his next run. The forward-looking camera was zoomed to the main entrance. It wasn't long, classes let out and students began streaming from the building. Daryl slightly turned the handlebars to focus on the doors. Fifteen minutes of patience were rewarded. Tobin, Alvin and John strolled out.

"And there you are." Daryl muttered and pushed off to follow.

Alvin asked. "Any word on latest toy?"

"Nope. Nobody's seen her since the day before yesterday." John replied. "Guess Loni and Chanelle's fun upset her."

Tobin chuckled. "Aww, some markers, piss and binder clips on her tits made her run off and hide."

"Well Loni did say that if they had a coke bottle they'd have checked how loose she was." John joked.

Alvin smirked. "Still don't know it was us?"

"They still don't know we did them too, over summer." Tobin laughed.

John shook his head, smiling. "Dumb sluts. Acting like they're any better than her. Maybe we'll go at them again, make a new video and post it."

"Can't be this weekend. Sheryl's lined up." Tobin informed them.

Alvin spit to the side. "Sheryl. Which one?"

John shook his head. "Dude! SHERYL. Pentecost Sheryl!"

"Vice-Principal's stuck-up little bitch." Alvin remarked. "About damn time. I want the pop."

Tobin grabbed Alvin's shoulder. "You got the pop last time, MY turn!"

"Yeah! And I get her ass first. You got it the time before. You get second on both this time!" John snarled.

Alvin glared back then stated. "Mouth. I'm going to make her choke a load."

"Fine." John remarked, followed by Tobin. "Whatever."

John grinned. "Let's not give her so much. She'll be more active, instead of just laying there."

"I'm taking the best trophy of all. To hell with her panties, I'm taking that 'Purity ring'!" Tobin smiled malevolently.

Alvin smirked. "Bitch won't be able to wear it after we get done anyway. Like it. Need to find two more after her."

John nodded as he laughed. "Yeah! Better yet, we get three each. We have two more years to do that, unless we want to stick around an extra year. Then we can all go to the same college and find new prizes."

"Cool!" Tobin laughed as well.

The three stopped at a take-out stand, buying cold drinks then sat on the edge of a planter to go over their plans for the up-coming Saturday night.

Daryl had stopped a hundred feet back and used a small hyper-mic to listen in. It wasn't easy, passing traffic drowned out their voices, but he was getting most of the conversation.

"These guys plan like a 3 year old with Attention Deficit and a bucket of legos." Daryl remarked.

The problem was that the three couldn't seem to decide exactly how they were going to actually drug their future victim. It seemed she had the vexing habit of only drinking water from a bottle that she insisted on opening whenever she was away from home. Daryl admired her cautious nature, it was a good counter-measure to spiked drinks. She also refused to consume jello that was not individually packaged and opened herself, which ruled out being slipped any made with alcohol as well.

"Somebody took that girl to school. Too bad more aren't that slick." Daryl muttered to himself then shut up completely to listen close.

John had been wrapping a spare straw around his fingers repeatedly throughout the conversation then suddenly blurted out. "Ice cream!"

"Don't want any." Alvin replied.

John shook his head. "No stupid, that's our answer. She likes ice cream. Even if it's wrapped, we can still do it. Won't have to though, we just crack open a container in front of her, she won't think about it since we'll give it to everybody."

From there they began to seriously plan. Done they way they wanted, it would be flawless. A second of distraction would be all they needed to pour the liquid drug onto the ice cream then conceal it under chocolate topping syrup. Within fifteen minutes she would start showing affects, another ten and she would be doomed. Raped, recorded and on display for all to see; just like Tabitha.

Daryl had no use for religion of any kind, in fact deemed them all to be of no worth, but it was no excuse to turn his back and allow the unwitting girl to be humiliated. No, he would try to save her from them. Partially. It was risky, but needed. His plan formed faster than theirs, the trick would be going unnoticed at the party. Selena would be attending in place of Katya or Dara. Daryl took out his phone and dialed. That conversation didn't last longer than two minutes.

Saturday night a girl with mousy brown-ish hair quietly slipped in through a side door of Alvin's house. She barely had a trace of make-up on and wore a knee-length faded denim skirt and plain looking polo shirt that looked half a size big. Slowly she wandered the edges of the rooms, the soles of her well-worn round-toe flats barely making a sound on the floors. Her below the shoulder-length hair didn't cover her face much, but didn't show it fully either. Anyone that bothered to look longer than a moment, ignored the cheap plastic stud earrings as well. Almost all of the other girls there wore a heel of some type and either a short dress or skirt.

Selena stayed moving, lingering in a spot would eventually cause someone to approach. Almost an hour later, a call went out about ice cream. Many moved to another room. Selena followed and brought up her phone as she took position to watch from the side. Her view was unobstructed and she zoomed in on the three boys' hands. A line moved past them after cracking open the two tubs of ice cream. In fact it looked like they had to force them open due to being new. Most of the line comprised girls, ice cream was an easily forgiven diet cheat.

Selena had spotted a group of four girls that fit the criteria of the night's target shortly after entering. It took only seconds to determine which one she was. One girl wore low heels, another dared to wear full make-up and a third had been gifted with a flattering bust size that she could only downplay if she wore a steel chest plate to hold them down. All three also wore their hair down and styled with waves or loose curls. The fourth girl stood out among them. Even trying to mute herself and look plain, she failed. Her waist length hair hung down in a single braid which did nothing but bring more attention to her face. Clean and fresh looking without a single blemish; her high cheekbones, slim nose and medium-full lips enhanced her soft jawline and widow's peak hairline.

A portrait perfect face diverted attention away from the figure concealed under a slightly loose fitted blouse buttoned to the neck and fine hands extending delicately from the cuffs of long sleeves. The waist of her skirt cinched lightly by a brown braided belt accented the single color denim skirt that skimmed the tops of her feet snugged into semi-round toe flats. Try as hard she might for the sake of a religion that would never help her, the girl could never be anything but the natural beauty she had been born to. Of course such a girl would be viewed as the ultimate prize.

As the girl moved up in the serving line, Selena zoomed closer on the second boy's hands. Subtly he pulled a vial from his pocket and held it in his hand and picked up a spoon. Thumbing the cap off as he took the bowl Alvin moved to stick the spoon into the bowl.

John held up two bottles of syrup, smiling. "Strawberry or chocolate, Sheryl?"

"Chocolate, please? Thank you." Sheryl replied politely.

All eyes had been on the bottles, not the bowl of ice cream. As the spoon was set into the front the vial was emptied onto both scoops. In truth, only two people had been watching Alvin's hands. Alvin and the girl unnoticed off to the side of the room, Selena. Immediately after that happened she zoomed back to capture the bowl's journey. John quickly poured the syrup from front to back, concealing the liquid as he took the bowl then handed it to Sheryl. There was no mistaking the actions and intended victim. The cold of the ice cream would semi-harden the syrup into a shell to add crunch. It would also confine the drug to remain on top of the scoop and be ingested in full.

Selena stopped recording after Sheryl took her first spoon of the laced dessert and made her own move. Deliberately she moved forward and slipped a gel-like capsule into each of the boys' drinks. The capsules dissolved immediately in the liquid, releasing a carefully measured dose of Lorazepam. Mainly sold under the name Ativan, the drug is a benzodiazepine and much more effective than the GHB drug they used on the girls. The dose they gave her would take twenty minutes. The dose Selena gave them would take effect in thirty, however it would hit them harder. Sheryl would be semi-lucid. She would be dimly aware of events as they happened, but nothing would be clear afterward. For them, they would have little to no comprehension of events and no recollection at all afterward.

Selena kept herself from smiling as they drank from their cups. After the last bowl was served, John directed Sheryl over to a chair beside the stairs then slightly moved his own chair forward and closer. Selena had to move to maintain her visual as she recorded him. She wondered why he had done that, as Sheryl's chair had its back directly against the wall. Unfortunately something was wrong. Either the dosage was more than expected or the girl had a very low tolerance and began to show affects just after another five minutes. When her head began to tilt down John glanced around then pushed against the wall and a small panel spun. Sheryl disappeared, chair and all without being seen by anyone but John and Selena.

Immediately John stood up and moved away. He rejoined Alvin and Tobin and pulled a small bottle from his pocket to pour into their cups. The three were all smiles as they drank the remains of the cups. Another shot was drank then they began to quietly usher people out. It took fifteen minutes for that to be done. Selena hid herself in the kitchen inside a cabinet. She knew the bathrooms would be checked for any stragglers as would the bedrooms and probably closets. Someone walked loudly through the kitchen and locked the exterior door then left. When she heard the group moving up the stairs, she eased out of the hiding place.

"Gonna has some funnnn." John said with a slur as he carried Sheryl by the arms up the stairs.

Tobin held her legs to help carry her, he stumbled on a tread and laughed as did John and Alvin. The two even dropped her at the top of the stairs and had to pick her up again. The girl had no resistance to the drug, but fortunately the boys' alcohol had accelerated their own doses. Apparently they had drank more after Selena hid as they were having serious problems executing their plans. Selena quietly moved up the stairs, her phone in hand and recording. At the top she followed their voices and noise down the hall to stop in front of a door, slightly ajar and looked inside.

"WOOO! FUN TIME!" Tobin laughed as he pulled off his shirt.

John and Alvin dragged the unconscious Sheryl onto the bed. Alvin broke the zipper of her skirt and yanked it down then tossed out of the way. John ripped open her blouse.

John swore. "What the shit? What's all this crap?"

"What?" Tobin drawled as he fumbled to turn on the camera.

"Lez geddit offa th' bish." Alvin slurred.

Instead of bare breasts or a simple bra containing them, she was wearing a nylon T-shirt garment over a slip. Beneath those she wore a rather old fashioned full coverage type bra. One might even jokingly refer to such as Industrial Strength. Her underwear were of a similar fashion. More like a pair of feminine jockey shorts and seemingly just as sturdy. It took John and Alvin cooperating to rip them from her. Due to the drug they had been given and the alcohol accelerating it, both fell to the floor. Unfortunately John had smacked his head against a dresser, dazing him.

Tobin adjusted the ball cap to sit backwards on his head then fumbled twice to grab her hand and pull the ring from it.

"Pur-ee. Not-nee-more!" Tobin called out, swaying, as he held up the ring so it would be seen by the camera.

Alvin slumped over. "hu-reE UP! uhm NEX!"

Tobin was now confused. The girl was on her back and naked enough, but he was having problems he didn't understand. Why wasn't he erect and why did things seem to be dimming and blurring? The answers never came. He fell forward and rolled off of her to sprawl alongside.

Selena slowly entered and looked to the side. She spotted the camera hooked up to a laptop. She turned it off then looked in the library. They were so brazen they had even titled the folder of videos: Sport Fucks. She checked to see if the password was active, finding that it was and turned it off. Now anyone could turn it on and access everything. While the laptop powered down, Selena used the boys shoelaces to secure them and went back downstairs. She reclaimed the backpack hidden under shrub by the back corner of the house.

Back inside, Selena stripped bare, including the wig and pulled clothing from the backpack. A black silk T-shirt, white fitted leather pants and jacket with gold spikes. Knee high black boots were pulled on, over the pant-legs and another wig of long black hair covered blonde then the colored contact lenses removed. Brown eyes were now bright blue. A bit of foundation and powder completed the look. He was beautiful. Stunning and frightening at the same time, just as the black angelic wings with gold trail-feathers painted ornately on the back of the jacket. He pulled the phone from the jacket pocket and hit a speed-dial entry.

"I'm ready. Back into the driveway and stop at the corner of the house. I'll be right out so open the back door." He instructed.

The beautifully foreboding figure grabbed Tobin under his arms and dragged him down the stairs then brought down the other two. A vehicle was heard stopping outside in the drive so he propped the door open and began carrying them out. After depositing them in the back of a van the door closed and he went back in. Sheryl was gathered up then set back down. A glimmer of something shiny had caught his attention. He bent down and picked it up. A ring. It wasn't particularly remarkable, simple sterling silver with a small clear gem. Likely a cubic zirconia. Commonly worn by virgin girls to formally declare their chastity, a Purity Ring.

"Fool girl. Waving virtue like a flag is nothing more than teasing bulls with capes. Eventually, the bull will run the matador down. His only hope is a sword to thrust in when the bull tires enough for the strike. The best way to guard a treasure, is for nobody to know you have one. Your vanity is your downfall. Worthy or not, I saved you from them, but I will not spare you from shame entirely." He growled gently, pocketed the ring and gathered her up again.

The van's driver turned and did a double-take then asked. "Where to, Gaderel?"

"First United Pentecostal Church, on Third avenue. After dropping the girl off there, take me to Infernus for them." Gaderel replied softly.

The driver said nothing more, just drove. Ten minutes later he slowly turned into a parking lot behind a large church. So large, it was almost shamefully gaudy.

"Their attempts to be plain, but worshipful people become nothing more than obnoxious pride. Sinful vanity. Nothing more." Gaderel remarked softly in disgust.

The driver sighed as he stopped at the back door and turned off his lights. "You'd know more about that then me."

Gaderel got out, leaving the door open. "Of course I would."

The driver kept watch as Gaderel went to the door and stood in front of it for a minute then went inside. The lock on the door had been standard and gave no real trouble to pick. Inside, the alarm system was so simple, it actually had an on/off switch for it. Locks to keep honest thieves out, an alarm system that would discourage those already fearful. Neither were surprising. Gaderel returned to the van and retrieved the girl. She was taken inside and left in a lurid sprawl across the altar.

"To be found thus; your virtue will always be in question. Know it or not, that goes to your favor. One who truly cares for you, will not care about that. When you sleep again; will you still be that vain fool or will you have been shamefully educated?" Gaderel turned and left her, alarm back on and door locked.

Another thirty minutes of driving found the van stopping at the end of an alley between two very old buildings. The driver backed in and stopped. Gaderel got out as the back door lifted up. The foreboding figure knocked on a heavy door three times slowly and stepped back. The door opened and a robed figure blocked passage then backed up.

"Gaderel! One moment please, I will fetch the Master." A man's voice said then turned away.

Gaderel spoke with authority. "Hold. I bring three. Have them brought in while you fetch Dante."

"At once Milord." The figure nodded his hooded head then went inside.

Moments later six men came out, wearing hooded robes and took the three from the van then carried them inside. A man in red, satin robes filled the doorway and nodded.

"Gaderel, Milord, welcome; Fallen One. I humbly invite you in. Do you wish to descend?" The man asked.

Gaderel nodded. "Yes Dante. I will Watch. Take these condemned to Cocytus. Let the Filthy Legion have them."

"The Legion has assembled, as you wished." Dante informed him then turned to the six men carrying the unconscious boys. "Descend to the Ninth Circle, where all traitors belong."

The Ninth Circle of Hell; Cocytus. Sinners guilty of treachery received their punishment there. Rather interesting, they were actually guilty of treachery against their guests. Such offense would place them in the Third Round of the Circle called Ptolomaea. In the story, sinners lie supine(facing up) in the ice while their tears freeze in their eye sockets, sealing them with small visors of crystal so that even the comfort of weeping is denied.

The sound of a large group walking down the stairs could be heard ahead of them as they too descended nine flights then turned through an open doorway. The group of men were encircling a table in the center of the room. The three rapists were laid across it on their backs, shoulders over the edge and arms tucked underneath. Straps were buckled to their foreheads then ropes were used to hold heads back, wrists to cleats under the table, tension to thighs to hold in place and behind knees to lift and spread their legs. Jaws were held open as metal bits were put in place to prevent biting down.

"A Fallen has brought sinners to us for punishment here in the Ninth Circle. Milord Gaderel, what traitors are these?" Dante asked.

Gaderel's voice was almost musical though a growl. "Ptolomaea. They betray guests. Girls are lured to their parties then drugged. Unwitting and unwilling they are raped. Virginity stolen. They make record of this and put on display, betraying them all over again. Such is punishable enough, but there is more. They are filthy and inflict that filth upon their victims. Legion, defile them until spent. Dante, this is to be known."

Dante nodded to another man next to the doorway then looked up. An iron chandelier holding lit candles also held a video camera that indicated activation with a small red light above the lens. Gaderel then went to each rapist and injected an anti-toxin to counter the drug. Soon they stirred, just as six robed men stepped up to them. They parted their robes, revealing erections and rammed them in deep, orally and anally. Struggles were futile and protests were silenced by gagging. Shortly thereafter, Poppers were being used on them. Throat and anal muscles became more pliant. Due to prostate stimulation they were made to ejaculate. Unfortunately, the Legion were uncaring and continued to savage them in turns for hours more. The Filthy Legion were sixty in number, they would last for some time before becoming bored.

Twenty-nine hours later the last grunts of exertion were heard. The mouth-bits were removed and pillow-cases covered the boys' heads. They were released from the table, but re-tied wrist and ankle. Even if they could get free, they hadn't the strength or muscle control to go anywhere. Plus the fact that they were still naked would prevent all but the desperate from fleeing.

Gaderel hadn't been idly standing around. He'd been busy going through the laptop, comparing raw video to edited and social media logins. The phone's video was added. After the boys were readied for transport again, Dante handed over a flashdrive. The video was uploaded to the laptop and the flashdrive handed back. Minutes later they were all back in the van. A stop in a parking lot next to a book store providing free WiFi offered the opportunity to access the internet. Gaderel took advantage of it, uploading an extended video. The boys making their plan, drugging the girl at the party, the attempted rape of her and their own rapes. The three were left a block from a precinct, easy to find. Gaderel departed the van soon after and was able to change into riding gear. A prepositioned bike was used for transportation and away Daryl rode. He dropped off the laptop at the District Attorney's office in a large manila envelope addressed to A.D.A. Hector Aguillar and marked Electronics. A note inside stated the laptop was evidence in an open investigation. Daryl had carefully wiped the computer clean of all fingerprints but replaced all three boys' prints on it randomly.

Hector looked up when the secretary held it out. "What's this?"

"A courier just dropped it off. A Deputy opened it for your safety, it's a laptop. There's a note that says it's evidence in an open investigation." The secretary said.

Hector sighed. "Let me guess; phony company?"

"No. Real one, ID-card and all, but phony guy. Took ten minutes to find that out though, so he got away." She replied.

Hector nodded. "Freelance info-broker. We'll never find him. Still though, we can use this."

Ten minutes later a very loud "HOLY SHIT!" was heard then a phone line lit up. Almost an hour later a Detective and six patrol officers arrived, along with a computer specialist from the crime-lab. The rest of the day was chaotic. Of course the three boys were identified immediately, three naked and obviously sexually assaulted males lying among the bushes in front of a donut shop didn't take long to notice. Even a watch-captain could find them. In fact, that was who did.

Late that night, Abby answered her door. A.D.A. Aguillar and Detective Vaughan stood there.

"What is it?" Abby asked.

Hector smiled slightly. "We got them."

Abby stepped aside. "Come in."

Tabitha peered out of her room. "Mom?"

"Tabi! Come here, they caught them!" Abby announced.

Tabitha was wearing shorts and a tank top, coming into the living room. "What?"

"We got them." Hector told her. "We know who they are and have them in custody now. We even have one of them's laptop with all the evidence on it."

"You...you arrested them? They're in jail now?" Tabitha asked fearfully.

Detective Vaughan nodded to her. "We did and they are. We'd have come sooner to tell you, but we spend almost all day at your school. You weren't the only one they did it to. You weren't the last they tried it with either. Do you know a girl named Sheryl Nabours. She's the Vice-Principal's daughter."

"Not really. I know who she is, but I'm not friends with her." Tabitha admitted. "She doesn't really hang around people not in her church. Why?"

Hector sighed. "Well it seems she did the other night. It didn't go well. I doubt she'll ever do it again."

Tabitha was horrified. "You mean they did it to her too?"

"They tried. For some reason, it didn't work they way they wanted. She blanked out at a party and woke up in a church, naked, on the altar. the minister and his wife found her when they went in to start their day and called an ambulance. She awoke just before it got there and she went hysterical." Detective Vaughan explained.

Abby looked confused. "I don't understand."

Ray Vaughan nodded. "It's pretty involved. Miss Nabours is highly religious, Pentecostal to be exact. Well she's one of those girls that are very out-spoken about retaining virginity until marriage. Pledges of Chastity, purity rings, so on. Well these guys set their sights on her. They found a way to drug her. They were going to rape her and video it, same as Tabitha, then post it all over social media. Conquer and degrade. They were doing it for the 'sport' of it. Disgusting really."

"But, they didn't, right?" Tabitha asked.

Hector shook his head. "No. They didn't. Things went very wrong for them. It seems they 'fell upon a sword'. Someone did to them, what they had been doing to others. The problem we have now is; with so many victims, who retaliated?"

Ray Vaughan looked at Abby. "Ma'am, I have to ask directly; Do you know anything about this?"

Abby shook her head. "No. We don't."

"Very well. Please understand, we had to ask. We have to be going now, but we'll be in contact about the trial. Tabitha may not have to testify, but the defense lawyers could call her to take the stand. Goodnight, ladies." Hector told them, then turned to go but stopped. "That's a nice bike. It's not for casual riding. Fitness either."

Tabitha spoke up. "It's mine. I just started working as a courier."

"Not easy to juggle with school." Ray remarked.

"Like I can ever go back there? After what they did to me?" Tabitha cried. "Mom can't afford to send me to a private school and we can't move! Maybe I can take an online course or something, but I can't go back there ever again!"

Abby pulled her daughter into a hug. "Are we DONE?"

The detective held up his hands. "We're done. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that I think education is valuable, please don't give up on it, Tabitha. Do what you can to finish. We'll go now. I'm sorry if what I said came out wrong. Goodnight."

Both men turned to go. Mother and daughter hugged for some time before going to bed.

Outside at the car, Hector turned to Ray. "What do you think?"

"They may have hired a professional. Or they may be part of a group of victims that did. Obviously the work of a pro. Neat, tidy and absolutely a turn-about. They only catch is that this level costs more than they can afford on their own. A group could afford it, but not them two on their own." Ray replied.

Hector sighed. "That's what I thought."

"This isn't street-level. A broker." Ray stated.

"There's what; twenty, maybe thirty in the city?" Hector mused.

Ray shook his head. "Try maybe ten or fifteen on this level. We won't catch them."

Tabitha checked the building numbers as she coasted to a stop and looked around. "2416, 2420. Where's 2418? It's not on this side or the other."

"Place you look for; is no real, Tabitha." A charming voice with a Russian accent said.

Tabitha turned quickly and saw the girl from before, dressed differently, right behind her. "Katya!"

"So they did not need you at trial, da?" Katya asked.

Tabitha shook her head. "No Katya. They all confessed. That and the video, they didn't need me. Mister Aguillar told me later that the defense lawyers didn't want to call any of the girls up."

"Da. Would make thing much worse if girls tell story, nyet? Is good for you, but bad too. You get no say." Katya remarked.

Tabitha looked down. "Yeah. Nobody knows how bad it was."

Katya shook her head. "Not true. Everybody know, Tabitha. Everybody know. Even if not want, they know."

"What about me? What do I do now?" Tabitha asked.

"You care for you. Do work. Do lessons if can. If you ask if hurt go away; nyet. Hurt always there Tabitha, but maybe not so much later. One day, maybe less hurt. True answer, I can not tell. I do not know. You will, one day." Katya said sadly.

Tabitha shrugged. "Wonder which'll come first; that or clearing my debt?"

Katya clicked her tongue. "Not say that, is bad manner, Tabitha. I do help, but nothing ever free. Even I pay thing. Is how work."

Tabitha's cellphone pinged.

"I say work and happen, da?" Katya smiled.

Tabitha giggled. "Yeah. I met some other girls. We're working together as a service. StreetSweets Couriers. Cute, huh?"

Katya nodded. "Da. Go ride, Tabitha. Have fun if can. You take, hope no need to give."

Tabitha looked and saw a business card. She understood what it was. A BlackCard, just as she had been given, to give for someone in need. She took it and slipped it inside her wallet. At Katya's nod, she pushed off to ride off. Katya watched her go then turned to walk the opposite direction. After several steps she darted behind a car and slipped to the driver's side and knocked.

"What gave me away?" Hector asked.

Katya replied. "I see you follow. Leave Tabitha be. I not tell again."

"I just have a question to ask." Hector said and got a nod. "Two of the girls the boys raped, after we told them it had been done to them as well, they confessed to attacking Tabitha in the bathroom at school. That night, one committed suicide. The other is in a clinic for depression. Do think she would take it well, if I informed her?"

"Not matter. She would not go back. Nobody care before, that not change. Leave her be. Go. Do not try find us again. Bad for you if try." Katya warned then walked away, disappearing into the sidewalk crowd.

At a nearby station; Katya walked in then disappeared. A young man in jeans and polo shirt came out. Nobody paid attention to him as he walked down the street.

"That's how it goes." Daryl sang to himself. "Everybody knows."