The Plan-B Bust: 1 / 5

An Altered Fates Story
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

The music in the bar was loud, and that’s why the three men were there: they didn’t want to be overheard. They didn’t count on those rare moments when the volume of the music and the conversations take a sudden drop. In that brief silence one of the three men shouted, “Fuck the rules! We have to break the rules on this one!”

Everyone in the bar turned and looked at him for a second, a second that was frozen in time. Then the loud music and shouted conversations picked up again. The noise washed over his bellowed indiscretion, and it was forgotten.

“Joseph, you have to be careful!” William cautioned.

“This isn’t working,” hollered the third man, Andy. “It’s impossible to talk here. Let’s go to my place. I’m 1000% sure that it isn’t bugged.” Why was Andy so sure? He was an expert in electronic surveillance. For Andy, sweeping for bugs was as natural as housekeeping.

Joseph hesitated. “Your place is too complicated,” he complained. What he really meant was that he didn’t want to deal with Andy’s wheelchair, Andy’s van, and Andy's handicap-accessible apartment. Andy understood and resented it, but he bit his tongue. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m tired of shouting myself hoarse and none of us hearing each other. I’m going. If you two want to come, you’re welcome.” He unlocked the wheels of his chair, dropped a twenty on the table, and gave a mock salute. He popped a wheelie, did a 180, and propelled himself out of the bar.

He had just lowered the ramp from his van when Joseph and William walked up. All three men looked like hell, and for good reason. None of them had eaten a decent meal or slept for more than a couple of hours in the past three days. Before either of his colleagues spoke, Andy preempted them, saying, “I need to eat some real food. I’ve got some steaks and salad fixings at home. AND, I’ve got plenty of booze.”

“Salad sounds good, after three days of fast food,” William said.

“I don’t understand why we have to eat that shit, every goddamn stakeout,” Joseph added. “It plugs me up.”

“Thanks for sharing that,” Andy commented drily. He rolled his chair onto his ramp and activated the motor to lift him inside. Before he shut the door and worked his way into the driver seat, he called, “See y’all there!”

 

---

 

It didn’t take long to cook the steaks, to throw together the salad, and to uncork two bottles of wine, and the three fell to. Normally William and Joseph wouldn’t touch a salad, but they all felt the need to change things up, and change them for the better. After the failed stakeout, none of them would be working tomorrow, so once the wine was gone, Andy set three glasses and a bottle of bourbon on the table. The hard alcohol had the paradoxical effect of sobering them up, and they began to talk through the recent failure.

“There’s only one explanation,” Joseph said. “And we all know it’s true: somebody’s dirty. Somebody’s tipping off Handsome Dan.” Andy and William nodded. “Somebody on the task force is in his pocket. They’re on the take. It’s the only explanation.”

“It’s likely there’s more than one mole,” Andy observed. “Plice is pretty damn careful. He’s got at least two informants, and I’ll bet you they each think they’re the only one. That way, Plice can compare what they tell him, and know right away if one of them turns.”

William swore in agreement.

Joseph Balisk, William Marazion, and Andy Niskin were members of a large special task force whose mission was to put “Handsome Dan” Plice behind bars. Plice was a notorious, vicious criminal with a long reach. He was suspected -- no, he was known -- to be behind 27 murders. It was known; it was very well known, but it couldn’t be proven. He was also known to have his hand in drug and sex trafficking, as well as illegal gambling, arms sales, “protection,” and money laundering. If it was wrong, if it was bad, Handsome Dan had a hand in it.

“We can’t even get him on tax evasion, the way they did with Capone,” William said.

Joseph swirled the liquid in his glass, and his face took on a very dark aspect. “I don’t trust anybody on that damn task force, except for you two,” Joseph declared. The task force was composed of members from every law enforcement agency with an interest in Plice’s activities: including (but not limited to): FBI, ATF, HSA, state, county, and local police, and some powerful but little-known law-enforcement entities. Supposedly the task force was making the work against Plice more effective: eliminating jurisdictional battles, sharing resources, focusing efforts… In reality, it seemed to sandbag every worthwhile effort, and to waste man-hours by creating reports and defining processes. William, Andy, and Joseph came from the county’s Major Crimes Division, and they’d been after Handsome Dan long before the task force was created.

“This task force is holding us back,” Andy said. “We could have moved last week on the information we had. When we finally DID move, it was obviously too late. We didn’t need to waste three days on that stupid stakeout. We’d already given Plice all the time he needed to scuttle our plans.”

“We should have stayed by ourselves, at Major Crimes,” Joseph said. “We should have kept our own council and laid our own traps. Loose lips sink ships, and boys, the ships are sinking.”

William tapped the table pensively. Then he spoke in a low voice. “Listen, boys. I got a tip late today, and I know what I’m supposed do with it, but it’s not what I want to do with it. I’ve got some information that could be a treasure trove of intel on Handsome Dan and associates. I ought to turn it over to the task force, but after today’s shit show, I’d rather not. I’d rather we keep it to ourselves, and run with it ourselves. What do you say? Are you with me?”

“What do I say? I say hell to the fuckin’ yeah! That’s what I say.” Joseph replied.

“I’m in,” Andy agreed. “What is it?”

“It’s about Plice’s girlfriend,” William began.

“Caresse Desmesne,” Andy said, with a smile.

“Jesus, what a hottie!” Joseph declared, and he made the curves of an hourglass with his hands, followed by some vulgar thrusting motions with his hips.

“Right. I see you know who I mean. This is the deal: the day after tomorrow, Plice is going to close on a condo he bought for his girl. It’s in the Innovaer Tower.”

“How can that happen? Isn’t the building still under construction?”

“It is. This is presale. I've got a guy who works security for the building, and he can get us in there. My idea is this: as soon as the place is drywalled and painted, we swoop in and wire that place up the wazoo. We’ll use Andy’s latest cameras and mikes -- the undetectable ones -- and we will watch and listen to everything that happens there. I’m betting that once the place is set, and he starts visiting, we’re bound to hear something useful.”

“It’s kind of a long-term, long-shot effort,” Andy commented. “We might not get anything out of it.”

“But it’s doable. And we can keep it quiet, keep it ours,” Joseph said. “We check the tapes once or twice a day, and if nothing happens, nothing happens.”

And so it began: William got the floor plan. Andy marked it up. William and Joseph installed the hardware and wired it to the phone lines. They used the copper lines, the land lines. See, the thing that made Andy’s surveillance equipment “undetectable” was exactly that: rather than broadcasting on detectable radio frequencies, Andy’s equipment silently dialed out on old-fashioned phone lines.

When Andy turned on his computer and brought up the cameras, he said, “Hey, whoa -- this is a no-no: You guys put four cameras in the bathroom. We can’t do that. Aside from the privacy issue, you know how hard it is to get anything useful over the sound of water.”

Joseph laughed. “Loosen up, boy wonder! You’re forgetting that this whole thing is strictly illegal! Whatever we get here, whatever we learn, we can’t use any of it as evidence. It has zero legal value; it’s all intelligence, background. Unless we can attribute it to an anonymous tip, we keep it all to ourselves.”

William added, “We can delete the bathroom videos every day, after we’ve seen them. Unless of course, there’s something we’ll want to see again and again. Seriously, though, you never know: something might go down in that bathroom.” William and Joseph laughed, and Joseph shouted, ”Ooolala! Zut allors! Comment allez-vous, suckers!” which was all the French he could say. Although he had no idea what any of it meant, he felt sure it was dirty, or at least suggestive. The two men laughed uproariously and made coarse gestures. Andy only shook his head.

Now that the equipment was active and online, William brought his tip about the condo to the task force. He only did it for cover, but it turned out to be a clever move. Knowing it would never fly, William said to the team, “We ought to bug the hell out of that place. I’m going to apply for a surveillance warrant.” Naturally, a judge turned it down. And just as naturally, Handsome Dan was informed about it by his task-force moles.

The unexpectedly happy result was that -- since the task force refused to bug the place -- it convinced Handsome Dan that the condo was a safe place to talk business. Right away -- even before Caresse was able to move in -- Dan and his lieutenants began holding all of their meetings there. The meetings were a gold mine of information for Joseph, William, and Andy. None of it was actionable, but it allowed them to create lists of associates, map out connections, track conspiracies, and record confessions of crimes, including murders. It was exciting but frustrating at the same time.

Speaking of exciting and frustrating, and in spite of Andy’s original misgivings, the three gave a LOT of attention to Caresse’s shower videos, and in fact, to anything she did in the bathroom. “Oh my God,” Joseph said each time, “Look at her! Even the way she sits on the toilet is sexy! That goddamn woman is a sex bomb! If the atom bomb could be a woman, it would be Caresse Desmesne.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever,” William would reply, “but I know what you mean, brother!”

Caresse had a tiny face with high cheek bones, great big eyes, a wide, smiling, mouth, and a small chin. Honestly, it was an odd combination of features, but it was incredibly attractive. Her hair was long, straight, platinum blonde. She stood about five-five, so she always wore skyscraper heels, which gave even more shape to her already shapely legs, and made her lovely round ass stand out even more. Her waist was tiny, and her breasts were huge. In a word, she had a perfect hourglass figure. Although her breasts, hips, and derriere were large, they weren’t gigantic. The three Major Crime detectives all agreed: Her proportions were perfectly pleasing. There wasn’t a moment of the day when she didn’t look good.

The detectives were greatly surprised to discover that Caresse was having an affair with one of Plice’s henchmen: a leg-breaker named DeRay Reagan, better known as “the Gipper.” The Gipper was surprisingly well-endowed: his tool was far larger and longer lasting than any the team had even seen (apart from porn), though none of them confessed to their own shortcomings. The three detectives watched in dry-mouthed silence whenever the Gipper and Caresse made love.

Then, after weeks of watching, listening, and cataloging facts, it was finally time to act. At last, the chance arrived:

Plice decided to firebomb a certain store on a certain night at a certain time. It was clearly an idea that was known outside of Plice’s tight little group, so Joseph used a voice scrambler and called in an anonymous tip. He timed it so closely that Plice’s moles weren’t able to send out a warning. The would-be arsonists were caught. The building (which was historic) and its businesses (which were many) were saved. Several insurance firms were spared a major outlay. As small a victory as it was, it was still a victory. It was, in fact, the first time in several years that anyone associated with Handsome Dan was ever arrested and successfully charged.

And so it began: Andy, Joseph, and William would choose a bit of intelligence. If it could be attributed to anyone outside of the group that met in Caresse’s condo, Joseph would make an anonymous tip, timed as close to the crime as possible. Arrests were made; guilty verdicts were handed down. Sure it was small stuff: It was nothing like a round-up. They couldn’t pretend they were bringing down Plice’s criminal empire, but they were whittling away at the edges of his activities. After more than three years of inaction and failure, it was nice to put some ticks in the winning column.

The arrests began to irritate Handsome Dan, and he wanted them to stop. No one had any idea that Andy, Joseph, and William had anything to do with the new information and consequent arrests. Everyone -- whether task force or mob -- assumed that somebody in Plice’s gang, or somebody close to somebody in Plice’s gang, was talking. Whoever that “somebody” was, that somebody needed to shut up.

Plice began selectively spreading disinformation. He chose a couple of stories, a couple of fake leads, things that were likely to leak. He told one story here, another story there, and waited to see which lead the task force jumped on. It turned out that they didn’t jump on either one. Plice thought some more, and realized that he hadn’t considered his lieutenants as possible leakers. So he gave some stories to them as well, and waited to see which one ended up at the task force. Again, nothing happened. So, Plice thought some more, and found that he was left with only one possibility: Caresse had to be the leak. Caresse must be talking to the task force.

As much as Handsome Dan loved Caresse Demesne, he also knew that it was easier to find another girlfriend than to find another criminal empire, so he sent the Gipper to kill Caresse. He was completely unaware of the irony: he had no idea that the two were seeing each other behind his back; he simply trusted Reagan to “do the right thing.”

And so Reagan did. Andy, Joseph, and William happened to all be present at Andy’s house when Caresse got a call from DeRay, telling her that he was on his way up. Joseph called to Andy and William, “Get ready, boys, the porn is about to start rolling.” In fact, Caresse slipped out of her clothes, put the door ajar, and knelt on her couch, looking like the most adorable, cute, innocent, big-eyed, sex-charged kitten in the universe. The Gipper walked in and closed the door, but instead of pulling down his pants, he put his hands on Caresse’s neck and held on until she was dead.

“Oh my God!” William shouted. “I’ve got to get over there! Andy, do you have a duffel bag?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Joseph said. “What the hell are you smoking? A duffel bag? What are you going to do? Kill him, and stuff him in a duffel bag? You can’t confront that guy! He’s a fucking killer, for Christ’s sake, and for another, how are you going to explain that you knew about this?”

“I’m not going to confront him,” William said. “It’s too late to stop him, anyway. I need the duffel bag because I have an unbelievable Plan B. Wait for me here. This will blow your minds.” And clutching the duffel bag, he ran out the door.

On the little screen, Andy and Joseph watched as the Gipper, crying, wheeled a recycling bin into the apartment, and dropped Caresse in, head-first. Then he went through the apartment, picking up anything that could tie him to her, even going through the trash to pick out an old gum wrapper. He tossed her toothbrush in the bin, because he’d used it once. Then he left, and Caresse was gone. The apartment was sadly empty.

“It’s like a fucking light went out on the Earth,” Joseph observed philosophically. “I will never be the same.”

Fifteen minutes later, Andy and Joseph saw William enter the apartment and go into the bedroom. There, he began taking clothes out of Caresse’s closet: dresses, shoes, a jacket: all of them sexy, all of them her favorites. Then, from her bureau, he chose underwear and pieces of lingerie.

“What the hell?” Joseph said.

“Don’t ask me,” Andy said. “Maybe he wants souvenirs?”

William, on the screen, took one last look around, then threw some of her perfume and cosmetics into a plastic bag. The bag went into the duffel, and William, with a mock salute to the camera, left the apartment.

“I think he’s lost his mind,” Joseph announced.

Fifteen minutes later, Joseph’s phone rang. It was William, so Joseph put him on speaker. “Listen, guys,” William said. “I’ve lined something up that will blow your minds. It’s my amazing Plan B. Wait till you see.” He gave an address and asked Andy and Joseph to meet him there in two hours.

The address turned out to be an empty office building. The place was run-down and not very clean. Joseph and Andy entered through the loading bay. The floor was broken in places, so Joseph (to his great irritation) had to help push Andy’s wheelchair. They found William in an otherwise empty, windowless room. William had spread a tarp on the floor. Andy’s duffel sat on the tarp, next to a wooden table. William was busy spreading a clean white sheet over the table. There was another man in the room, a strange-looking fellow. He was rail-thin, had a droopy brown moustache, and straight dark-brown hair that needed washing. He was wearing a limp white shirt, a bolo tie, and a pin-stripe suit that looked as though he bought it at a second-hand shop several years ago. He glanced at Andy and Joseph, cleared his throat, and said, “I don’t have a lot of time, William.”

“Right, right,” William assured him. “Just let me finish setting up, and then I’ll have two words with my colleagues.” He straightened the tablecloth, and began digging in Andy’s duffel bag: he pulled out one of Caresse’s favorite outfits and set it on the table. It consisted of a coral-colored lace bra and panties, silver pumps, a pale blue skirt, and a blush top. Then he scurried over to Andy and Joseph and spoke in a very low voice.

“Listen, boys, this guy is from WITSEC -- but not from regular Witness Protection -- he’s from a special classified branch. Do not ask him his name or title or anything about him or his job. He’s going to do his thing and leave, and we will not see him again until it’s time to to undo it.”

“What the hell--” growled Joseph, but William stopped him. “We don’t have a lot of time. What this guy does is miles beyond ordinary witness protection. He doesn’t just give you a new name and new documents. What he does is turn you -- physically change you -- into another person. He can make a black man white, or an old man young. He could turn a child into a old Chinese guy. He could turn you into a younger or older version of yourself, or make you into your own mother.”

Andy began to object: “Have you lost your--” William cut him off. “Look: what’s important is that right here, right now, he can turn one of us into Caresse Demesne, and as Caresse Demesne one of us can testify to everything that the three of us saw and heard happen in her condo -- except, of course, her murder. No, no -- let me finish. I know you won’t believe me until you see it happen, so right here, right now, one of us is going to become Caresse Demesne. Obviously, it’s going to be Andy.”

“What? Why me?” Andy asked. “Apart from the imposs--”

“Why you? Why you, because you’ll get the most out of it: as Caresse, you’ll be able to walk. Also, you have the best memory of the three of us, so you have the best chance of pulling it off...”

“Plus, you already know how to cook and clean,” Joseph quipped.

Andy scoffed in disbelief.

“Okay,” William said, wheeling Andy closer to the table. “Let’s just do this. Don’t anyone argue, don’t anybody say anything. Let’s just do it. Once you change, once you see it, then we can talk about it. If nothing happens, you can kick my ass and I’ll buy everybody dinner. Okay?”

The unnamed man asked William and Joseph to take “three giant steps” away from Andy and the clothes on the table, and he instructed Andy to sit on his hands. “Just in case.” Then he opened his briefcase and took out a medallion, which he carefully lowered around Andy’s neck. It looked like a cheap piece of costume jewelry, and Andy opened his mouth to comment on it. An impatient glance from the strange man, and Andy closed his mouth. Then the man picked up Caresse’s underwear from the table, and after carefully making sure that his fingers were covered by the shiny cloth, he pressed it onto the medallion on Andy’s chest.

Andy gasped, and his back arched. Joseph instinctively took a step forward to help his colleague, but William held him back. A wave of warmth rolled through Andy’s body. He gasped in amazed pleasure as the warm surge flowed from his head to his toes. His toes! Andy hadn’t felt his toes in decades, not since he was hit by a drunk driver on the night of his high-school graduation. He could feel his toes now, though! He could wiggle them now. He could move his feet and lift his legs. His body felt good -- oh, God, it felt so good, like it was budding and opening and ripening and maturing.

“You might want to open your pants,” the strange man suggested, and as odd as it sounded, it was good advice. Although Andy’s waist was shrinking visibly, his hips were widening and his derriere were getting larger and rounder and softer. Andy felt the buttons of his shirt strain, then pop open as his bust expanded. A pair of luscious globes grew and swelled on his chest. Andy’s legs were moving -- moving! -- and he shifted forward in his chair because his feet no longer touched the wheelchair's footpads.

“Don’t get up yet,” the man cautioned. He glanced at his watch. “Wait until the transformation is complete.” The warm waves continued to wash over Andy, warming him, caressing him, molding him, healing him, charging him, changing him. Hair cascaded down from his head, touching his forehead, his face, his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders.

His shoulders shrank, no longer the widest part of his body. His arms thinned, and his hands grew dainty.

The transformation took an entire thirty minutes. At last, the changes stopped. Only a pleasant tingling sensation remained. The strange man continued to hold the lace underwear against Andy’s chest for a few seconds more. He checked his watch and nodded. “Mmm,” the man grunted, and Andy could see an erection tenting the man’s pants. He set the underwear back on the table, and gingerly took the medallion off Andy’s neck. Mesmerized by Andy’s new-found cleavage, the man fumbled with the medallion, and dropped it on the floor. Embarrassed, he hastily picked it up, babbled something incoherent, and -- eyes still locked on Andy’s chest -- he dropped the medallion again. On his third try, he managed to put the medallion back into his briefcase, and muttering some sort of goodbye to William, he closed the briefcase on his hand. Ignoring the pain, he closed it again -- this time, correctly -- and stumbled toward the exit, to the last with his eyes on the transformed Andy. He very nearly walked into the door on his way out.

“Holy crap!” Joseph shouted.

“Yeah, holy crap indeed,” Andy echoed, and was startled to hear the voice of Caresse come out of his mouth.

“Right,” William said. “What did I tell you? Amazing, huh?” Andy stood up, for the first time in 20-odd years, and started crying.

“Oh, no -- oh, no,” Joseph said. “No crying, come on now, no fucking crying! You’re a woman all of two minutes, and already you're crying!”

“It’s not that,” Andy/Caresse snuffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. ”I can walk again!”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great,” William said impatiently, pressing his handkerchief into her hand. “Look, now: you have to get out of those clothes so we can get a good look at you.” And the two detectives started pulling at her clothes, practically ripping them off her body, until she was standing completely naked on that tarp, in the middle of that filthy room. Andy/Caresse was still in a state of shock, so she stood there, not knowing what to do or how to react.

“Dear God, will you feel that skin!” Joseph marveled, as he passed his hand over her stomach and thighs. William let out a deep, groaned ohhhh as he lifted and released her buttocks, watching them bounce back into place. He prodded and kneaded her butt, and then placed a hot hand over her breast. Joseph, his face inflamed with desire, bent to put his mouth on her breast, but ---

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” the new Caresse shouted, waving her hands, and pushing the detectives off her. “Hit the brakes on the grope-fest, you -- you -- just stop! Stop! STOP! What the hell!”

The two detectives, embarrassed and confused, watched her as she quickly struggled into the unfamiliar garments. “Fucking bra,” Caresse growled, but then remembering how the real Caresse used to do it (bending forward and gathering her breasts into the cups), she got it done and fastened. She straightened up, her face flushed.

“Sorry,” William said. “Didn’t mean, uh--”

“We just figured that since you’re a guy you’d be alright with that,” Joseph blurted out.

“Well I’m not!” Caresse declared, as she secured her skirt button and zipped up the zipper.

“You are Andy in there, though, aren’t you?” William asked, tip-toeing into the minefield.

“Yes, I’m Andy in here,” Caresse growled. “But that doesn’t mean you can grope me. I’m not some kind of sex doll, for fuck’s sake.”

“Okay, okay, got it,” the two detectives stammered in chastened tones.

“Alright. So what is the plan?” Caresse asked.

“It’s pretty simple,” William replied, and in two minutes he explained the whole thing. When he was done, he asked, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s fine,” Caresse replied, still feeling testy. “And when it’s done, your friend will change me back?”

“Yes, of course, yes,” William assured her. Then, watching her face closely, he ventured, “That is, if you want to change back.”

Caresse replied with a tight-lipped look of flaming indignation. William quailed. Joseph congratulated himself on being out of the line of fire.

“Now can I get something to eat?” Caresse asked.

“Yes, yes, of course,” the two men said at once, picking up and setting down the duffel bag together, then reaching for the empty wheelchair at the same time. They walked into each other, bumping heads. They apologized together, and both reached for the duffel at the same time again.

“I’ll meet you at the van,” Caresse told them, and walked out of the room. When she reached the exit, she heard Joseph’s voice echo down the hallway. He asked, “Could she possibly be on her period already?” William nervously shushed him.

Caresse set her jaw and clenched her fists, and then she left the building.

The Plan-B Bust: 2 / 5

An Altered Fates Story
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

Once you accepted the transformation of Andy into Caresse Desmesne, the rest of William’s “unbelievable Plan B” was pretty simple. It wasn’t a bad plan, either. William had set up a safe house -- one known only to himself -- some time back. The new Caresse would lay low there, and use her time to make videos in which she’d explain the material that came out of surveillance. William and Joseph would feed the videos to the task force. In this way, they’d lay bare Plice’s org chart. They’d fill in names and make connections that so far no one had been able to establish. It would be invaluable intel. Legally, none of it could be taken as evidence, or proof of crimes, but she could provide details that might be corroborated by other means. It wasn’t likely, but if necessary, the new Caresse could testify in court, but obviously she’d only be able to testify to something she'd heard at her condo.

“Plice -- and anyone else who knows that the real Caresse is dead -- won’t dare to call her identity into question or say that she’s dead, because it would implicate them in a murder. They won’t be able to say that you aren’t the real Caresse, because your DNA, fingerprints, etc., all PROVE that you are Caresse Demesne. You don’t have to pretend to be her, or even try to act like her, because you ARE Caresse Demesne.”

Once the work was all over, when all the information had been given, as soon as there was nothing more for Caresse to say, they’d pretend that Caresse had been relocated by WITSEC. In reality, Caresse would simply revert to being Andy.

In the meantime, Andy’s absence would be explained by his working with Caresse, organizing information, helping make the videos, and acting as security guard. William and Joseph would visit on an irregular basis to drop off supplies and pick up videos.

Now the three detectives were all on the same page, as far as Plan B was concerned. The boys loaded Andy’s wheelchair and Caresse’s duffel into Andy’s van, and left her to drive to the safe house and remain there. Joseph and William returned to the task force, but they were only killing time. They decided to wait a week before reporting that Caresse had “turned.” It was better to let Caresse get settled first. And that’s exactly what she did.

However, the new Caresse did not drive directly to the safe house. The new Caresse was in an extremely foul mood. First off, she’d been changed into a woman without having really been asked… and turned into not just ANY woman, but the dead girlfriend of the biggest mob boss in the state. Worse than that, her colleagues took for granted that she’d have no problem being pawed and groped… and no doubt used as some sort of sex doll! Her jaw was clenched so tight, she was afraid she’d crack a tooth. She wasn’t just mad; she was hopping mad. She was boiling mad. She was red-hot flaming-lava mad! The worst thing of all, the thing that made her angrier than anything else was the fact that the pawing and ogling had actually excited her, sexually. The new Caresse was burning with sexual tension and unfulfilled carnal desire. She was a kettle of anger, resentment, and lust, and that kettle wasn’t just boiling over, it was on fire, shaking, and ready to explode.

Still, she would be DAMNED ALIVE if she’d let one of her idiotic colleagues touch her again. Ever.

Caresse suddenly realized that she was tearing across town in her van. She actually hit 75 mph on a residential street. Calming herself, she took a deep breath and loosened her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. She practically had to peel her fingers off the wheel. She reminded herself that she didn’t have a drivers license that matched her appearance. She couldn’t afford to get stopped -- or worse, to hurt someone by her own inattentive driving. Remembering the old advice about pretending there was a raw egg between her foot and the accelerator, she gently pressed her way forward, and did her best to pay attention to pedestrians and to give way to other drivers.

Truth to tell, there was something else that was eating her up inside -- something that no one else knew -- and this “something else” made her kettle of anger and desire burn hotter than the summer sun: Andy Niskin had never had sex in his life. Never. He hadn’t even come close. Andy was a life-long virgin. Mainly because of his religious upbringing, he hadn’t take advantage of several delicious opportunities when he was young. He had always been an attractive person, so he had plenty of material for regret. Then, when he was eighteen years old, and had only just begun to shed his inhibitions, a drunk driver struck him, and striking him, put an end to all that. Not only did the accident disable his legs, but it also rendered Andy impotent. Now, as Caresse, he had a new pair of working legs, beautiful legs, a body as attractive as anyone could wish, and garden-fresh genitalia that -- as far as Andy was concerned -- had never been used. The new Caresse wasn’t just anatomically correct; she was switched on and ready to go.

Uppermost in Caresse’s mind was the fact that once she entered the safe house, she’d be stuck there. And not just stuck there, but stuck there for a very long time. Worst of all, the only company she’d have would be those two assholes, William and Joseph. They never were Andy’s friends; they were only colleagues. Now they had morphed from colleagues into predators. Andy recalled with some bitterness that when the task force was being formed, William and Joseph didn’t want him on their team. They actually worked against his being selected. The only reason Andy was eventually chosen was that no one else in the state could match his expertise in electronic surveillance.

Caresse decided that there were three things she absolutely had to do before heading to the safe house: the first was to get laid; the second was to pick up some more of Caresse’s belongings; and the third was to get a good strong lock for her bedroom door at the safe house. She had seen the clothes that William shoved into the duffel bag: they were, without exception, sexy clothes: dresses, short skirts, high heels, lingerie… all of it food to feed his fantasies. Caresse had plenty of other clothes as well, but William had passed on all of it: sweatpants, shorts, sports bras and t-shirts, loose dresses, and comfortable pajamas. For shoes: there were sneakers, ballet flats, slippers, sandals. She needed to load up on that kind of clothing: Caresse was not putting on any shows for her colleagues. Another thing: those sexy clothes didn't look particularly comfortable, and there was no point whatsoever in her being uncomfortable.

She didn’t have the key to Caresse’s apartment, but she knew from surveillance how to get someone to open the apartment door, and she was pretty sure she could get that same person to fill her other need as well.

She parked Andy’s van around the corner from the condo. After climbing into the back of the van, she emptied the contents of the duffel bag into a pair of big black trash bags. She tucked the folded-up duffel bag under her arm, and entered the Innovaer Tower through the front door. Why shouldn’t she? None of the staff knew she was dead. The doorman smiled and greeted her by name, and she smiled back at him, making his day. The concierge greeted her as well, and smiled broadly as she approached his desk. He made it all too easy: “Hello, Ms. Desmesne,” he said. “Let me guess: you’ve forgotten your key again, haven’t you?” Caresse was surprised to find herself blushing with embarrassment. She nodded and said, “Yes, I’m so sorry! I swear this will be the last time!” The concierge smiled and assured her, “That’s never a problem, Ms. Demesne; it's why we're here. I’m sure that Henry will be more than happy to let you in.” Henry, who had been listening and waiting in hope, rose to his feet with feigned nonchalance, and declared that he was glad to oblige.

Caresse was sure from watching surveillance that it would be Henry. It was always Henry when Caresse forgot her key (which happened a lot), or when Caresse needed help with packages, or when she had some other silly problem that she wanted a man to deal with.

Another thing that the new Caresse knew from surveillance was that Henry wanted Caresse, and he wanted her bad. Caresse never actually did anything with him -- not even a kiss -- but she mercilessly led him on. She’d get him all worked up, then send him away, frustrated, with a bulge in his pants. Back when Andy was Andy, he and the other two men had long discussions about whether Caresse’s torture of Henry was purposeful or unconscious. Joseph often (and unsuccessfully) tried to start a pool, taking bets on when Henry would finally have his way with her. He should have bet that today would be the day, Caresse told herself.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Henry glanced at Caresse’s cleavage, and smiled at her. She smiled back, and opened her top a little wider, to give him a better look. His eyebrows danced. Caresse held his arm to steady herself, and pulled off her shoes. She lost a few inches in height. Looking up at him, barefoot and big-eyed, she moaned, “I need to get out of these clothes so bad.”

“Mmm,” he replied, as his eyes and his smile widened. He wrapped his arm around her. “I’m sure I can help you with that.”

“That’s good,” she said, sidling closer, so that her soft body pressed into his muscular frame. Her voice grew husky. “I need a lot of your help today, once you get inside.”

Throwing subtlety to the wind, she peeled off her underwear just before the elevator doors opened. Henry picked her up with one arm and swept her toward her door. Without putting her down, he unlocked the door, carried her inside, and threw her on her bed. She opened her legs in a big capital V, and said, “I can’t wait another second, Henry. Fuck me first -- I’ll undress later.” Henry’s pants were already down, and his considerable cock was pointing to where the wall meets the ceiling. He crawled across the bed and slid inside her.

Because of all her built-up tension and desire, Caresse came almost immediately. Henry was surprised, but glad. He congratulated himself on his sexual prowess. He kissed her and gently fondled her, giving her some moments to catch her breath, before he started moving again. Henry glided in and out of her, pumping gently, slowly, undressing her as she squirmed and moaned. Her face changed every moment, as she gasped, as she felt sensations she’d never felt before. The idea -- the experience -- of having a man’s cock (and such an enormous cock) inside her body was both mind-bending and glorious. Henry ran his hands over her wonderful breasts. Caresse trembled, and her skin flushed red all over her body. When at last their two bodies teetered on the brink of a mutual orgasm, Henry started pumping a little harder and a little faster. He reached down and massaged her clitoris. He sped up a little more. Her body arched and bucked. He seized her butt with both hands, drove his full length deep inside her, and held it there. They were pelvis to pelvis, and he used his pubic bone to rock against her clitoris. She clawed the bed and tried to say something, but all that emerged from her mouth was a high cry. The two of them shook and shouted at the same time. Caresse felt fireworks explode in her brain, over and over. The shaking, the explosive sensations, the feeling of being wide open and laid bare to the universe lasted for over a minute. Then she lay there, spent, her mind a blank, feeling the exquisite weight of his body on top of her. They smiled at each other. Then…

“Oh, God -- sorry!” Caresse said, embarrassed and wiggling. “I suddenly have to pee! Oh, God! Sorry! Sorry! Excuse me!” and she pulled herself out from beneath him, amazed at the length of his glistening cock as it glided out of her. She ran, naked, into the bathroom. Her desperate-to-pee jog set her breasts and butt jiggling and shaking. It was a strange new impression, a strange new sense of self: feeling those soft shapes, and knowing they were a part of her. She touched her breasts, her butt, and between her legs, and realized that she’d need to sit to pee. When she finished, she checked her face and hair in the mirror, and walked back to the bedroom, still naked.

What she didn’t know was that while he was alone, Henry had placed his phone so it rested on top of a mirror frame. It had a perfect view of the bed, and it was recording.

“One more time?” he asked Caresse.

Her eyes widened. “Can you?”

He gestured to himself. His cock was at complete attention. Was he ready? He was SO ready. He’d been ready ever since the first time he laid eyes on her. He couldn’t stop being ready. Henry led her onto the bed, on her hands and knees, facing the camera (although she had no idea). Ironically, in that exact moment, as Henry placed her in his frame, she considered the placement of her surveillance cameras, and knew she wanted a copy (from all angles) of this session with Henry.

“Look at yourself,” he said, gesturing to her reflection. “Look how beautiful you are.” He wanted her to look into the camera. Once her head was up and looking in the right direction, he put one hand on the base of her spine, and used his other hand to position his cock. He said, “Ready?” but didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he grabbed her hips with both hands, and pressed forward, pushing inside… slowly, irresistibly…

“Oh, God! Into my butt?” she cried out in surprise. But it was already too late to object. He was plugged in, and he kept moving forward. She felt her anus stretching farther and farther open. “You won’t fit!” she cried, “You can’t fit! Pull it out! Pull out!”

He groaned in pleasure. “Just watch your face, baby, watch your face. Relax. Relax. Look in the mirror. Look at how beautiful you are. It’s natural. It’s beautiful.” She looked at her face. She saw her discomfort, her surprise, her uncertainty and pain, but as he slid in and out, the feeling changed, as did the expression on her face. As his strong hips pushed into her soft butt cheeks, her face, her expression, were still contorted; they still showed her doubt, but now the doubt was mixed with pleasure. She felt her butt-hole relax. His cock was still gripped by her tight little hole, but the pain was slowly giving way to a strong sexual fire. She watched her pendulous breasts swing. She looked at the animal lust in his face and felt his strong hands holding her in place. She was exquisitely aware of his long hard cock. If she closed her eyes, she could see it sliding so deep inside her, she hardly believed that it fit. She opened her eyes and saw herself staring at herself. She saw her mouth open, and a low moan came out. She kept staring. She kept moaning; she couldn’t stop. Henry moved faster, bouncing his thighs off her beautiful derriere. He reached down and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them as his cock grew even larger inside her ass. When it seemed it could swell no further, she felt it pulse, hard, like a jackhammer beating within her. She cried out in pleasure and alarm. As Henry came, Caresse came as well: a hard, body-shaking, breath-taking orgasm. For her, it was an orgasm decades in the making -- all the pent-up desire, the frustration of impotence, the renunciation and resignation to never being able -- at long last the dam broke, and a life-rocking, life-affirming orgasm hit her with everything it had.

A few minutes later, when Henry returned from the bathroom, he saw that she was crying. “Are you okay, baby?” he asked. He was fully dressed now, and he had to return to his duties. Henry was not very bright and not very patient, and when women cried, it always confused him. He never knew how to react, or what to say. Especially now, when he needed to get back to work. He didn’t have time to waste on what he considered “female emotional shit.” He didn’t understand why girls couldn’t wait until they were alone to get into this stuff. But he did know that he had to at least pretend to care, didn’t he? He was not a bad man, was he? So he sighed impatiently and asked, “Baby? Are you alright? Talk to me, baby.”

“I’m just happy,” she said. She didn’t hear his impatience; she heard only concern. “I’m really, really happy. Thank you. Thank you, Henry. It was wonderful.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then,” he said, still confused but enormously relieved. He kissed her, first on the cheeks, kissing her tears (which he thought was an inspired move), then a long, promise me we will fuck again kiss on her soft, full lips. “I gotta get back to work,” he told her. “But you know, any time you need me…” He squeezed her butt, then fondled her breasts for a moment. He found her hard to resist. He wanted to put his cock in her mouth, but at the same time he really had to leave. “Okay,” he said aloud, more to himself than to her. “Time to go.”

The moment the door closed, Caresse leaped out of bed. She took a quick shower, then went through the condo to collect all the things that William neglected to take. She grabbed Caresse’s wallet and checked that it had her drivers license and all her cards. She took a folder full of Caresse’s other documents. She took her tampons and panty-liners. She piled all the comfortable clothes onto the bed. Figuring that the real Caresse had already gone to the trouble of knowing what worked for her, the new Caresse grabbed all the cosmetics, all the hair and skin care products, the razors -- ALL the toiletries, and she made note of the brands. She took a couple of handbags. Then, on a last-minute inspiration, she took all the jewelry, and a cache of currency and gold coins and a gun that Handsome Dan had hidden in the condo. The real Caresse hadn’t know it was there, but the new Caresse had watched Dan hide it.

She dressed in a pair of soft, comfortable jeans, a loose-fitting top, and a pair of sneakers. Then she filled the duffel so full that she couldn’t get it closed. Luckily, one of Caresse’s rolling bags was big enough to contain all the overflow.

Back in the van, she used her laptop to log into the condo’s surveillance system. After copying her session with Henry to a USB drive, she set all the recordings back two hours so her visit and her activities would all be overwritten. “Fix those motherfuckers,” she muttered, meaning William and Joseph.

She drove to the safe house, and took a quick tour. It was surrounded by woods, which was good for hiding, but not so good if they needed to fend off an attack. There was a separate garage that easily accommodated Andy’s van. Half of the garage seemed to be a workshop, although most of the tools were for yard work or painting. The house itself was small, but not cramped. It was fairly clean, and wasn’t as dusty as Caresse expected. The first floor consisted of a living room, the kitchen, and a mudroom out back. The kitchen was fairly complete as far as pots, pans, knives, dishes, etc., but there wasn’t any food at all. Caresse made a mental list of what was needed. The second floor had two bedrooms and the only bathroom. One of the bedrooms was empty. The other was the larger of the two, and was furnished with a bed and a big table that could serve as a desk. It also faced south, so it had plenty of light. Caresse sniffed at the mattress, and hauled it and its box spring into the empty bedroom. She brought her bags in and stashed them in the nicer room to lay her claim. Then she drove two hours north to a shopping mall just over the state line. She used Caresse’s cards for the first and last time, knowing that Plice would pay the balance. He was that kind of guy.

She joined a bulk-goods club and bought a new mattress and box spring. She got a office chair, a vacuum cleaner, and plenty of feminine hygiene products. She stocked up on laundry detergent, dish detergent, and cleaning supplies. She bought a computer and a big screen. She bought a large packs of legal pads, pens, and USB drives. She bought sheets, blankets, towels, and pillows. There was still loads of room in the back of the van.

I probably haven’t come anywhere near the credit limit on this card, she reflected as she entered another store, where she picked up skin care and hair care products, as well as magazines, books, and movies. On a sudden inspiration she bought a gym bag. She bought a door lock, and some tools. She stocked up on bulk items like rice, canned goods and other foods with a long shelf life.

The last purchase she made was a week’s worth of fresh food, along with two coolers and four bags of ice to keep the cold stuff cold for the two-hour trip back.

Back at the Innovaer Tower, Henry was on cloud nine. He had finally seen Caresse naked, and he had touched her naked body. Best of all, he’d fucked her naked body, three times, and would likely do it again. He watched the recording on his phone, and congratulated himself on the quality. You could see her amazing breasts shaking. You could watch that lovely face, plain as day, and that huge all-thanks-to-Henry orgasm playing across her features. And yes, you could see Henry, too, with his earnest, hardworking face, diligently pounding away at her amazing ass. It was a work of art… in spite of being taken by a cell phone placed in haste.

There was something else making Henry happy, although if he had even an ounce of brains he would have let it go: Henry believed he was about to earn $1000 in cash from Handsome Dan Plice. When Caresse moved in, Plice came to speak with Henry. He asked about Henry’s family, his history, his hopes and dreams, and then he gave Harry a handsome tip. He gave him two hundred dollars in cash to “keep an eye on Caresse.” Every month Handsome Dan would find the time to visit Henry. He’d ask a few questions, and slip Henry another two hundred.

Plice, who was insanely jealous, was pretty specific as to what he meant when he said keep an eye on Caresse: he meant, of course, to help her when she needed help. Things like carrying her bags, opening her door when she forgot her key, picking up her dry cleaning… little things like that. But there was also another thing, the real thing, and it was this other thing carried the possibility of a neat, tax-free cash bonus of $1000.

Henry was supposed to keep an eye out for any male visitors Caresse might have. And, if possible -- maybe by listening at the door or some other way -- to find out whether any of these visitors had sex with Caresse. If Henry ever brought news of that variety to Handsome Dan, it would be worth $1000 on the spot. If he could identify the man, or even better, if he could take his picture, it might be worth even more.

Henry was good looking. Henry was tall. Henry worked out. Henry was strong and smooth and incredibly male and all that, but one thing Henry was not, and that was clever. Henry was never the smartest guy in the room, no matter what room he was in.

When Plice spoke to Henry, Henry didn’t understand that some of the things Plice said were serious, and some of them were jokes. Not particularly funny jokes, but jokes nonetheless. Plice never challenged Henry to try it on with Caresse, but that’s what Henry understood him to mean. He thought that Plice had thrown down a personal challenge: Could Henry seduce Caresse? When Plice asked Henry whether he was up to the task and did he think he could do it, Henry replied, “I will do my absolute best,” and he really meant it. Plice shook Henry’s hand and told him, “I can’t ask for anything more than that!”

And that is why Henry, at the end of his workday, went straight to Handsome Dan so he could deliver what he thought was good news. As they watched the video together, Henry could see that it hit home with Plice. It evoked some pretty strong emotions. Still, it never crossed his mind that any of Dan’s indignation and sense of betrayal were pointing in his direction. He wanted to know whether Caresse is unfaithful, Henry told himself. I gave him the proof that he wanted.

“This is you!” Dan exclaimed in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Henry nodded, smiling.

“Fucking my girl!” Dan was incredulous. He stared at Henry in a way that should have made Henry fear for his life. But Henry smiled, proud of himself.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“And you’re fucking her -- in the ass?”

“Ohhh, yeah.” Henry replied, drawing the words out with great pride and a truckload of swagger.

Plice paused, so he could get a grip on himself. Then he asked, “And this happened today.”

“Yeah.”

“Today. Monday. I mean, since the sun came up this morning. Today.”

“Yeah,” replied Henry in a puzzled tone. “Today.” He pointed to the date and time.

When Plice got really angry, it wasn’t fire. It was blackness. It was a cold, empty void, as lifeless as outer space. It was finality and death. It was silent annihilation, without a breath of mercy or compassion.

“Has anyone else seen this?” Plice asked.

“No,” said Henry. “I came right here, to you. So… about my reward…”

“Oh, yeah,” Plice said. “Right. Your reward! Can’t forget about that. I promised you a reward, and now I’m going to give it to you. Let’s go downstairs, Henry. I have a special room where I give out rewards.” He brought Henry to a basement room, a tiled room with a drain in the floor. They called it the “dog-washing room,” although no one had ever washed a dog there. Henry looked around, puzzled but still proud, happy, and hopeful. Plice told him, “You’ve got balls, kid. Great big balls. Either that, or you are dumbest guy to ever fall out of a woman’s womb. Stand right here, in front of me.” Plice took a garotte from his pocket, and strangled the young man. Then, after a rueful shake of his head, he called the Gipper on the phone. “Come downstairs -- I need help with a cleanup.”

When the Gipper arrived, Handsome Dan asked him, “You did kill Caresse when I asked you, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” the Gipper replied, a little puzzled by the question. “Why?”

“Take a look at this video,” Plice told him, and called it up on Henry’s phone.

The Gipper was a little nervous. He wondered whether it was going to be a video of himself and Caresse doing the deed. When in fact he saw the naked Caresse, his heart lost a beat. But then he saw that the man hard at work behind Caresse was not him. It was someone else.

“That video was taken today,” Plice said softly, as he threw the garotte around the Gipper’s neck.

After the Gipper stopped moving, Plice wiped off the garotte, wound it up, and put it back in his pocket. He checked both bodies to make sure there was no pulse.

He washed his hands. He closed his eyes so he could enter that black unfeeling void inside of him.

“Oh, Caresse,” he said. “Caresse Desmesne, you devil on heels. Why did I ever meet you? Why the fuck did I ever fall for you? I love you and I hate you, and now I have to kill you a second time. Why did you have to be such a life-changing bomb? Why are you such an evil, back-stabbing whore?”

Plice clenched his fists and rested them against the hall. He stood there in silence, without moving, for half an hour.

The Plan-B Bust: 3 / 5

An Altered Fates Story
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

Handsome Dan took out his phone and called Larry, his right-hand man, and told him to come down to the dog-washing room. When Larry arrived, he glanced at the bodies on the floor, but knew better than to ask any questions. He waited for Plice to speak. Plice spat at the drain in the floor and gave his orders:

“First thing: as soon as we’re done talking, I want you to go back upstairs and spread the word that there’s a price on Caresse Desmesne’s head: $100,000 dead, $250,000 alive.”

Larry blinked several times, astounded at the amounts, but said nothing.

“Then, set up three meetings for me TODAY with each of my informants on the task force--”

“Face to face meetings?” Larry asked in surprise.

“Yes, face to face. I’m going to need to look ‘em in the eye when I talk to them. I need you to make sure the meetings are at different times and in different locations, so there’s no chance of them seeing each other.”

“Right,” said Larry.

“After that’s done, and only after, get somebody to clean up these bodies. I want the other things done first. Fast. Fast and first. THEN the bodies. Now go.”

 

---

 

Back at the safe house, Caresse was unpacking the van. The first thing she carried in, of course, was the food. The frozen items were a little softened, but for the most part everything was still pretty cold.

The next order of business was a little more delicate. Caresse wanted to get it done while there was still daylight and while she was still alone and unobserved. An idea had occurred to Caresse after she left William and Joseph: she realized that one way or another, there was a strong chance that she’d end up as Caresse for the rest of her life. There was one key fact that she had to face: her only connection to the guy from WITSEC was William. If anything happened to William, she’d have no way of finding the guy who had the medallion. Joseph could still help and protect her, and he might be able to find the WITSEC guy, but that was only a maybe. if anything happened to both William and Joseph, she’d be totally alone as Caresse, with no way to change back and no one to help her stay alive. No one would know who she really was. No one would ever believe she was actually Andy.

That huge potential mess was in her mind when she grabbed Caresse’s documents. While the idea wasn’t fully articulated, the basic feeling was there. It was all about survival: when she became Caresse, she crossed a bridge, with no way of knowing if she’d have a way back. She might never be Andy Niskin, ever again.

If she did end up alone and on her own, she’d need money: that’s why she took the cache of currency and gold that Plice had hidden in the condo. She knew that taking it was illegal, but stealing from someone like Plice hardly felt like a crime. She recalled Joseph’s shouted declaration, Fuck the rules! We have to break the rules on this one! She would have liked to say that she didn’t have a choice, but of course she had a choice. And given that choice, she decided to steal. Yes, all three of them had broken rules, but Caresse had broken more than her colleagues: unlawful surveillance, failure to report a crime, identity theft, and now grand theft. She could even be charged with grand theft auto, since she was in possession of Andy's van. This is where we are now, Caresse told herself. To catch a criminal, we’ve become criminals.

Another reason Andy might end up as Caresse forever was something that William pointed out: walking. Caresse could walk. Andy could not. Caress could have a normal sex life. Andy could not. It was a pretty compelling difference; one that might convince Caresse to never go back to being Andy. William had implied that she could make that choice. There was only one downside to being able to walk and have sex: Caresse was the well-known girlfriend of a mob kingpin -- and an easily recognizable one, at that. For that reason, the new Caresse needed a Plan C -- and maybe even a Plan D -- in case William’s “incredible Plan B” fell to pieces. Whatever the plan, she’d need money, and she’d need a place to go.

The second part, where to go, was a question she still had to consider. The first part, the money, was already resolved. She had the resources; she just needed to package them up: she needed a go-bag.

What is a go-bag? If you have to run and you have no warning, a go-bag is a bag you can just grab. A go-bag ought to have everything you need. The point is, when you don’t have time to stop, think, and consider what to take with you, the go-bag solves the problem. It’s already got your essentials, so in the crucial moment you don’t need to think. You just grab and go. The choices would already be made: that’s the point of a go-bag.

She opened her new gym bag. Into it went the money, the gold, and the gun she’d taken from Caresse’s apartment. She added all of Caresse’s documents and cards -- except for her driving license. She left that out because she might need to do some driving. So she kept her license in her bedroom, in a a drawer in the desk, along with the USB that held the video of her and Henry. She put three sets of clean clothes in a vacuum-storage bag, and added that to the gym bag. Then she zipped up the gym bag and enclosed it in a plastic trash bag. She climbed under the house into the crawlspace and quickly found a suitable spot. After a bit of DIY work -- measuring, cutting, nailing -- she installed a little shelf under the floor. She hid the go-bag on the shelf and glued a pull-off door on the end. When she needed the bag, all she’d have to do was yank off the little door, grab the bag, and go. Until then, the bag would remain a well-hidden secret.

Once that was done, the next order of business was the bed. She brushed the cobwebs and dirt off her clothes and hair, and stood in the garage, looking into her van. She didn’t relishing the thought of the next set of efforts. She needed to lug upstairs not only the box spring and mattress, but also the computer, the monitor, and the office chair. She was already tired, and thought about letting it all wait until tomorrow, but that would mean sleeping on that iffy mattress upstairs. She suspected it was full of bugs, or worse. It would be fine for William or Joseph, but her skin crawled at the idea of ever touching it again.

She sighed, gripped the box spring, and said, “Here I go!” but she didn’t go. The box spring was much heavier than it looked. It hadn’t been too hard to move it off the shopping cart into the van, but lifting and carrying it by itself was no easy thing. She idly wondered whether she could rig up a rope and pulley somehow, but there was no rope and there were no pulleys.

Just then, she heard a cough, and footsteps crunched on the gravel driveway. She panicked. Here she was, alone in the woods, and -- stupidly -- without her gun handy. She turned her head and saw a good-looking, well-built man standing a few feet from the garage doorway. It looked like he’d purposefully chosen a distance that was close enough to talk, but far enough to be non-threatening. “Did you call a moving company, ma’am?”

She opened her mouth, not sure how to respond, and when she said nothing, he said, “Sorry -- that moving-company crack was meant to be a joke. I live in the next house down that way.” He pointed down the road to his left. “I saw you drive past, so I came to say welcome and see if you needed anything.

“If you don’t want any help, just say so, and I’ll walk away. Otherwise, I can carry whatever you want, and when you say stop, I’ll head for home. No pressure, no obligation.” Then he took a step back and stood there, waiting for her answer.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t try to be charming. He was big, but he wasn’t intimidating, and he didn’t eye her up and down as if he wanted to eat her.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Reacher,” he replied.

She couldn’t help it; she scoffed. “Oh, really! Reacher? You’re not Jack Reacher, are you?”

“No, ma’am,” he said. “Just Reacher.”

“Is that your real name?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied. That answer surprised her. He had an obviously fake name, and he stood there and admitted that he was using a fake name. Andy had never encountered that before. It was a weird kind of honesty: to lie and admit that you were lying. It was also pretty weird for a grown man to call himself after a fictional action hero, but at least he owned it. At least he didn't say he was "Bond, James Bond." He did look strong, and he certainly was sexy, and he didn't appear to be pretending or posing. She sincerely believed that he’d walk away if she told him to.

So she risked it and said, “Yes, thanks, I do need some help carrying things upstairs -- could you help me with this box spring and mattress? Do you mind taking the bottom end?”

In response, he picked up the box spring as if it weighed nothing. He carried it up the stairs, unwrapped it, placed it in the bed frame, and carried the plastic wrap back down. He lugged the mattress up by himself with the same ease. When he returned with the plastic wrapping from the mattress, he asked, “What next?” She pointed to the chair, the computer, and the monitor. He brought them up and opened the boxes, but didn’t unpack them.

“I’m no good at putting that stuff together,” he told her. “If you’ve got other lifting and hauling to do, I’ll do it, but that’s all I can do.”

She asked him to carry a few more boxes upstairs, then told him that it was all the lifting and hauling she needed at the moment.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll be off. I’m around if you need me, but if you need me, you’ll have to come by, because I don’t have a phone. You can walk down the road that way, and watch for the first driveway on the right, but it’s faster to come by the path that starts near your back door. Remember to be careful, though, because there’s a tripwire just when you come in sight of my house.”

“A tripwire? What happens if I hit it?”

“You’ll trip,” he said simply. “It’s just a wire. It’s not connected to anything. At best, you’ll just fall down. At worst, you’ll get a sprained ankle or wrist, or a bump on the head, depending on how you fall.”

“Okay, I’ll keep my eyes open,” she said.

“And don’t go into my house if I’m not there,” he cautioned. “It’s booby-trapped up the wazoo.”

“Got it,” she said. “Booby traps. So how do I find you once I get past the tripwire?”

“You can call my name or wait for me. I’m not usually far from the house. Except around dawn. That’s when I go for a run. In fact, I wanted to invite you along tomorrow. I can be at the end of your driveway at six. If you’re there, we can run together. If you’re not, I’ll run alone.”

“I’d like that,” she replied, “but I’m not sure what my fitness level is. I don’t know how far and how fast I can go.”

“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “That’s fine. I’d rather run slow with company than fast by myself.” With that, he smiled and turned and walked away.

Caresse stood in silence, watching her strange neighbor as he walked away. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. Even with the goofy, obvious alias -- or maybe in part because of it -- he did seem to be one of those people who were exactly what they appeared to be. Of course, you could never tell. What was he really up to? Why was he living in the woods? Was his house really booby-trapped? He seemed to be living a little boy's fantasy. At the same time, he did save her a lot of time and effort by hauling those things upstairs. She looked around at the items remaining in her van. They could all wait until tomorrow. She closed and locked the van, then closed and locked the garage.

Caresse spread her new sheets and blanket on her bed. She wrestled her new pillow into its new pillowcase. Then she installed the lock on her bedroom door. She also serviced her side arm, and put it in a big plastic bag, which she brought into the shower with her. Thankfully, the water was good and hot, and there was plenty of it.

After her shower, she made and devoured a quick dinner (two turkey burgers, an avocado, some salad with fresh tomatoes and olive oil, and a cold beer). Then she double-checked the locks on all the doors and windows, put on a pair of soft pajamas, and fell into a deep, well-deserved sleep.

 

---

 

After making sure that the word had gone out about the bounty on Caresse’s head, Handsome Dan had a meeting with the first of his moles.

“Why haven’t you told me that Caresse Desmesne is cooperating with you guys?”

The mole was surprised and puzzled. “Because she isn’t! At least, as far as I know, she’s isn’t. Where did you hear that?”

“I’m telling you that she is cooperating. I’m paying you to keep me informed, so it shouldn’t be ME telling YOU about this: you should be telling me. Now that you know, you need to get me the details. What I want to know is: who is she talking to, when she started talking, what she’s said, and -- above all else -- where is she now?”

The conversation with the other two moles went pretty much the same way, except that the third mole actually remembered something significant. “A couple months back, somebody mentioned her name…” She thought for a moment until she remembered a little more. “It was about that condo you bought for her…” Plice drummed his fingers impatiently, and the rest of the memory came to surface. “Okay, yeah… it was one of the guys from Major Crimes, the county unit. A guy by the name of William... William Marazion. He found out that you bought her the condo -- I already told you about this: he applied for a warrant, and we got it quashed. Remember? He wanted to bug the place.” The mole searched her memory, then nodded. “He’s the only person who’s talked about Caresse lately.” She thought some more and added, “Yeah, in fact, he’s the only one who’s ever mentioned her.”

“Good,” Plice said. “Now tell me about this county guy. What’s his name again?” He had questions about William: he wanted to know who his colleagues are, who he gets along with, what kind of cop he is, and so on. “Sound him out on the subject of Caresse,” Plice said. “Find out everything you can. Whatever you get, whatever tiny detail you find out, you get it to me ASAP. Don’t save it, don’t wait on it, even if it seems insignificant. On this, I need to know in real time. Understood?”

 

---

 

The next morning, Caresse woke at five, well before her alarm. She brushed her teeth and hair and dressed in her running clothes. She put her keys, phone, and gun into her fanny pack. It was still early, so she unloaded the dishwasher and made her to-do list for the day. Then she stepped outside and was stretching her glutes and hamstrings when she spotted Reacher jogging toward her. She met him at the road and matched his pace. They jogged in silence for about ten minutes.

“How are you doing?” he asked her.

“Good!” she replied with a smile. “This is so much fun! I’ve been cooped up so long, it’s wonderful to be moving again!”

Wonderful was the word. Yesterday she’d been too angry and too busy to marvel at it, but the fact that she was standing and moving under her own power -- and now RUNNING! After decades in a wheelchair, this was nothing short of a miracle. “I want to run a hundred miles!” she shouted.

“Uhhh, yeah,” he replied, “That’s fine, as long as we do it in small increments over many days.”

She laughed.

“Look,” he said, “Another ten minutes and there’s a fantastic view. We can stop there and take a breather and decide whether we turn back or go on.”

“Great!”

From that point forward the road was a gentle incline. After five minutes, despite her enthusiasm, Caresse began to feel the effort. She fell a little behind. “Hey, Reacher,” she called, “I think I need to quit. I'm going to turn around and walk back.”

He left off jogging and walked back to meet her. “Are you in any pain?” he asked. “Cramps? Shin splints?”

“No,” she said, “Just out of breath. I've got a stitch in my side.”

“Okay,” he said. “Take deep, slow breaths. Look up. Do you see that tree up there? The one with the red dot painted on it? That’s how far we need to go. Can you walk with me that far? The view is really worth it. Once we get there, you can sit down and rest for as long as you need.”

“Okay,” she agreed, but after they'd taken two steps, she stopped again and said. “Hey, I bet I can hit that red spot with a rock.”

He glanced down the road. “From here? I don’t think so. That’s like 100 yards, uphill.”

Caresse picked up a rock and weighed it in her hand. It was about the size and weight of a baseball, even if it wasn’t a sphere. “What do you want to bet?” she asked.

He looked her up and down for a moment, considering. “I don’t want to take advantage,” he told her, “I know you’re going to lose, so let’s just say a kiss.”

She laughed and let fly. Andy had been a pretty good shortstop in high school; he had a good arm and a good aim. Caresse hoped there was some transference of that to her, even if it lay dormant for decades.

She was rewarded with a resounding thock! as the rock connected with the tree.

“Heh,” she chuckled. “Too bad I forgot to make my side of the bet!”

“You lost, though,” he told her. “You hit the tree, yes, and that was great, but you missed the red spot.”

“No, I--” she began, but he swept her into his arms and kissed her, full on the mouth. He was a head taller than her, so her own head was bent back. One of his hands was just below her shoulder blades, holding her up, and his other hand rested gently on her arm. One of her feet was off the ground; the other was tip-toe. It felt as though she was floating in the air. She surrendered herself to his kiss; her body was relaxed and supple. She closed her eyes and felt his heat. She let him kiss her for as long as he wanted.

After what seemed like a warm, exciting infinity of time, he let her up. She licked her lips, and they looked into each other’s eyes. She saw the question in his eyes, so she asked, “Again?” and he was on her, kissing more passionately this time, pressing his open mouth on hers, kissing her cheeks and chin and throat, passing his hands over her hair and back. It seemed to last an even longer time than the first kiss, and when they came apart, he had an erection and she had a big wet spot.

He took her hand and in a husky voice said, “Come on, you have to see this view.”

They walked the few remaining feet to the place where the road crested, next to the tree with the red spot. A group of boulders painted red and white blocked the end of the road. Beyond them, the woods opened to a huge, unspoiled valley with an enormous lake at its bottom. “It’s the reservoir,” he told her, as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“It’s beautiful,” she told him. She could feel his cock, pressed hard against her derriere. She took his hands and moved them over her breasts. “Jesus,” he moaned. She leaned her head back into his chest and reached behind her to feel his cock.

I’m going to have to start thinking about birth control, she told herself. And I’m going to have to stop being so damn easy. She put her hands on her waistband and slid her tight shorts down. The sensation of the cloth sliding down her ass, the exposure of her intimate skin to the air, was exhilarating. I need to quit doing this, she told herself. After this, I need to get some control over my libido.

Grunting, he pulled down his shorts and brought her hands down to rest on one of the boulders. She bent at the waist. He slid his hot hard shaft into her wet, warm pussy. The two of them went at it, standing, there at the end of the road on the crest of the hill, looking out over the vast, beautiful wooded valley, hidden in the hills. When the orgasm came, they both shouted at the top of their lungs and heard the echoes from distant hills.

After he pulled out, he knelt and kissed both of her ass cheeks. “You are so amazingly beautiful,” he told her. “Every part of you is unbelievable.” She laughed lightly and turned to face him, and -- their pants still at their knees -- the two kissed again, a strong, lustful kiss, their naked hips and thighs brushing against each other as they embraced. His cock knocked against her thighs. They put their hands on each other’s behinds, and looked into each other’s eyes, smiling.

“That was nice,” she said.

“That was better than nice,” he replied.

After a little more kissing, they pulled their shorts up, held each other in a long, silent embrace. Then they trotted back down the hill. He left her at her driveway, but not before one last kiss. And not before he stopped and said, “Hey -- could you do me a favor? Don’t tell your law-enforcement friends about me. Okay?”

She looked at him warily. “How do you know I have law enforcement friends?”

He laughed. “Look -- I know who you are. You wouldn’t be out here for vacation. You must be working with John Law. Besides, that funny van’s got a cop radio in it. That’s how I know you have friends in law enforcement.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Does okay mean you won’t tell them?”

“Yes, I will not tell my law-enforcement friends about you, if you won’t tell your friends about me.”

“That’s easy,” he said. “I don’t have any friends.” Then, with a smile and a wave, he was gone.

 

---

 

William stopped in the office that morning, but very briefly. He had some paperwork to drop off. Then he ran around the city, checking in on his informants. That done, he took off for the safe house, to see Caresse. She hadn’t sent any message, so clearly she hadn’t set up her computer yet. He didn’t bother trying to call Andy’s phone -- he knew there was no signal out in those woods.

After the morning run, Caresse took a shower, ate some breakfast, and threw her running clothes in the laundry. Sure, it was as very small load, but she couldn’t afford William finding evidence of her sexual activity, and William was too good a cop to not sniff it out.

That done, she went upstairs and assembled and connected her computer, monitor, and chair. The house was equipped with cable, so she had phone, internet, and TV. She didn’t bother connecting the phone -- it was too insecure. Once her computer was up, she logged onto her VPN and sent emails to an encrypted account that William and Joseph would periodically check.

She had placed the desk and the computer in a spot where she’d have a bare wall behind her. She did that because she’d be making videos, and didn’t want any visual clues as to where she located. After shutting the window and the door to keep out any auditory clues, she sat down to narrate her first video.

She jotted a few notes before she began, but mainly she spoke extemporaneously. This video was meant to be a general introduction. She began by stating her name, the place and date of her birth, and the date and time of the recording. Then she talked about how Dan Plice had gotten her the condo, and how he began having meetings there. She said it was her first glimpse into his criminal enterprise, and this glimpse had shocked her enough to make her want to cooperate with law enforcement and testify, if she could, against Dan Plice.

She named the people who usually came to the meetings, described each one physically, talked about their relationship to Plice, and what she understood of their place in Plice’s organization. She spoke about when and how often the meetings took place, how long they lasted. Usually during these meetings she had to sit in another room. Some times she’d bring them drinks. There were times when the men ordered food, and she’d have to set up a buffet or serve it up on plates.

After an hour of talking, she ran out of things to say. Now she had not only a video, but also a transcript, automatically generated by the recording software.

It was only ten AM at that point, so she took a break from the computer and spent an hour cleaning the bathroom. She went outside and walked around the house, taking a good look at the building, checking for vulnerabilities. She checked all the approaches. There were really only two: the driveway and the path to Reacher’s house. All the rest of the property was ringed by fairly dense woods.

Then she went back upstairs, where she corrected the transcript of her video, and made notes. She had three pads: one to keep track of what she’d talked about; another to list loose ends she’d left dangling, and a third for questions.

She realized as she spoke, and even more so as she read her transcript, how little she knew about Caresse: Did she have any family? How long had she known Dan Plice? When and how did they meet? How aware was she of his crimes -- before the meetings in her condo? Did she have a criminal record? Had she attended college? Where did she attend high school? Once she began asking, the questions had no end.

She copied the video and transcript onto two USB drives. One for William to take, and the other a backup for herself.

Then she had lunch, drank a lovely cup of coffee, and played on the internet while she waited for William to show up.

He arrived at two in the afternoon. He seemed charmed by the house. “I haven’t been here in a while,” he mused. “I used to come out here during summer when I was a kid. We’d rent a place in the area. I never stayed in this house in particular, but when it came up for sale a few years back I knew it would be a perfect safe house. Every so often I come sweep it out and check on things.” He was pleased at the setup of Caresse’s office, and didn’t seem to mind the mattress on the floor in the second bedroom.

He also brought dinner: a tray of lasagna, a container of salad, a box of breadsticks and two bottles of red wine. He put the food in the fridge.

He watched the video and pocketed the USB drive. He had a few comments and suggestions for future videos, and Caresse jotted them down. One of his suggestions, which she intended to follow, was that she review Plice’s meetings on the surveillance videos, and to make a video summary of each one. That way, even though the task force could never be shown the original surveillance, they’d know exactly what happened and what was discussed each day, in a neat, chronological order.

“But how will they believe that I can remember meetings from months back?” Caresse asked.

“Say that you kept notes, like a diary,” William replied.

It was a great idea.

It was nice having William there. They had never gotten along so well. He was behaving very professionally. He was very positive and supportive. Caresse would even have gone so far as to say that William was downright charming, for a change. He was solicitous: he asked how she was doing, if she minded being alone out there. He asked whether there was any of Andy’s business that needed taking care of.

Surprisingly, Caresse hadn’t thought about Andy’s life at all! She made a note to check Andy’s online bank account, to make sure his bills were getting paid. William offered to stop by Andy’s apartment every three or four days to pick up the mail and make sure everything was ship-shape.

“Do you need anything out here?” he asked.

“Not right now,” she said, “but I will need food and supplies in future.”

“Okay,” he said. “Just send your shopping lists to that email account, and either me or Joseph will bring the stuff out to you.”

“Great!” she said. “There is one more thing… I’ve been realizing how little I know about Caresse Desmesne. Things like, does she have any family? How did she meet Dan Plice? Where did she grow up?”

“You don’t really need to know all that stuff,” he said.

“I know that I don’t need to,” she agreed, “but if I ever have to testify, or if I have to do an online meeting with the task force, they could stump me with the simplest question.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I hadn’t considered that. The thing is, I don’t know anything about her. You can ask Joseph. He’ll come out day after tomorrow. He’s the real expert on all things Caresse. In the meantime, I guess you can Google her. Then you’ll know what everybody else knows, or thinks they know.”

 

---

 

Things went pretty well for the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening. William proposed that they take a walk, and led Caresse up the road, on the same route that she’d earlier jogged with Reacher. William knew all the trees and birds, and he delighted in pointing them out. It was honestly quite interesting, and he showed Caresse how the history of the forest was written all around them: evidence of fires, of huge storms, new growth, old growth… He pointed out an old cabin that was completely overgrown and hardly recognizable as a human structure. Nature had reclaimed it. “My grandfather went to live in that little place when I was a kid, but look at it now: the forest is consuming it; it’s disappearing into the ground.”

Every so often Caresse would pick up a baseball-sized rock and sling it at a tree. She missed a few, but her aim and the speed of her throwing arm were still pretty impressive.

Dinner went well, too. The food was surprisingly good. The lasagna reheated well. William talked about the task force. He told Caresse the day’s gossip, and filled her in on some of the office relationships that Andy hadn’t picked up on.

Everything was going really well. In fact, it was going perfectly well, and then William had to ruin it. After the first bottle of wine was emptied, William opened the second, and standing, with the bottle and his glass in hand, he asked, “What do you say we take this upstairs, and try out your brand new bed? We can break it in together. We can try out that fabulous body of yours.”

“No, Bill,” she said. “Can you please put that out of your mind? I am not going to have sex with either you or Joseph. Ever. There’s no point in pressing it.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? I don’t want to -- that’s why not.”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” he asked in a very irritated tone.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said. “It’s just out of the question.”

“What’s the problem? Do I need to romance you?" he sneered. "Do you want flowers and chocolates? Do I have to pretend I’m in love with you?”

“No,” she said, irritated. “I don’t want any of that.”

"Then what?" he asked. “It’s a simple, human thing. We should just be able to do it. Just take our clothes off and do it. Bam! Simple. Why do you have to complicate it? Why does it make any difference to you? You’ve been a guy, you know that sex is just sex. It’s only women who want to make it complicated. Now that you have breasts, do you feel that you have to play a role? Are you pretending to be hard to get?”

“I’m not playing at anything!” she snapped back. “I just don’t want to. I don’t want you using my body as a toy!”

“Why not? You’re not doing anything with it! Aren't you curious what it feels like? Having sex as a woman? It isn’t going to hurt you, or cost you anything. I’m just talking about a friendly fuck. Caresse wasn't a virgin -- why should you be? God! It shouldn’t matter to you. You might even like it, if you could just relax and do it. Try to look at it with a little sense of humor. It's a little thing; it shouldn’t matter to you.”

“Of course it matters,” she replied. “Look: What if I told you that a friend of mine, a guy, wanted to fuck you up the ass -- no romance involved, just a simple thing. Would you just relax and do it?”

“That’s not the same thing at all, and you know it!”

“It IS the same! It’s EXACTLY the same!”

“No, it isn’t!"

"What if Margaret wanted to have sex with you? Nothing romantic, just take off your clothes and bam! Would you just do it? Or would you make a big deal about it?" Margaret was an older woman on the task force. Joseph and William had often made very negative and unkind comments about her.

"Now what are you saying? That I'm ugly?"

"No! I'm just saying that sex isn't as simple as you think. It has to be mutual, consensual."

"Right! I'm asking you to take off your goddam clothes and consent! What is the fucking problem?"

"The problem is that you're acting as though I don't have any choice, and that I shouldn't have any choice."

"So... what? I'm not good enough for you?"

She considered for a moment, then said, "Yeah, okay. Let's go with that: you're not good enough for me."

"Oh my God! OH MY GOD! You know what? Do you know what? You're being a little too precious about this. You should be more humble. You should be more grateful. You have been given a great gift -- BY ME -- and you should be more generous with it.”

"Generous?"

"Yes, generous!"

“So I should fuck you just because you turned me into a girl?”

“Yes, to put it simply. Yes.”

“Well, to put it simply, I won’t do it!”

"Look: you're not just a girl, you're a living, breathing sex bomb. And you're not doing anything with it."

"I'm not obliged to do anything with it!"

"Then what's the point of being this way?"

"Was that the point for you? Is this why you did this? So you could have sex with Caresse Demesne? Was that why you did all this?"

“God dammit!” he shouted. “I gave you legs! You can walk now! You were in a frickin' wheelchair, and now you can WALK! You should be on your knees, sucking my dick in gratitude!”

“Fuck you!” she shouted back.

“Oh, boy, oh boy, oh boy!” he fumed, as he paced up and down the room. He took a swig of wine directly from the bottle. “You know what? You know what?” He appeared to be wrestling with himself. He took another swig. “Oh, there’s something I could tell you, boy! And if I did, then you’d get down on your knees! If you knew, you’d be on your knees to me every chance you could!”

“There is no way,” she told him coldly.

He set down the bottle and stood directly across the table from her. He put his hands on the table and leaned forward until his face was an inch away from hers. They were eye to eye, nose to nose. He fumed silently, still uncertain as to whether he ought to say whatever it was that he was threatening to tell her.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” His voice was calmer now, but still very intense. “You know that guy from Witness Protection? The one with the medallion? The weird guy with the bolo tie? The only guy who can change you back? Well, guess what! He doesn’t work for WITSEC at all. In fact, he's got nothing to do with law enforcement whatsoever. Let’s just say that he’s a friend of a friend of mine. It's actually more complicated than that. He's a hard man to find. A very hard man to find. Joseph wouldn't be able to find him, and neither could you. Nobody knows him but me. So if you don’t play ball, if you don’t make nice with me, you can forget about ever being a man again. Let me tell you what will happen if you want to keep your knees together: You’ll be stuck as Handsome Dan’s ex-girlfriend, and you know what I think? I think that if he wanted you dead once, I’m pretty sure he’ll be happy to kill you a second time, and this time he'll make damn sure you're dead. Think about that. Without me, you're dead. Without me, you're stuck: you've got nowhere to go and no one to help you. You’ll just have to sit here, protecting your precious pussy, in the middle of the woods, all alone, until you starve. What do you think about that? Huh?”

She looked at him in silence for a few seconds, hanging fire. Then, just as he was about to speak again, she said, “I’ll tell you what I think: you can load the fucking dishwasher.”

She left the table, went up the stairs, closed the door of her bedroom, and threw the deadbolt. She could hear him shouting in fury in the kitchen below. He stamped, he kicked things, he growled in fury and frustration. At one point it sounded like he was banging on a pot with a wooden spoon. Caresse checked her weapon and slipped it under her mattress near her head. After about thirty minutes, William finally quieted down, and she was able to fall asleep.

The Plan-B Bust: 4 / 5

An Altered Fates Story
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

When Caresse woke the next morning, she wasn’t angry or hurt. For the first few moments of being awake, she felt determined, strong. Soon, however, those first few moments passed, and the events of the previous evening came flooding back into her mind. As William’s shouts and threats replayed in her memory, she found herself overwhelmed with fear. Yesterday, her anger kept her fears at bay, but now in the light of morning, while she was open, alone, and vulnerable, those fears came rushing in, unstopped.

William was right: as soon as Handsome Dan comes to know that someone claiming to be Caresse Desmesne is alive and cooperating with law enforcement, he would want her dead, even if it meant killing her a second time. If William and Joseph -- out of sheer sexual frustration -- cut her off and left her alone in the woods, what would she do? Sure, now she had money, but how could she spend it? Where would she go? Where could she go? She was one of the most recognizable women in the state. She couldn’t simply drive out and buy gas and groceries, or sit down in a restaurant to have a meal. She’d be recognized. She’d be hunted. Everything she could possibly do would leave a blazing trail behind her.

She lay on the bed, her eyes squeezed tight shut, her fists balled up and pressed to her temples. She trembled and shook. She tried to calm herself by taking deep, slow breaths. It didn’t help. She had no inner walls or barriers to block the flood of anxiety that was filling her mind and her soul. It felt as though the entire world, and life itself, was collapsing in on her. She had never been so frightened in her life.

… or had she?

The fear was overwhelming, yes, but it had a very familiar taste. She had been this frightened once before -- honestly, she had been frightened far worse than this. It happened back when Andy was eighteen, and had to come to grips with the fact that he would never walk again, and never experience sex… not even for the first time. He couldn’t even masturbate. Not ever. Never. Never ever. Never had abruptly become the central pillar and foundation of his life. He was scared out of his wits then, even worse than he was scared now. Back then, he was sure that he would die. And if he didn’t die, he might kill himself. And if he didn’t kill himself, what kind of life would he have? He remembered the sensation of endlessly falling into a dark, whirling pit of electrified despair, into a pit that had no walls and no bottom. There was no light above him and nothing but darkness beneath his feet. He was lost, trapped, alone and alive in the frozen vacuum of space.

And then? What happened after that? He hadn’t died. He didn’t kill himself. He fell asleep and woke up the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. He was still Andy. He was still the same person inside. He’d gone on to have a successful career in electrical engineering, electronic surveillance, and high levels of law enforcement. He’d done well for himself and his community. He’d been afraid like this before, yes -- so deeply and thoroughly afraid -- but he was just a kid, and the had fear passed, in the same way that the fear was beginning to pass right now.

Because suddenly, something distracted Andy’s (or Caresse’s) mind. A question hit her: Why did Plice want to kill Caresse the first time? She and Joseph and William had seen it happen. They were sickened, shocked, and horrified, but they didn’t stop to ask why it happened. William had run and kicked off his crazy Plan B, and the real Caresse, the dead Caresse, was forgotten in the mad unfolding of Andy’s transformation.

Caresse sat up on the edge of her bed. Her fear by now was nothing but an ebbing electric tingle. She asked herself again: Why did Plice want her dead the first time? It wasn’t because he was tired of her and wanted a new girlfriend. There were no signs of any issue between them. Plice seemed to be genuinely in love and truly happy with Caresse. He had no obvious reason for killing her. Why, then, had he sent the Gipper? The Gipper certainly wouldn’t have killed her on his own initiative. He had no reason to kill her. He was clearly quite happy with Caresse. Her murder wasn’t a crime of passion. It was clinical, professional, detached. And afterward, the Gipper had cried like a child.

Could Plice have suspected that Caresse was his leak? That she was the one tipping off the task force about the arson and the other crimes that were foiled? Is that what turned him against her? All of the tips had come from conversations at her condo, it’s true, but Andy, Joseph, and William were always careful to choose intel they were sure was known outside of Plice’s tight inner circle. It was important because they needed to safeguard against playing their hand, and revealing where the intel originated.

Maybe Plice had tested for leaks in his outer circle. He was crafty and careful enough for that. Maybe he went looking for a leaker and didn’t find one. If he did, he could have eliminated every other potential traitor, and found himself left with only one possible explanation: Caresse was the leaker. It wasn’t true, but Caresse could see how Plice could have arrived there.

Which meant that William, Joseph, and Andy had gotten Caresse killed.

So, sure: Once Plice knew that another Caresse was alive, he might wonder why -- he might even know she was a fake -- but he’d certainly want her dead.

However, now that the wave of fear had passed, Caresse was no longer frightened by the thought. It was simply a disagreeable fact that she had to face and deal with. She’d already thought about it, and the remedy was clear: she needed to finish making her escape plan: her own Plan B.

Caresse looked at the clock. There was just enough time to get ready and possibly meet Reacher for a jog. She hoped he wouldn’t wait for her at the end of the driveway. William might see him, and that would cause another big issue.

She dressed in her running clothes and quietly opened her bedroom door. The door to the other bedroom was wide open. William had pulled his mattress into the direct line of sight with her door, so she couldn’t miss seeing him. He was lying, completely naked, on the funky mattress. He had an erection sticking up at an angle.

She rolled her eyes and went into the bathroom. After quickly finishing her toilette, she went downstairs. The general disorder was no surprise. Last night she’d heard William knocking the furniture around, up-ending things, and making a general mess, but as she surveyed the disorder, it didn’t look as though he’d broken anything. She went outside. The air was crisp and clear. The world was quiet. Even the birds were silent. It was six, and there was no sign of Reacher. This was a good thing and a disappointment at the same time.

She took her time going up the road. Once again, she started to get a stitch in her side when she came in sight of the tree with the red dot, so she walked from that point forward. Where the woods opened up to the view of the valley, she saw Reacher sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree.

“Pull up a piece of Mother Nature and have a seat,” he said, with a smile.

She ran over and kissed him, just a quick one. Then she sat down, leaning into him. It was amazing how quickly she’d gotten comfortable with being an affectionate, loving woman. “What time did you pass my house?” she asked him.

“I didn’t pass your house,” he replied. “I didn’t go near your house. There’s another path -- it’s the long way around. I’ll show it to you later. It misses both your place and mine. I saw your friend drive in yesterday, so I kept out of sight.”

She turned to him, and they began kissing. “God!” she said. “I’m glad that making out is still so much fun.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know some other things that are lots of fun, too. How long is your friend going to be around?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “He should leave soon, I think, and then the next visit won’t be until the day after tomorrow.”

“Nice,” he said. “So we’ll have some time to ourselves, I hope?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I have a little work to do, but it won’t take up too much time.”

He nodded. “I guess you can’t stay too long right now, either.”

“No,” she said, with a pout.

“Alright,” he said. “Then I’ll see you later. We need to talk about your security arrangements. You’ve got some serious vulnerabilities.”

“Do I?” she asked.

“Yeah, for real. Don’t worry, though -- we can fix them.” He dusted off his backside. “Laters, babe.” Then he took off, running away from the road.

She watched him go, watched until he was out of sight, and then she returned to her house. To her surprise and relief, William’s car was gone. He was probably only pretending to be asleep when she left. Caresse wondered whether he’d ever come back. It’s only awkward if we make it awkward, she told herself.

When she went inside, she saw that William had done a hasty straightening. All the furniture was right-side up and more or less in place. The dirty dishes were all in the sink -- he hadn’t gone so far as to load the dishwasher, but at least he’d collected them and piled them up.

He also had left a note: Sorry about last night. I apologize for everything I said and for my offensive attitude. I was way out of line. I hope you can forgive me. -- William

She wasn’t entirely convinced, but at least the note was civil. She took a shower, loaded the dishwasher, and got started on her next video.

 

---

 

Back at task-force headquarters, Joseph was surprised to see one of his female colleagues smiling at him. This woman had literally never given him the time of day before. She’d never returned his greetings, his nods and waves, but now, today, she was smiling at him. He checked to make sure there was no one standing near him or behind him -- he didn’t want to make an ass of himself by smiling back if she was actually smiling at someone else. But there was no one near him or behind him. So he smiled and waved back at her. She walked over to him, carrying two coffees.

“You’re from Major Crimes -- the county division, right?” the woman asked.

“Yup!” Joseph agreed, struggling to look and act more cool, intelligent, and appealing.

“You're the one who had that tip about Caresse Desmesne’s condo, aren’t you? That was a great tip! Too bad we couldn’t move on it -- we could have gotten a lot of great intel.”

“Yup!” Joseph agreed again. He hated being monosyllabic, but nothing more was coming to him.

“So, are you the guys who turned Caresse?”

“Turned her?” Joseph asked with a gulp. How could she know about Caresse? Had William already let the cat out of the bag?

“Yes,” the woman said. “She’s cooperating, isn’t she? Telling us what she knows?”

All Joseph managed to say was, “Uh--”

The woman smiled, and seemed to notice for the first time that she had two coffees in her hands. “Oh, hey, do you want a coffee? They gave me two by mistake downstairs, and I was looking for someone to give one to.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks.” Joseph took a sip and was surprised to find it had just the right amount of sugar and just the right amount of milk. How did she know how he took his coffee? Had she been watching him? Stalking him? Was she interested in him? This looked promising! She smiled again. Joseph felt like a king.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” the woman said in an undertone. “I didn’t realize it was still on the down-low. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Joseph assured her. “We were supposed to keep it under wraps, but…”

“Cat’s out of the bag!” she laughed.

“Yeah,” Joseph agreed, but he felt a little uncomfortable. Something about this wasn’t right.

The woman laughed again and said, “We should have a no-bag policy in this office.”

“No bags!” agreed Joseph with a laugh. “Just cats. Cats everywhere, cats without bags.”

“Cats without bags,” the woman said, and she touched her coffee cup to his, as if it were a toast.

Later, while Joseph finished his coffee alone, he pondered the exchange. He wondered why William hadn’t told him first, before he spilled the beans. Then his heart began to pound as he realized: he may have made a big mistake.

 

---

 

After lunch, Caresse saw Reacher walking up the driveway. She met him at the door. He was carrying two bottles of beer in his left hand. “Only two?” she asked.

“It’s not for parsimony,” he told her. “I need to keep my head clear. I think you do, too. But there’s no harm in a postprandial libation.”

“Oh, my,” she said with a smile, “Someone’s eaten their word-a-day calendar for lunch.”

“Don’t mock me for trying to improve myself,” he replied, smiling. Then he pulled her into a kiss.

“Look,” he said. “Let’s drink these and talk about security. We need to do this sooner than later. It’s important.” He pointed out that there was only one way in or out of their houses: the single road. “You turn left out of your driveway -- that’s north. It’s a dead end in that direction. You turn right out of your driveway -- that’s south. Anybody can block that road; all they need to do is to park a truck on it somewhere south of my driveway. We’d be trapped in here. Your path only goes as far as my house, it’s not a way out.”

“What’s the solution?” she asked.

“South of here, our dirt road meets another dirt road that has exits in both directions: east to the turnpike, west to route two. You need to park your weird little van off THAT road. Then you’ll have two ways out. I know a perfect place, and it’s close to where the other path comes out -- the one I mentioned this morning: the long way around from the crest of the hill.”

“Do you have a vehicle down there?”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “I shouldn’t tell you, but yeah, I have a motorcycle stashed in the bushes down there. The point is, if we get blocked in, you can run up to the crest, take the long path down to the road and drive out.” They finished the beers and he stood up. “Come on, let’s do this now.”

“Now?” she asked.

“Now,” he replied. “It’s important. This could mean life or death.” The two of them got into her van and drove south on their dirt road, then west to the spot he mentioned. With his help, she backed the van into a small clear space. She was able to pull in far enough that it was pretty well hidden, but they added a tarp and some branches to completely camouflage the vehicle. Then they took the long walk up the other path, ending at the crest of the hill. After a little rest and a short vigorous session of sex against a tree, they started down the road to her house.

While they walked, they talked. He asked her whether she had an escape plan. “Not entirely,” she confessed. “The thing that stumps me is where would I go? I think I’m pretty recognizable. I don’t know how far I’d have to go for people not to know who I am.”

“The way I see it,” he told her, “Is that you have two choices: one is to do like Jack Reacher, which means to always be on the move.”

“He was a good guy, though, wasn’t he? He wasn’t on the run, was he?”

“No, but he didn’t want to be findable. He didn’t want to be weighed down by possessions, which is what happens if you stay in one place too long.”

“What’s the other choice?”

“You go somewhere where everybody looks like you,” he said. “Like, if you were a redhead, you could go to Ireland or Scotland. You’d just be another piece of hay in the haystack. For you, some places that might work are Miami, Los Angeles... maybe Vegas. I don’t know.”

“I see,” she said. “That makes sense.”

“You want to go somewhere where you’re a dime a dozen.”

They were silent for a few moments, then she asked, “So why are you out here? You’re not on the move, and there’s no one who looks like you around here.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For Dan Plice to find me.”

“How would he find you? Did you leave this as your forwarding address?”

“Funny,” he scoffed. “Do you think it’s really that hard to find anyone? If somebody’s looking for you, even if they only halfway know what they’re doing, they’ll find you soon enough.”

“Is that why your house is booby trapped?”

“Yes.”

“Up the wazoo? I didn’t know people still used that phrase. My grandfather used to say it.”

“Umm,” Reacher said. “I can guarantee you: if you go in my house, and you find the wazoo, take a look up inside it. You'll see a booby trap.”

“What kind of booby trap?”

He considered for a moment, then said, “Traps. Plural. They’re non-lethal. If you happen to be there when they go off, just remember that there are five. That’s a very helpful and important tip, so make sure you remember.”

“Five, up the wazoo,” she said. They walked for another moment in silence, then she asked, “Why is Plice looking for you?”

“There are two reasons,” he replied. “The first is that I took out one of his hit men. The other reason is that I stole money from him. A lot of money. I took it so he’d come after me.”

She looked at him in silence, then she took his arm and moved in close, her body against his, as they walked. He freed his arm, put it around her, and held her until they arrived at her driveway.

 

---

 

When William got back to town, he called his colleague. “Joe, meet me at Andy’s house. Right away. I’ve got something I need to show you. It’s important.”

“Okay,” Joseph agreed. He wanted to ask whether William had spoken about Caresse to anyone on the task force, but he knew better than to say anything sensitive over the phone. Besides, there were people working nearby who might overhear, so he hung up and drove to Andy’s.

When he entered Andy’s apartment, he saw William sitting at the table, scowling at his laptop.

“William,” Joseph asked, “Did you tell anybody on the task force about Caresse? That she’s cooperating?”

“Huh! Cooperating,” William repeated with a sneer.

“Did you tell anyone?” Joseph repeated.

“No, of course not!”

“Well, one of the investigators from--”

William interrupted him with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Come here and look at this, will you?” He was watching the video of Henry and Caresse. William had already watched it several times already. This time, the video was at the point where Henry placed his phone atop the mirror and Caresse was returning from the bathroom.

“Oh, Henry, you dog!” Joseph crowed. “I knew his day would come! Damn! I should have made that bet! In the end, Caresse could not resist!”

“That’s not Caresse, you idiot,” William growled.

“What?”

“It’s not Caresse! Look at the date and time: it’s Andy.”

“Holy shit!”

“That lying bitch! She screws this clown, but then she whines you’re not good enough for me. She opens her legs for this nobody, this IDIOT, and then she pretends that she doesn’t like sex. Fucking hypocrite!” His voice was full of bile. “I’m so angry! SO FUCKING ANGRY!” They watched until Henry left and the video cut off.

“And then what happens?” Joseph asked.

“What do you mean, then what happens? That’s it: That’s all there is,” William responded.

“But she’s naked on the bed,” Joseph pointed out. “Something happens next. She gets up and runs around, she masturbates, I don’t know. But something happens next.”

William, still muttering an undercurrent of curses and imprecations, logged into the surveillance system. He was so upset that he typed the wrong password twice. Once in, he rolled back to the date and time of Henry and Caresse’s tryst. On the video, the condo was empty. The bed was unmade, but no one was there. William fast-forwarded and rewound several times, until he finally noticed the jump in the hours. In one moment the bed was made, and the next moment it was completely undone. “That little bitch!” he shouted. He rewound and played it again, just to be sure. “That lying, deceitful, hypocritical little bitch from hell! She set the recording back two hours! Do you see that? Everything she did was overwritten! Can you believe that? Who does she think she is? She turns into a woman, and she immediately becomes a devious, conniving hellion. She’s full of lies. Sweetness and lies.”

“We can get those hours back though, can’t we?”

“Andy could, yeah, but I can’t. He’s the frickin’ expert.”

“Hmm,” Joseph mused. “So... can I get a copy of that video?” William groaned in response. Joseph picked up a clean USB drive from a box on Andy's desk and began making his copy. Then he asked, “Hey, where did you get that video, anyway?”

“I found it when I searched her room this morning. It was on a USB drive, so I made a copy.”

“Why were you searching her room?”

“She put a lock on her bedroom door. Can you believe that? I tried her door in the night, and it was closed up tight. This morning, she went out for a jog, so I went looking for the key to her bedroom door. She must have taken it with her.” Then William told, in great detail, of his failed attempt to bring Caresse to ground. Joseph swore in disbelief.

“The thing is, Joe, she is dead set against sharing what she’s got. She’s stingy and spiteful and so ungrateful.”

“We just have to be persistent,” Joseph said. “We need to find the right ploy, or play, or whatever. That’s how it works. Persistence.”

“No,” William said. “She will never play ball. She made that abundantly clear.”

The two discussed the matter for hours. They ate Andy’s food and drank his beer. They felt that he owed them that much at least. Then, in the interest of a full and frank discussion, they opened his most expensive bottle of Scotch.

Joseph gave his summary: “What you’re saying is that we can’t get there by being nice; we can’t get there by being mean. The fact that we’re her friends and co-workers means nothing to her. The fact that she received this enormous hot-ass gift means nothing to her. We can’t get there by trickery; we can’t get there by guile. Bill, I don’t want to say I’m stumped, but I think I am. Or -- my head says I’m stumped, but my heart tells me that there has to be a way.”

“What I want to know is: what does that idiot Henry have, that we don’t have?”

Joseph regarded his friend in silence. He knew the answer, but he certainly wasn’t going to say it. The explanation was pretty simple. Henry had quite a lot that they didn’t have: (1) he was two decades younger than either Joe or Bill, (2) he had a full head of hair, (3) he was tall and good looking, (4) emotionally, he was as simple as a dog, and (5) Henry didn’t expect or demand anything. Henry was actually the male version of what Joseph and William wanted Caresse to be.

When the conversation between the men degenerated to a low enough point, Joseph broke their logjam by making a startling admission: he had a bottle of rohypnol. “I was on a raid,” he said, “And I found a little bottle. It wasn't relevant to the search, so it wasn't really evidence, you know? So one minute, I was standing there, looking at the bottle. Then something happened -- the suspect made a break for it -- and without thinking, I dropped the bottle into my jacket. I forgot all about it until I got home and emptied my pockets. At that point, it would have been embarrassing to turn it in. Anyway, like I said, we didn’t need it as evidence, and the suspect wasn't about to report it missing, so I just -- uh, put in a safe place.”

William had his doubts about Joseph’s story, but he was interested in the possibilities. They discussed the practicalities and got down to specific tactics: they worked out the dosage (“we don’t want her unconscious; we just want her pliable”), they decided on the delivery mechanism (“we can crush it into a powder”), and noted the speed of effect (“it should take about 15 minutes”).

Once their plan was worked out in detail, the two men were so excited that they wanted to drive out at that moment, or at least the next morning. However, they weren’t scheduled to visit the safe house until Thursday -- the day after tomorrow. Arriving earlier -- especially on the heels of William’s disastrous visit -- might make Caresse suspicious and watchful. That was the last thing the two men wanted.

While Joseph and William wove their net of deception, their apartments were being searched by Plice’s men. Plice’s team had already searched Joseph’s and William’s cars, and had attached tracking devices. At the same time, one of the moles was going through their desks at work. There wasn’t much to find. The next day, they searched Andy’s apartment. His surveillance equipment was certainly interesting, but Plice’s men didn’t take anything or disturb anything; they didn’t want anyone to know that they’d been there.

 

---

 

“It’s nice to sleep in a real bed,” Reacher told her.

“Don’t you have a bed in your house?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “It’s not really a house, per se. It’s a big mouse trap.”

“Full of wazoos,” she laughed.

He squeezed her and kissed her.

“Tell me,” she said, “How much are you like the guy in the books?”

“Jack Reacher?”

“Yes.”

“Well… we’re both men, both Army, both know how to fight. That’s about it. In everything else, we’re complete opposites. He went to West Point; I was a high-school dropout. He was mustered out as a major; I was dishonorably discharged. He’s a marksman; I don’t like guns. He likes coffee; I drink Coke.” He paused. “There’s probably more differences, but the main thing is that I’ve been a bad person all my life and a criminal my entire adult life. The only thing that ever made me want to be different was when that little girl was shot.”

“Did you know her?”

“No, not at all, but it was so fucking senseless that it just killed me. You know the girl I’m talking about, right?”

Caresse nodded. At the time, the story was in all the papers. Amabelle Pressy was a nine-year-old girl who heard a noise and ran to see what it was. She ended up witnessing a murder by one of Plice’s men, and since she was a witness, she was killed on the spot.

“She was a complete innocent. A tiny angel.” Tears formed in his eyes. “It took me three months to find out who did it and to put him down. I put him down like a dog, and I really made it hurt. I had to put down some of Plice’s other men on the way there. I didn’t really want to kill them, but I had to do it. At that point, I thought about turning myself into a Punisher-type of character and taking out all of Plice’s organization, but that was a crazy thought. I’m not that kind of guy. I don’t have that ability.”

“Who’s the Punisher?”

He sighed. “Don’t they teach you anything in school? The Punisher is another fictional action hero. Frank Castle. His family was killed by the mob, so he kills every bad guy who was even peripherally involved.”

“Sounds pretty sick.”

“Not if you know the story.” He sniffed, wiped his eyes, and went on. “So… knowing I was not THAT guy, I thought about what I COULD do, and I started doing that: I started robbing him, disrupting his business... I made myself a pain in his backside. Once they figured who I was, I came out here.”

“Did you leave a trail?”

“I’m sure I did, but not on purpose.” He looked at her for a few moments, then said, “I have to tell you something: I recognized you right away, and I figured you were on the run from Plice. I was happy, because I figured your being out here would increase my chances of seeing Plice out here. I figured he might get irritated over me, but he’d go absolute nuts over you. When I came up your driveway that night, I just wanted to have a look at you. I was ready to hate and despise you. Man, was I wrong. With my past, I never should have thought that I could judge, but I never -- never thought I’d end up liking you so much. You’re such an -- you’re such a wonderful person. You really are. At first, that night in your driveway, I only saw you as bait to lure Plice out here. Now I want to do everything I can to make sure you get out of here alive. I need to know that when it all comes down, you’ll be able to get away.” He raised himself up on one elbow and looked her in the eyes. “Promise me, Caresse, if it comes to it, that you will just go. Don’t look for me, don’t call my name, don’t say goodbye. Just go. When the shit hits the fan, the only way out is to leave, in that exact moment. You have to leave the dead to bury their own dead.”

A cold shiver ran though her like a icy knife as she heard those words.

“What about you? Don’t you want to get out of here alive? Don't you want to get away?”

“Naw,” he said. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not fine, that’s fine, too. I’m a spider, sitting on my spiderweb, waiting. I just want to take out Plice. That’s all I want. I want to end him permanently. Guys like him are a problem that can only be solved by a bullet in the head.”

She regarded him in silence for a moment. Then she said, “You said that you don’t like guns.”

He laughed. “We all have to make sacrifices.”

 

---

 

William and Joseph set off in Joseph’s car on Thursday, just after lunch. They were followed at a distance by Plice’s people. Joseph and William never saw them: partly because the followers were so professional, but mainly because William and Joseph were distracted and excited about the crime they were about to commit against Caresse.

When the two men arrived, William apologized again to Caresse for his bad manners, and Joseph apologized for the “grope fest” when Caresse was first transformed. She didn’t entirely trust their apologies, but they did behave themselves. They brought dinner -- Chinese food. They brought wine, but only one bottle.

William managed to drop the drug into Caresse’s wine without being seen, and the fine powder dissolved pretty quickly. He stirred it to be sure, and almost licked the spoon out of habit.

The two men tried to not focus on her wine glass. They didn’t want to give themselves away. She was maddenly slow to drink the wine, but once she did, she quickly began to feel groggy, and she heard herself slurring her words. She glanced at the men’s faces and immediately understood. Realizing that she had only moments before she’d fall completely under the spell of the drug, she muttered that she needed to use the bathroom, and headed for the stairs. The two men watched her as she struggled to ascend. They were afraid that she might fall, but they were equally afraid of playing their hand by offering to help. It took a long, suspenseful time, but luckily, after great physical effort, she made it to the top of the stairs without incident. She stumbled into her bedroom and threw the deadbolt before succumbing to the drug and falling to the floor.

“That goddam bitch!” William shouted, when he heard the deadbolt click. Pounding his fist on the table, he said, “She’s outsmarted us again, but not for long! Come on, Joe, let’s break down that goddamn door!”

“Wait,” Joseph said. “I think I saw a ladder in the garage.”

He was right: there was indeed a ladder in the garage, a relic of the last house-painting. The two men carried the ladder out and propped it up against the house. It was just high enough to reach the sill of her window, and her window was open. They ascended the rickety ladder, which bowed and wobbled comically and came perilously close to breaking. With some difficulty they lifted and pushed themselves through her window opening. Then they began their pitiful rape. Caresse, as Joseph had said, was not unconscious. She was nearly awake, but impaired and unable to resist.

If Joseph and William could have seen themselves, they wouldn’t have wanted a video of their act. No one wants to see the spectacle of two flabby, middle-aged men abusing a barely conscious woman. Neither man was at his best, neither had the ability or the stamina to go very far. For the most part, they ended up groping her and taking photos.

While they were so absorbed, one of Plice’s men was bold enough to climb the ladder and peek into the room. He took two or three photos, and climbed back down. He chose the one that best showed Caresse’s face, and sent it, encrypted, directly to Dan Plice. Plice replied, telling the watchers to take no action. They were to continue watching. Then he instructed his backup team to be out there by dawn.

The Plan-B Bust: 5 / 5

An Altered Fates Story
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

Caresse woke up groggy, feeling… hungover. Hungover? No. Drugged. It was the aftermath of being drugged. Her whole body sensed the disgusting chemical in her blood. It was in her head. It was on her skin. It soaked all through her, in her viscera, in her bones. The whole world felt nauseous and shaky. Her head slowly cleared, and as it did, she gradually realized what crimes had been done to her. Every part of her was sticky, dirty, sordidly unclean. Her vagina, her ass, her mouth had all been used without her knowledge or consent. She needed water, a river of water, to rinse her mouth and to wash herself clean. She sat up and saw the two culprits, Joseph and William, lying naked on the floor next to her bed, their middle-aged bellies sticking out like perverse unliving pregnancies. William, inexplicably, was still wearing his socks and shoes, which somehow made him even creepier than before.

She was angry: angry in a way she’d never felt before. It was an existential anger, a profound sense of wrongness that nothing could correct. A wrongness as wrong as death. Was she angry enough to kill the pair of them? Angry enough to find a stick and beat them with it? No -- it was not that kind of anger. It was a mournful, offended, god-like anger. She could happily see them both dead, but she was not their executioner. She did not want to be bound to them in that way. However, she was angry enough to do something else. She stood up, naked as she was, and went downstairs. She wanted to find the drug they’d used on her.

It didn’t take long to find it. The bottle of rohypnol was in Joseph’s suitcase. She had no idea of the proper dose, but one pill per man ought to do something. It ought to impair them a little; long enough for her to get the hell out and gone. With the flat of the biggest kitchen knife, she crushed two pills, and gathered the powder on two folded pieces of paper. She filled a teacup with water, and carried it, a teaspoon, and the the two powdered pills, upstairs.

Luckily, the two men were sleeping on their sides, with their stupid mouths open. She dumped the powder inside their cheeks. Then she spooned a teaspoon full of water over the powder. Each man licked his lips and swallowed. She spooned another teaspoon of water over the powder, and they swallowed again. She did this six times, pausing once to refill the cup. I’m not sure this will do anything, she told herself, but at least it’s something.

She picked up Andy’s gun, checked it, and put it in a plastic bag so she could take it with her into the shower. It was only 4:10 in the morning, but there was no way she was going back to sleep. Not with those two assholes in the house. She was going to leave, just as soon as she could get the filthy stickiness off her.

She didn’t hurry in the shower, but she didn’t make a day of it. She just wanted to get clean, and each time her hand touched the remnants of her ex-colleagues’ debauchery, she trembled with renewed fury.

When she emerged, wearing clean clothes and drying her hair with a towel, the boys were still snoring, so she threw a few toiletries and a few more clothes into a tote bag, along with her police laptop and charger. She went downstairs and took the blanket off the couch. She went outside and spread the blanket on the ground in the crawlspace so she wouldn’t get dirty while retrieving her go-bag. She shoved the tote bag and her gun into the go-bag so she’d only have one thing to carry.

She stood outside the house for a moment, breathing hard. The sky was beginning to lighten, but the sun wasn’t quite up yet. She could see well enough to get around. The birds were quietly chirping, and a soft wind made the trees rustle, as if some giant was breathing softly over the landscape.

I should tell Reacher goodbye, she thought, even if she wasn’t sure she’d find him. She started down the path to his house. If she didn’t find him right away, she’d just leave. He’d understand. At least, he said he’d understand.

About halfway down the path, she had a sudden intuition. She didn’t know why, but she felt the need to hide the go-bag. She tucked it behind some bushes, and checked from different angles to make sure it wasn’t visible. There were two baseball-sized rocks on the ground, and she picked them up. As she walked, she tossed the ball-like rocks and caught them, and clacked them against each other. It didn’t make a loud sound, but maybe Reacher would hear her coming.

Just as she caught sight of his house, she stopped, remembering his warning about the tripwire. She looked along the path, following it with her eye from where it began and all the way to where she stood, and then she spotted the tripwire: it was right in front of her feet! She clacked the rocks twice, pleased with herself.

She heard footsteps approaching from beyond the head of the path. She couldn’t see him, but it had to be Reacher. She smiled, happy that he was there; happy that she’d get to tell him goodbye. But it wasn’t Reacher. It was a man about as tall as Reacher, but thinner. And unlike Reacher, he was ugly, inside and out. He was wearing khaki pants, a blue t-shirt, and a light jacket. Underneath the jacket he wore a gun. Slowly he reached for it. As he did, in a soft voice he crooned, “Caresse Desmesne, as I live and breathe! Danny Plice is going to be so happy to see you!”

Without thinking, she let fly with one of the rocks, and beaned him in the head. It bounced off his right forehead, where a blotch of blood appeared. He swore, but he didn’t fall down. “You goddamn bitch! I’ll make you pay for that!”

She turned and ran, as quickly as she could. He took off after her. She wanted to make him move fast. His footsteps pounded into the ground, one, two, three, four, five, six -- then ooof! thud! He fell heavily to the ground. The tripwire had done its work. She stopped and turned to look. He’d done a full faceplant into the ground. Before he could recover, she was back on him, and smacked him in the back of his head with the other rock. It took three blows before he stopped moving. She looked at the blood on the rock, and the spatter on her hands and clothes. Then came the sound of more footsteps, and she looked up to see Reacher standing nearby. “Nice work,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t get him first. I did take care of the other guy, but this one was a lot sneakier.”

“What other guy?” she asked.

“Let me finish this one off and I’ll tell you,” he said as he dragged the unconscious body off the path.

“What do you mean finish him off? You don’t need to kill him!”

“Do you want him to jump back up and come after you again?”

“No.”

“Then I’m going to finish him off.”

She didn’t see exactly where Reacher stuck the man or cut him. She didn’t want to see. She saw what came after, which was Reacher wiping the man’s blood off his blade.

“Who was the other guy?” she asked again.

“There were two guys watching your house last night. I couldn’t do anything about them until now, when this one broke off to get ahead of you. They have to be Plice’s boys, and that means that Plice is on his way. You need to get going. You need to get far from here.”

“Plice?” Caresse went white. “Shit! My colleagues!” she whispered. Joseph and William were no shape to confront Plice and his men. They'd be sitting ducks.

“Your what?” Reacher asked. “Did you say colleagues?”

“Long story,” she replied. He took a breath like he was about to ask for the long story, when Caresse noticed a bow and a set of arrows lying on the ground behind Reacher. “Are those yours?” He nodded, and reddened a little. “Are you any good?”

He shrugged. “If the guy is standing perfectly still and isn’t too far away, then yeah, I’m great. It’s how I--” He was interrupted by the sound of a car coming up the dirt road way too fast. He grabbed Caresse and held her to the spot. It was unlikely they’d be seen from a quickly passing car, but the two of them could plainly see four men in a black car, with a huge cloud of dust following behind.

“Right!” Reacher crowed. “It’s go time! Listen, you stay here. You can hide behind my house, or I can carry you to a safe spot inside. I--”

“Hell, no!” she told him. She bent down and picked up the dead man’s gun off the ground, and checked it. “I have to help my--”

“--your colleagues?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “My colleagues.”

“No,” he told her. “You need to get the hell on out of here. Leave the dead to bury their dead.”

“Fuck that!” she said, and started up the path.

“Okay, then,” he called after her, “I’ll flank you from the road. Good luck.” He picked up his bow and arrows and headed off.

She could hear banging and shouting well down the path. When her house came into view, she could only see one of the four thugs. He was standing with his back to her, watching the kitchen door. From the noise, it sounded like the other three were inside, beating on William and Joseph. Caresse moved her gun to her left hand and picked up a rock with her right. She silently worked her way forward. When she felt herself at a sure distance, she set the gun on the ground and whipped the rock at his head. He jerked, stumbled, then fell with a sickening thud, his face landing in a puddle of water.

She picked up the gun and ran to the prostrate man. Instinctively she almost pulled his face from the puddle, but stopped herself, hearing Reacher’s voice in her head: Do you want him to jump back up and come after you again? She didn’t have a knife, and she recoiled at the idea of pounding him to death with a rock. Then he started twitching, and she knew she had to act. She quickly pulled a heavy outdoor chair and up-ended it on the man’s head, its cast-iron weight trapping his face underwater. He lamely struggled for about two minutes. Caresse looked away until the sound of his struggling stopped.

There was still shouting from inside the house, and she could hear the sound of William and Joseph falling and being kicked and dragged down the stairs. She quickly pulled the chair off the dead man’s head and dragged his body behind the house. She couldn’t see it, but she heard the front door burst open. She moved cautiously up the back of the house so she could see what was going on.

She took a quick glance around the corner of the house. There were two naked, semi-conscious men on the ground -- William and Joseph -- and three thugs standing over them. One of the men had his back to Caresse, but the other two were facing her. In fact, if they hadn’t been looking down at William and Joseph, they would have seen her face.

Caresse didn’t know what to do. If she worked her way back around the house, she’d be in a worse position, because she’d be farther away from the men. She could get to the back door, go upstairs, and shoot down at them from inside the house. Still, it wouldn’t take long for them to flank her. She heaved a big breath and listened.

“Look at these assholes!” one of the men shouted. “They’re all doped up! What the hell were they doing?”

“Do you think Caresse did this to them?” another asked.

“Whatever the fuck is going on, these two are useless to us like this. Drag them over to the bushes and give ‘em both a bullet in the head.”

“Wait! Maybe they know where Caresse is.”

“You want to wait until they sober up and ask them?”

Caresse could almost hear the shrugged response.

“Fuck.”

The thugs stood silently considering, until one asked, “What is our next step here?”

“Go fuck yourself. That’s the next step here.”

“Nice, very nice. I’m asking what we're supposed to do now? We don’t want Plice to show up while we're standing here with our thumbs up our asses.”

“We wait for Plice. In the meantime, we look for Caresse. We look in the bushes. We check what’s down that path…”

“We could drive down to the end of the road, that way.”

“No, if we do that, we'll give her a way out. The car stays here.”

“Okay. In the meantime, speaking of bushes…” Caresse heard a loud unzipping noise.

“Jesus!” another man said. “You got a loudspeaker in those pants?”

“Wait until you hear me fart,” the other replied. “I don’t need no loudspeaker.”

Caresse crouched low and ventured another quick peek. The man with the loud zipper was walking toward the bushes at the end of the driveway. Another was lighting a cigarette, and the third was standing aimlessly. As the first man reached the bushes, he exclaimed, “Holy crap! I found Charlie!”

Caresse ventured another look. The farthest man was bending over the bushes, looking at the ground. The other two were looking after him, their backs to Caresse. Suddenly there came a swiss--thock! and the man by the bushes twitched. Then, after four seconds, he began to lean, and in slow motion he fell to the ground. Reacher had taken him out with an arrow.

“Fuck!” one of the men shouted. While they both had their backs to her, Caresse stepped out, safety off, and took aim at the closer man, the one on her left. She aimed for his heart, and squeezed off two shots. He went down. The last man turned and fumbled for his gun. Her heart froze. Caresse shot and missed. He grinned. Then he extracted his gun and his face told her that he was ready to fire. Another swiss--thock! was heard, and an arrow bit into the side of the house. The man was puzzled, confused for a moment, so Caresse fired again, this time grazing his left tricep. He stumbled back a step. His head jerked back toward the source of the arrows, and he fired two random shots in that direction. “Come here,” he commanded Caresse. “Drop the fucking gun and come here.” She lowered the gun slightly and took a step closer. Then, when another swiss--thock hit the house, she raised the gun and shot him twice in the chest. The man fell, his face convulsing with pain and confusion.

“Thanks for saving me!” Caresse shouted.

“Hey, fuck,” Reacher responded. “I didn’t want you to come back here. Anyway, I counted four hostiles. One of them is missing.”

“He’s out back,” Caresse boasted. “I drowned him.”

Reacher raised his eyebrows in question, but he bent down and checked each body.

“Don’t want ‘em jumping back up again,” she commented.

“Nope,” he said. He checked the man behind the house, then came back to look at William and Joseph. He nudged their naked bodies with his toe. “These are your colleagues?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she admitted.

“So what are you, FBI?”

“No. Major Crimes, county unit.”

He nodded silently. “I hope you’re not planning on bringing me in,” he commented.

“I don’t even know who you are,” she said.

“True enough. Anyway, as I was saying -- before the bloodbath -- you really need to go. Cop or not. Plice is coming, and he is no joke.”

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” she asked. “You’re not going after him with arrows, are you?”

“No, fuck the bow and arrows. I told you, I set a trap, and I want you out of the way.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She wiped her prints off her gun, and swapped it for one of the unfired guns on the ground. She checked it, and tucked it into her belt, at the small of her back. “I just have to pick up my go-bag. I stashed it down the path there.”

He looked at her for a moment. “A go-bag? A cop, with a go-bag? A cop on the run? Something doesn’t add up here.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “It’s a long story.”

He considered a moment, then spread his hands and shook his head. “Okay. Cool. It’s none of my business. We’ve had our fun, we’ve killed some bad guys. We’ve had some good, sweaty, wholesome fucks. You’re the most beautiful and amazing woman I’ve ever met, and ever will meet. And now, whoever you are, wherever you come from, it’s time for you to go.” He turned started walking down the path to his house. She followed him in silence to the place where she’d hidden the bag. Then she followed him to the end of the path, just over the tripwire, in view of his house.

“Why don’t you just go?” he asked in a strained voice. “You have to go. If you stay, you’ll distract me.”

“I want one more kiss,” she told him. “I want to feel your hard body pressing into mine one more time.”

He groaned and turned to face her. His eyes were glistening, and a single tear rolled down his left cheek. She grabbed him and held him and they kissed with a desperation and a passion that wiped their minds and canceled time. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I think that kiss just made me pregnant.”

He laughed and gave her ass a playful swat. “Go now. For real. Get out before the shit comes down.”

They heard the sound of car tires angrily biting into the dusty dirt road. A car was coming: it was coming way too fast, and it sounded pretty damn angry. “Fuck,” Reacher said. “It’s Plice.” As he said the name, the car turned into Reacher’s driveway, and its two front doors burst open.

“No time to run,” Reacher told her, and scooped her up in his arms. He strode to his house and kicked open the door. Two bullets bit into the door frame, one on each side. Reacher entered and kicked the door shut behind them. Two more bullets hit the house.

Still carrying her, he made his way carefully through the front room and the kitchen, as if he were stepping around invisible obstacles. “Booby traps,” he whispered to her. “Five flash grenades: when those two walk in, they’ll be temporarily blind and deaf.” He entered a little bathroom and laid her down in the tub. Then he lay on the floor and said, “Mouth open, fingers in your ears, eyes screwed shut, facing that way--” here he pointed to the wall-- “and don’t open ‘em until you’ve heard five bams. Then we’ll go out. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.” She put her fingers in her ears. Reacher pulled one of her fingers out and said, “Just remember: Plice is mine.”

No sooner had they closed their ears and eyes that the first grenade when off. Then, a few seconds later, the two more. A pause of five seconds, the fourth. The fifth came soon after. Reacher tapped her twice, and they both stood up. He unsheathed his knife; she readied her gun.

When they came out of the bathroom, the room had a light fog of smoke and it stank of gunpowder. Plice and Larry were like blind men: one hand over their eyes; the other gesturing, reaching with their guns -- ready to fire, but afraid to fire, unwilling to waste bullets by firing into the dark. They moved in stiff, stilted steps, bumping into things, barking their shins on the furniture.

Like fish in a barrel, she thought. Don’t get cocky, though -- nothing can be this easy. Carefully she made her way to Larry’s side. He kept jerking around, swinging his gun to try to connect with something. He almost caught her, twice. Then, she realized she’d been walking on tip-toe, as if he could hear. Throwing caution to the wind, she stepped behind him and, aiming away from Plice and Reacher, she shot Larry in the head.

Then she moved toward Plice and Reacher. Plice was canny. It seemed as though he’d done this sort of thing before. Caresse tried to recall whether Plice had a service record, but she didn’t know. It had never come up. Plice kept his gun low, and used it to make purposeful sweeps, some quick, some slow -- quite unlike Larry’s fearful jerking stabs. Reacher blocked one of Plice’s moves, and stabbed him in the arm. Reacting quickly, Plice angled his wrist into the block and fired a shot that glanced off Reacher’s left shoulder.

Reacher grimaced. His response was to punch Plice in the throat with his right fist, the one holding his knife. Plice’s head came down, and his body tensed from the blow, but he drove that tension into his next move: he clasped his gun with both hands, and pushed the gun into Reacher’s inner thigh, where he let off another shot. Reacher gasped and cried out. He let his knife fall. He punched Plice in the chest, a powerful blow that drove Plice backward. As Plice stepped back, grunting from the blow, he let off two shots into Reacher’s gut.

Jesus Christ! Caresse screamed internally. This is a massacre! Aloud, she said nothing. She didn’t want to distract Reacher. She’d kept moving, looking for a good shot. She didn’t care what Reacher said. If she could take out Plice, she’d do it. Unfortunately, the space was so small, and the two fought so close to each other, that it was hard to get a decent angle. The situation kept changing.

In a last desperate move, Reacher grabbed Plice’s head with both hands, his right hand on Plice’s chin. It took him three tries before he broke Plice’s neck, and by that time Plice had emptied his gun into Reacher’s body. The two men fell to the floor together.

Caresse ran to him, wanting to staunch the blood, but she didn’t know where to begin. He seemed to be bleeding from everywhere.

“Oh, fuck, he got me. He really got me,” Reacher said. “Jesus!” He sniffed and smiled. “But I got him, didn’t I.”

“Yeah, you did,” she said, blinking as her tears began.

“He is dead, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “You killed the hell out of him.”

He looked at himself. “I’m bleeding out,” he observed. “You need to get the fuck out of here.”

She groaned.

“Let the--” he began, but she interrupted.

“Don’t tell me that shit about the dead burying their dead! I don’t want to hear it!”

“But it’s my best line,” he protested with a weak smile, and then he was dead.

She didn’t know how long she knelt there, crying and holding him, but at last she stood up, soaked in his blood. She looked around her. Apart from the three dead bodies, it wasn't a bad-looking place, considering.

The word forensics came into her mind. She looked at her feet. Her shoes were clean. She wasn’t leaving bloody footprints. The only thing she’d touched was the gun in her hand. She carried it outside, undressed completely and washed the blood off her with the garden hose. She put her shoes back on and balled up her clothes.

Back at her house, she threw her bloody clothes in the laundry with a shot of bleach. She took a shower and let the water wash Reacher’s blood down the drain.

Forensics, she thought again. There's so much here that points directly to me! But there was too much to undo. There was no way to erase every trace of Caresse from the house and the situation, no matter how long she worked. On the other hand, there was nothing to implicate her in any crime, at least as far as she could see. She got dressed again and went outside.

There were four men lying dead on the ground, and one more in the bushes. William and Joseph were still alive and breathing, naked and stupid. She resisted the urge to give them each a well-deserved kicking. She pondered for a minute whether there was any inconvenient thing she could shove up their butts while they slept, but nothing came to mind. So she left them lying there. Let the dead bury their dead. They’d have a lot of explaining to do, once they woke up.

It was time to go. She took the path to Reacher’s house for the third time that day. She retrieved her go-bag, stepped over the tripwire, got into Plice’s car, and drove away.