Chapter 3 - the News

   I remember once reading an interview of some famous billionaire. The one quote I took away from it that stuck with me? Yeah, there's some obvious stuff. But the main thing great wealth gives you? You don't have to get up and go to work every day. Only if you want to.

   At first, you would think that was sort of a smart ass comment. Then, that they're trying to soft-pedal it and come off as polite about it. A lot of type A people that made it big, hold out this 80 hour work week ideal. That's how they got there, that's what you have to do, and all that. But there's a big difference between that? And making very little money per hour, and doing hard or menial and thankless work for those 80 hours.

   Not to mention. I don't think anyone believes its really what people think of as "work". Big office, nice desk. Everyone has to be polite and friendly to you, so no one can really give you a hard time and give you a traditional bad day. Phone calls, meetings, decisions. Lunch and snacks as you feel like it. Its really not anyone's idea of "work", let alone "hard work".

   Decision making can be stressful, I get that. But its hardly like that 80 hour week they give themselves, is the same as the guy at the bottom of the ladder working 80 hours at his part he plays.

   We're not rich, at least not like that billionaire. We never will be, and that's by design. My boyfriend shares the same views I do about money and wealth and success. Sure, there's poor and homeless. Then, there's working poor. I lived that life for years. My cover, was a working poor waitress.

   Being working poor is an odd situation. You hear people closer to the top of the food chain, talking as if America is like it once was. You can go from homeless with a dime in your pocket, to being practically royalty owning a big corporation. Its technically possible and it still happens, but… I swear it gets slightly less probable every year.

   You know you can rise to perhaps "head waitress", or maybe assistant manager. But, you'll never have the money to open your own steakhouse in that city. There's degrees of working poor. As a waitress, I had it slightly better than the dishwasher slash assistant cook. I made less per hour, but I had access to tips.

   I couldn't even quit if I had wanted to. I had to make it work and be in that exact location, to have access to what I needed to do my job. I had to be cheerful, a hard worker, and everything else I could manage to be. To ensure it. I couldn't be too nice, and get the employees walking all over me and making my life hell. I guess for me and my strange situation? I had a little extra stress on top of the normal working poor employee.

   Older people are a hoot. I guess they always have been. Who hasn't heard the usual… why, when I was your age? I made a dollar an hour, pulling weeds for the old lady down the street. And I was happy to get it. Then you get a little older. Why, when I was your age? I worked two part time jobs, and paid my own way through college, full time.

   Does you no good to argue with them. Their whole point of reference is stuck decades back on some things. Take my grandfather, for instance. In his day? You could go to a nearby state college for a couple grand a year. Hell, I would have never ended up at my top ten university, if I wasn't there on a sports scholarship. I definitely wouldn't have had a nice townhouse to live in and my own bedroom if I wasn't a starting player.

   So? I really kind of treasure what I have now, what we have together. I smiled and chuckled one day when I realized it. He asked what it was that was amusing to me. I told him. We might not be fabulously wealthy? But, we had a good chunk of the benefits. I related that interview I never forgot to him. We didn't have to work every day for the most part, unless we felt like it.

   Regulations on his gun shop, demand a certain number of regular days and hours per week. If he closes for vacation? He has to notify the ATF that regulates gun shops. He uses those days and hours, to do one of the few things he can't get out of. Which is cleaning and oiling all the guns. If you let them sit for a year or two? You can grab one up and find it rusted.

   He has a smile on his face while doing it. He makes a few jokes about working in the salt mine. Most "work" and "business" is by appointment. A local wants to look at used hunting rifles? Its a tiny town. You just catch us at the diner and mention it over breakfast. He'll open up for lunch in case the guy wanders in on his lunch break. Phone or email can get a customer the same thing. He does more buying and selling online than in real life anyways.

   The guys at the range love this setup. To his range buddies from his club? Its the "toy store". His specialty? He likes a certain make of hunting rifle. He swaps barrels on them, and other parts like triggers and stocks. He gets one, strips it and puts in the high end trigger, the air gauged match barrel. The expensive scope mounts and scope, the weird stock. Other places do that, he's got his own twist on that.

   He's a re-loader. Target shooters are practically forced to reload fired brass cartridges, for accuracy. To match the ammunition perfectly to the rifle. Its part art, part science. He loves target shooting, he loves the puzzle of figuring out what the gun wants to be fed to perform for the shooter. When he has that tiny group, and its repeatable? That's what makes that gun more expensive. Its no longer just the sum of its parts.

   With a demonstration that the ammunition performs in that gun? You get this matched ammunition with the gun if you purchase it. Then, he keeps the "recipe" on file for the serial number of that gun. You can order your own custom ammunition now. This makes the customer extremely happy. It also locks him into making a small profit when they order a run of their custom ammo he loads for them.

   Some just want target shooting ammo. Nothing else matters, but that those holes are as close together and touching as possible. Some want the same thing, but want to hunt with the same gun. He either provides both target and hunting ammunition, or a hunting round that performs on targets.

   The smile on his face when he's "working" at this great chore? Is priceless to me. I get to see the smile of that little kid I know existed once. The smile when he read his dinosaur books, built his models. Re-loading and target shooting is what he did on the long weekends, before his big case and then me and my strangeness crashed into his quiet life he had built for himself.

   The boys and their big private range? They do their PR work with the locals. Its a hunting town, on the edge of the biggest state game-lands in this state. They open up the private range for the locals to "sight in" and get ready for deer hunting season when its near. If a local or a polite hunter that came in on vacation is burning up ammo trying to get sighted in? Help is available.

   All the "boys" in from the shooting club, are happy to sight in for them. Lots of non-club local customers? Came from him standing around, watching someone having trouble getting sighted in. Hey? Wanna try something? Sure, I'm at the end of my rope. I know some of these conversations off by heart by this period in time.

   Look. That's a 30 caliber. Without a special order on twist? Its a one in ten twist barrel, that's standard for thirty caliber. Here. My treat. Lets let that thing cool down, you got it over heated. See those heat waves in the scope? You're trying to aim through barrel induced heat mirage. When its cooled down? We're gonna run a patch through it. Then? Let me take five or ten shots, with this 180 grain load. You're force feeding it 150 grain projectiles. The one in ten twist, in 30 caliber? I bet I get an inch or two, instead of a pie plate, when I feed it 180s.

   Then? They have a snack, some iced tea and let it cool off. He takes ten shots, real slow. A couple minutes to cool off between shots. The 180s almost always group up better. Then? The excited local hunter, the excited guy in on a hunting vacation? Is giddy.

   He has a number of "go to" calibers with hunting projectiles aimed at deer and wild pigs in mind. They buy anywhere from 100 to 1,000 rounds after that demonstration, on the spot. Why spend good money on commercial ammunition, and get a pie plate at 100 yards. When you can spend the same cost, and get a little over an inch at the same distance.

   Once he has a group, he drags the cross-hairs onto the group, and verifies it with another five shot group. Another customer. You can order your "special" ammunition from home, here's the business card for your wallet and your sanity. More than one of these, has gotten into a conversation about re-loading. He'll show off one of his own cheap hunting rifles. No expensive trigger and barrel, and cheap rings and an entry level Chinese scope.

   When his ammunition matched to the gun produces holes that touch at 100 yards, in this bottom of the barrel setup? Well. He can do that for you. You leave the gun, you pay for the powder, primers, brass, projectiles. It takes as long as it takes. You get regular progress reports, in the form of targets emailed to you. You can pick it up when you're happy, he can ship it to your local FFL. You get a code number on your custom ammunition, its the serial number of that gun. You can now order your own custom ammunition, any time you want.

   It always leads to more. They like the 180s? What about the custom load work up. They like the custom load work? What about a new gun. And hey, why not a new gun with you working up a load like that.

   Mike, is my handler. My boss of my true occupation, if you will. More than one FBI big-wig has paid for a guided hunt. Every successful guy with a decent sized office already has a deer head mounted, they usually want a wild pig. Something different, they can show off and tell the tale of. They get the royal treatment. He provides them with a gun and ammo, and a few days of gentle range instruction.

   Then, he takes them out. On horseback, couple days to get to one of the places the wild pigs congregate. There's a good taxidermist not too far away from this tiny town, a couple tiny hunting towns away. He does the mount and ships that out. He's happy to get work thrown his way. The big-wig gets a cooler full of ice and wild pig pork steaks to take back. He gets to tell his tales of his successful guided hunt, to other office big-wigs like himself. Weekend barbecues, and by the way, you're eating my pig I shot. This tides them over, until the head comes in.

   After the first one Mike sent him? Two more wanted the same thing. He has fun "working" that long weekend or whole week. Mike gets brownie points. My better half usually gets a rifle sale or a custom load work up request. Or both. He's having fun, doing what he wants to do anyways. And? He just happens to pick up a couple thousand dollars extra cash. Office big-wigs love to spend money to get catered to.

   Its springtime. The nights are still crisp, some of the days are cooler or warmer. Its a nice time of the year. We would normally be up before now, but he got in late so we'll sleep in a little. He's finally stirring. A little stretching and yawning. A little smile.

   "Morning."

   My faces, my masks. My little half smile is my centerpiece. I give him that one.

   "It is."

   "Hmm. What's up for today, you think."

   "Me? I'm just the little barmaid. You, you're the big businessman now. Figured I'd ask you that one."

   "Yeah, right. I'm in no rush."

   "Well? What do you have on your list."

   "Hmm. I always have a few guns that need loads tested. Doesn't matter when though."

   "Anything else?"

   "Well. I should probably move some dirt around. The one handgun range? Kinda big holes behind the targets. Again, that's not critical. Whenever. When I do it though? I should probably screen the dirt. Lots of lead in there. You can never have too much lead, you know. Bait shop's getting low on some of the split shot, and the other sinkers."

   Scrap lead. He saves it up when he screens the dirt behind the targets. It gets melted down. After testing the hardness of the whole run, he'll adjust the hardness by adding harder or softer lead or lead alloys. Eventually, they'll have a casting party. They get free lead projectiles out of it. For handgun or rifle. There's a big collection of molds. Not all of them are projectile molds, either. They make some lead sinkers, for the range property owner and his bait shop. Just like Panic has his gun shop? The property owner the big range sets on, has his bait shop. Hobby businesses, basically.

   "Shooting. Moving dirt. Screening the dirt for lead. Is that today, you think."

   "Mm. Its not critical. We could have a fun day, if you like that idea."

   "There's different kinds of fun."

   "There are. Give me some ideas."

   "You want to eat here? Or…"

   "We even in time for breakfast? I got in late, you let me sleep in."

   "We missed the chief and the morning shift change at the doughnut shop. We're still in time for diner breakfast."

   "That's just eating. That's not any kind of real plan or anything."

   "I know. I was thinking… I don't know. Maybe… a hike? Or, do you want to wake up one day, and have to lick a fat girl's bum."

   "Did you check the weather?"

   "Not calling for rain anytime soon. No clouds coming in. Might hit 60 today."

   "Hmm. Hike sounds good then. Sure. We have time for a shower?"

   "A quick one."

   I love my shower time. I like the shower itself, its big. I like even more, what I get when I'm in the shower with him. I have a big routine I really enjoy. I get washed, rubbed, rinsed. I get the body scrub and loofah, those little crunchy things in the body wash feel great. I love getting my hair washed and rinsed. Moisturized and combed back. The final oiling and rinsing. Then, the piece de resistance. I lean back on the sink, and get dried, slowly and thoroughly.

   Yeah, I like being in charge. Definitely in the bedroom, and even in the relationship itself. Its what I like, its what I want, its what I need. Just like most men don't prefer a tall strong girl? Most don't like a girl being in charge like that. My better half, though. He likes it just fine.

   I'm not like that in other aspects of my life. Just in the bedroom, and in private for the relationship. It makes sense to me. Other women make the guy guess. To me, that's silly. Just tell him what you want. I'm easy going and I suppose what you'd think of as "normal" outside of those areas.

   I kept him from starting anything in the shower. I smiled and told him to save it for the nature hike. I have other morning rituals I like, but I'm suspending those for time management right now. I winked at him when I dressed myself, after I enjoyed my drying off. I usually have him dress me. These things are our rituals. They're the little things you look forward to every day. Even if everything else goes to hell some days? You can count on those little rituals to make you happy.

   Well, he can count on those rituals for daily happiness. He can truly feel "happy". I get to mainly appreciate it from a logical standpoint. Because of my strange condition I explained to you earlier.

   We grabbed a light day pack and went to the diner. That's another ritual. The doughnut shop, and morning coffee and a doughnut or two with the chief and the night and day guy switching shifts. If everything's on an even keel in town? The chief's own ritual is to pop into the station, look things over and see all's well in Wrightsville as it should be. Then as long as it is? He'll drift over to the diner for his actual breakfast.

   We caught the chief at the diner. Marnie is my favorite waitress there, she waits on us sitting with the chief. Another little ritual. The older couple that owns and runs our favorite secondhand shop? Another little ritual to gab a few minutes with them. We like seeing the older friendly couple that stayed together forever. It gives us both hope, that such isn't dead in America. That we can have that, too. When my fiancee died in my arms, that was ripped from me and I wondered if I'd ever know that again. I do now. I know to treasure it, it can't be replaced easily if ever at all.

   All my little rituals that make me "happy", lined up fine. Its a great way to start a day. What most people think of as boring? I guard it jealously. I had my fill of excitement and danger before. What most people think of as humdrum everyday boring? I think of as a little treasure. I should have died a couple times before.

   The crisp early spring air, gave way to some sun and indeed started closing in on 60. We hiked for exercise about two straight hours. We gabbed for fun. We chose steeper and smaller trails for eventual privacy. In a hunting town? Getting out into the woods, or "innawoods" as my boyfriend refers to it… isn't nearly as guaranteed for privacy as you might think.

   Hunters routinely go out scouting and hiking. Other hikers roam around as well. Its the largest state game-lands Pennsylvania has to offer, go figure most of the people here and that come here, are here for the woods. If I had a nickel for every time we thought we were alone, and later on saw someone in the distance? Well, I never kept track but I could probably buy a pack of smokes with all those nickels.

   He has a little thermal imaging device. Heat view. Getting onto smaller and steeper deer trails, off of the human trails gets you more privacy. Moving off of even those steep and thin deer trails? Gets you more. After moving through the underbrush and trees a little, a final quick thermal scan gets you what you want. Actual privacy.

   The little day pack we took turns carrying, had the normal little day hike things. Some snacks, some drinks. A big blanket. I had a few extra things for fun. For today? I decided to go with tent pegs and a rubber mallet. And some rope. I got him undressed, on the big blanket. Then, after getting him started? I pounded the tent pegs in securely. I left his wrists and ankles a good bit of slack to move around some while tied to the tent pegs, to make it more fun for me to feel him "struggle" under me.

   I went for some tickling fun, then for the long tease. My wet panties in his mouth, to keep the noise down some. I naturally "threaten" him with punishment, that never comes. He doesn't know it won't come. It can. It sometimes does. It keeps this all fun and fresh and a little exciting. Why have a boring and predictable sex life. Sex, after all is one of the few creature comforts in life I can fully appreciate. Food and sex are two of my favorite pleasures I can fully enjoy like a normal person.

   Two hours hiking out. Maybe two hours of fun. A little time lazing around, gabbing and laying on one another. Then, the two hours hiking back. We stopped in the diner for dinner. Another little ritual. Another touching of home base, for the easy familiarity that another day went fine. Any day you don't have to kill or be killed, to survive and stay alive? A great day.

   I've got a scar on my shoulder, and a scar on the hollow of my throat. To remind me, what a bad day can be like. I like boring, just fine. The guy that owns the tire shop in town, sat at the next table and gabbed a little. More little ritual. More happiness.

   Eating out, as often as we want. Ordering whatever we feel like. Its one of the few things having that pile of money we shouldn't have, that we can enjoy off of it. So if we want extra pork chops with our pork chops dinner? We get it, as simple as that. I feel a little spoiled, sure. But not really, not so much as someone else might see it. We paid for it and many times over in both our own ways, and even together. So I don't feel any guilt enjoying it. Not that I could feel true guilt anyways, but you know what I mean.

   My phone beeped. Its my handler. I know just from the beep, which phone he's using. This isn't social, this has at least some aspect of work to it. The beep alone tells me that, before I even glance at the text. It wasn't the urgent work beep though. This is more ritual. Its not time sensitive, its not hugely important. Its just work ritual.

   "Anything important?"

   "Uncle Mike. Its work, but he won't say. Its not urgent."

   "Kinda no point, if he doesn't tell you what it is. Regular meet?"

   "I don't think so. He said he's coming in."

   "Huh. This weekend?"

   "Actually, no. He said he'll be in this week. Tomorrow or the next day, depends on his office schedule."

   "Doesn't sound earth shattering, whatever it is. Maybe he just wants an excuse to get out of DC for a day or two. If you had anything big at work, you'd have probably told me."

   "No. Nothing like that going on. Its just weird he didn't mention what its about."

   "Maybe he got somewhere on his… little leak he's always looking into."

   "Not like we're big into that. If he mentioned it at all? He'd just do that on any regular meet. Has to be something about me and you, or me and him. Some kind of work thing."

   He shrugged.

   "Hey. We'll see what it is, when he gets here. He bringing Junior with him?"

   "No. He's coming alone."

   "Whatever. Its work, it ain't critical. We'll find out when he tells us. No biggie."

   Work ritual.

   "Yeah. So. How are you and Zar getting along, hmm?"

   I smiled.

   "Okay. You… want details?"

   "No. Just making conversation."

   Zar is short for Zarina. Her work nickname, basically. Szarabjorna is such a mouthful. Its my closest friend from my college sports days. One of the small handful of people that know who I really am, and can be trusted. She was raped, repeatedly when younger. Drugged and gang raped a dozen or more times. My dead fiancee? That was the big case him and the other former MP's investigated. It was a complete success, other than the fact it cost him his life at the very end.

   Before his death, we went from a fun sharing thing? And it became a close three way relationship we all treasured. We were both broken when he got unexpectedly shot and killed. She came back from it better than I did. I was shattered, she was just scarred.

   Along with my belief that this guy is "him" come back to me? I got him and her back into what we had all three once shared. A romantic easy going three way shared relationship. There's no jealousy. He can't be "caught". If I show up unexpectedly when he's staying there and surprise them in bed? I just undress and slip under the covers. Likewise, when she comes in to stay with us here? She stays with us, and sleeps in our bed. People know. He has two girlfriends, and we're both happy with it like that.

   Lately? Their relationship changed. If anything, they're growing closer. Not apart. But… they're more prone to spend more time together having easygoing fun, instead of sex. They both say its more like they're turning into best friends, than the more obvious side of things.

   My life is very strange. Where most women would be concerned that their other half is sleeping with their best friend? I'm more concerned that the last time I popped into the city when he was staying there without calling ahead and let myself into her apartment? I found them playing a board game, instead of in the throes of sexual adventure.

   They still have sex, they still enjoy it. Its just slowly turning into a couple that's best friends. So, I'm more worried by them not having as much sex rather than catching them having it. Like I said. My life is very strange, and I can't say that enough.

   I still firmly believe its "him" in this guy. Whether that's real, or it just makes me feel better about all the trauma and loss I suffered? Is immaterial. I'm technically not insane. Sane and insane, are legal terms to judge whether a person can stand trial or not. Even if a person has a condition of some kind, which I clearly do by the way. Even then. Its a requirement for diagnosis, that the condition impair them. If the condition doesn't bother you, if it doesn't get in the way? You don't treat it.

   My PTSD comforts me, seeing a little movie clip of what I lost. If wholeheartedly believing he came back in this guy sitting across the table from me, comforts me? Fine.

   He's different this time around. I can see that. A lot of him, is the same. But, there's differences too. He wasn't an MP this time, he was a military contractor. He doesn't have a more normal make up and development. If he doesn't wear masks like I do, his face doesn't normally show emotions. He has to force body language, too. I can't realistically expect him to have the exact same relationship with Szarabjorna as he had in his previous life. If they're turning into best friends more than lovers? I can't complain about that.

   I can't get married, and I definitely can't bear a child. I would love to do both things, and can't. She can do both. There was the occasional loose talk that those two would get officially married. I'd be the silent partner. It was even tossed around that she could have a child with him. All three of us could then raise the kid and share in that.

   I guess if they move from lovers to best friends, that might put the damper on either of those two possibilities. While the rest of the world might see them being married or her bearing all of us a child as very strange? To me, that would be a step towards a more normal life for me. Hey, its me. Even my "more normal" is strange.

   She'd be a great candidate for surrogate motherhood. Single. Does more than okay financially. She's tall, strong, fit, healthy, smart. She's a good person inside. We're like sisters in every sense of the word. I couldn't replace her, any more than I could replace him. She's a year younger than me, and neither one of us is getting any younger. Both in our mid 30s, if she doesn't bear us a child soon? It will most likely never happen.

   Marriage, well. That, could happen anytime we all three felt like doing that, and at any age. I stopped myself from quizzing him on whether or not him and her discussed the idea of marriage, getting a kid out of it, none of that. I try not to pester him or her about it. I don't want to ever wake up one day and find I've become any sort of a nag. As once having took psychology classes for becoming a therapist? Those kinds of things are better watched out for, than solved once they happen.

   So instead of pestering on those issues? I went for the more mundane. Ritual. Here? Relationship ritual.

   "Well. How's her business doing."

   He brightened up a little more. Its a lighter subject.

   "Well enough. Did I mention, she now has a second employee?"

   "I don't think so, no. Another cutter?"

   "Yeah. She said they're working out pretty good."

   "I guess she has more work coming in then. If she added another employee."

   "That's what I said. Actually, that's her area of expertise, you know. She says, and I quote her here on this. When you get that big extra job finally landed? That's not the time to go looking for and training a new cutter."

   "Oh. Makes sense, I guess. Its not like just hiring another burger flipper."

   "Yeah. Apparently, the smaller jobs, the bread and butter training films?"

   "Okay…"

   "Her and the one cutter, were starting to put in more hours, pretty steady. She figured it was time to start one out, get them going good."

   "Another employee costs more."

   "It does. But her and her steady cutter? They were starting to feel like they were working in the salt mines a little. They both want to be able to take a weekend off. So? Another cutter to spread it out some. Breathing room. And? It really doesn't cost that much more."

   "Hmm. I think in terms of hiring another waitress. This is different?"

   "Yeah. She's paying by the minute of finished cutting. No real difference there. The cutters? Are technically independent contractors. A minute is a minute to pay out on. Whether one cutter does two minutes, or two cutters do a minute each? Not a big difference."

   "Okay. I guess I could see that."

   She ended up with a career working for a company that did training films for business and government offices. We had extra money we couldn't really use anyways. I've always looked after her as if she was my little sister. He set her up with her own little "cutting house", and she eventually had enough work coming in she had to hire another cutter. Now? A second cutter is another sign of slow growth. She also does voice-overs and little radio spots, to fill in work. Good for her.

   He always surprises me. When he approached me that it was a good idea to set her up doing what she does for a career, for herself instead of making someone else rich the rest of her life? He just wanted to do it. He didn't even plan on having her pay him back, nothing like that. He just knew she was very important to me and I took taking care of her seriously. So? He went and did it.

   If it just pays her better to do what she was already doing for a living anyways, that was "success" as far as we were concerned. Without an owner to make rich, her pay basically doubled overnight. We felt a little guilty, when the "investment" paid itself off and continued to pay us back a profit. If it keeps up? We might move from double pay, to triple pay. Go figure, she's ecstatic. Basically her big sister and her sister's boyfriend indulged her with setting her up in her own little business, and its working out fine.

   While I might not feel love the way most people can? I can appreciate it logically. When "success" here was defined as it lets her have her own small business, and I feel better to know that I'm taking care of my little sister better? That's love. To me, anyways. Seeing someone you love and care about happy, makes you feel happy. Sometimes, when I see her bouncing happy about it? I feel a little stab of happy. Just that little stab, before it goes back down to low volume, low thermostat. Again, just for that instant? I get to taste "happy" and what it must be like.

   She used to be a dancer, and trained for it when she was young. Before her life fell apart the way it did. She enjoys it, dancing. Before the business came along, she would sometimes dance out at places. She called it intramural dancing. Not for pay. You just train, work out a routine you think people might not mind seeing. Then? Offer a place that has bands playing some nights. What about someone putting on a little dance show, between band time. No cost. If people like it? That's the reward.

   It was really something to get to see her dance "professionally" like that. She gets to do whatever she wants, not what anyone paying wants. So, if she wanted to work up a jazz routine, for something different for people to see? Well, it was really something. She got "paid" with free drinks and free food, when we went to see her perform. It was at one of those piano and jazz bars.

   When the new business took all of her time? The owner of the piano and jazz bar was kind of sad to see her go. Now maybe with another cutter and they come along well enough, maybe she could squeeze that in again one day. Her outfit wasn't all daring like a lot of dancing girls go for. As a jazz and piano bar, jazz dancing made sense. Loose but fitted pants, and loose but fitted shirt. An open vest, as if a three piece suit but the suit-coat was left out. An older style men's hat from a bygone era.

   She clearly wasn't trying to dress like a man, she said it was a style for jazz dancing. She had "tricks" for the hat and the vest. Its definitely sexy to see a tall fit girl dance professionally, but there was none of the hip hop "fuck the air" motions you see all over the place.

   Early in her set, it was the hat pulled down low. Soft overhead lighting that resembled a streetlight. A cigarette lit and giving off smoke. The vest slung over one shoulder. Over time, the one house jazz band played along with her music she selected. She worked up to the point the last third of her set, she would get near the musicians. Had fun with it. Doing hat tricks twirling the hat onto the saxophone player, for instance. Mugging on the guitarist or bass player. Dancing around the jazz drummer. She had a cymbal she was allowed to kick.

   It was what she was clearly intended to be and do, dancing. If her little world hadn't of been shattered at 14, she might have ended up pursuing dance and getting to the point she had her own little dance classes and got to choreograph a little. No fame and fortune, just doing what she loved.

   Instead? She turned to sports and earned a scholarship to my big ten university, a year behind me. God, was she a star for my team. We both ended up with four conference championship rings, and one national title. If we had played boys football? That would have all but guaranteed a pro career of some note. But, girls soccer? If you don't play football or basketball, don't bother. Its the Olympics or nothing, and even the Olympics doesn't pay.

   At least she can wear any of her five rings in public. I can't. I used to have them safely tucked away. Now, with his bank vault? I at least have a secure place to hide them. She gets to go back on homecoming weekend, and get introduced as a returning hero. One of the original "Bloody Bridesmaids" that started a dynasty for girls soccer at our school.

   I can't.

   I went once and sat in the crowd. Just another spectator. I got to see her get introduced at halftime. I got to finally look around and see all the big banners we won. Visiting teams see all those banners, and its intimidating. You know you're coming onto the home turf of a powerhouse. With national title banners up? Its not just the home of a powerhouse, its a dynasty. You know in your heart, you're invited to a night homecoming game to get beat up on for the hometown to see you get lit up and pissed out.

   My parents get the invites. I can't go. My parents know to just save them up, in a little pile for me. Its like being actually married. Something far off if ever. Its another thing I gave up, to be what I am.

   Now, I should point something out I suppose. Now's as good a time as any. It might sound like all I "get" is things I have to give up, and don't get to enjoy. Things that other people do. While that is true, there are a small number of things I get that ordinary people don't.

   There was a time I thought in terms of… me. What did I want to do for a living. Would I make enough money doing it. Would I get any personal prestige out of doing said thing for a living. You know, normal stuff. After my fiancee was killed in front of me, well, that changed dramatically. Sure, there was a brief period I fought the little urges and hints that I came to realize were suicide impulses. That passed.

   While I lost a lot, and had other things taken from me? I got something back. I realized I no longer wanted the normal desires. Money, prestige, people to see my accomplishments or see me enjoying whatever success it brought me. I had gotten to be around men and even one woman that followed the code.

   They all say it different ways, but its all the same thing. You do the right thing. You do what needs done. You work extra hours and days for no extra pay, simply to make sure the right things happen. You set things right, whatever it might take. The former MP's were all like this, at least the ones I was around through my fiancee bringing them in for that big case.

   Paycheck, promotions, personal prestige? It came second, and that was if it came at all. First and foremost, was doing the right thing. And justice. They all had this way about them. A calm and easy confidence. I wanted that. I wanted it way more after he died. He introduced me to karma. You put out good things. If someone isn't getting their good karma paid back? That's a karma debt. You pay it.

   Me, taking care of what is for all intents and purposes my little sister. That's me honoring a karma debt. She was a good person, great really in many ways. She didn't ask for or deserve in any way, the catastrophe that befell her when she was only 14. He saw that good karma she put out, and all that bad karma she reaped for no good reason. He saw to setting things right. Because if you put out bad karma, when it finally comes back in on you? It can crush you. It should, when you put bad enough karma out.

   Doing the right thing. Setting things right. Justice. Karma. Call it whatever you want. I saw people that felt really good about themselves, just for doing the right thing. For obeying their code. I was fascinated, and after he was gone? I decided that was my purpose. I would be an agent of karma. I would take his place and carry it on. He had already transformed me, and him being ripped from my arms finished it off, big time.

   So, I get that. I get to think, to know… that I'm doing the right thing. I know I'm helping other people. I know I'm doing what needs done, that not everyone else can just go and do. Now. Is it worth it? Its all in how you look at it.

   If you do it all, to make more money? Probably won't happen. It might, but that's rare. Most usually, it costs you and doesn't pay you. He paid and he paid dear, with his life ending suddenly and violently. But, he died with a smile on his face. He said he knew he had accomplished his life's purpose, he'd done what he was sent to do.

   He knew that he had mattered. I wanted that. And I wanted it, needed it… bad after he was gone. I wanted my life to have that meaning. I wanted to not just think, but to know? That I had done my part. This guy, that I think of as having him inside him? He phrases it a little differently, but its the same thing.

   One of his things, is that you don't ask what the price is. You decide that's what you want? That's it. Whatever it costs. Whatever it takes. You go all in. You do, or you die. No half measures. No… rationalizations based on money or personal prestige.

   I like that feeling. Knowing I designed and lived my life, to better do the right thing. To put as much good karma out as I can, to send back enough bad karma and see it goes where its due. If some creature comforts have finally come my way? That's all well and good. But make no mistake, I hold that feeling, that code? Highest. I won't sell out that code, or pay it lip service because I stand to gain from backing off of it and whatever it demands. The more it costs me? The harder I'll push to see it done.

   I sleep better, and I feel better when I'm awake. I like that person that's me in the mirror, because of this.

   When we got home, not exhausted but well exercised for the hiking? He spent a couple hours downstairs, around the vault that's the back center of his gun store. His toy shop. I brought him some coffee down, and watched him. He assembled an AR-15 out of the parts piles he keeps segregated. When he has enough put together? He'll sell them at an online gun auction. When one of the parts bins gets low, he'll order more. It didn't take him that long, he has run of the mill AR-15's down to a well oiled science now. He spent the rest of the time, doing a hundred rounds for a custom ammunition order.

   I gave him a little quickie for bedtime. I got what I call a little mouth quickie back from him. After our night shower, another ritual. The big bathtub ritual. I get some more pampered care in the big tub, then its our ritual to sit and feel the jets. I got used to this in college. As a starting athlete? One of the perks was nice townhouses. They had big nice showers, more than big enough for two. And big tubs, again big enough for two. Whirlpool jets, something the university felt was good for starting athletes.

   I got quite used to that, as you can imagine. My motel apartment I lived in for years? Had a big shower, but no big tub. Again, now that I have an even bigger shower with marble he polished because this used to be a bank back in the day? I have an even bigger marble shower than ever before, and he saw to us getting a practically obscenely nice whirlpool tub.

   Ritual. I sit up and back, and he sits in front of me. My legs go over and down between his legs. My arms draped over his shoulders or in a loose hug. We talk, we enjoy the together time. Our ritual.

   My handler, Mike. He texted he'll probably be coming in tomorrow, in the late afternoon. We fell asleep the way I like. The sleeping ritual. My arm under and around his neck. My face in his neck and shoulder junction. My arm and leg slung over his gently. We decided to sleep in a little bit tomorrow. Nothing outrageous. Just past doughnut time, but in time for diner breakfast.

   I woke up first. My phone beeped. I checked it? Mike. He was early. His text said of the two meetings he was out and about to see to? One was canceled, then the other did the same when he woke up. He decided to just make meeting me, meeting us? His only meeting for the day. He was about a half hour out. I smiled down at my bed mate, and started gently pushing on him. To rouse him gently.

   When he stirred, I waited and did it again. I eventually hit the open and closing eyes, then they finally stayed open.

   "You can't wait for morning? What am I. A machine…"

   "Hmm. Not saying I wouldn't want that, but that's not it. Come on. Get up."

   "My eyes are open. I'm speaking English. I'm definitely up."

   "You're not up… enough. Its Uncle Mikey."

   He glanced at the nightstand clock.

   "That's later."

   "Not any more. It got moved up. His other meeting canceled. He'll be getting in soon."

   "Mm. We have time for a shower…"

   "We do if you get moving, mister. Lets go."

   He pretended to be grouchy, but smiled through his faux complaining. We had another abbreviated shower, not nearly as much ritual care as I normally like in there. I cut a good bit of my normal shower care off in the interest of time? But, I about refuse to budge on being dried off. I love leaning back, and watching him dry me off slowly, head to toe all careful and attentive.

   Mike had gotten moving early his next text said, so I messaged back to just meet us at the diner. We'll do breakfast.

   We got there a few minutes before Mike arrived. Whatever it was, he wanted to wait until after breakfast. I got the idea he was maybe putting it off, whatever had come up. Mike met the chief a long time ago, and about every time he comes in and stays for any real length of time. We small talked with the chief, Marnie, and a few others around us. Morning breakfast ritual.

   Mike asked whether I wanted to do this at the bank, or maybe outdoors. The camp, the range. It was nice out, he observed.

   "Mikey? The bank is the most private. If that's a concern…"

   He ran his fingers through his hair. One of his nervous tics.

   "Its also spring. Its a nice day. Pleasant surroundings wouldn't hurt."

   We opted for going to the range property. This involved small talk with the guys staying there at the time. I got the idea once again that Mike was putting this off, though gently. Whatever it was, he wasn't looking forward to it. We finally went for a walk, all three of us together. When we were sure we had privacy, he started.

   "All right, Mikey. How bad is it."

   He teetered his hand out. Not the worst thing, clearly not the best thing either.

   "All right. Work related, or personal."

   "Ah. More personal, than work related."

   "Do I have to play some kind of game, to slowly get it out of you?"

   "No…"

   He said no, but he wasn't forthcoming with it, either. Had to be something.

   "Did… something happen to one of my parents, maybe someone I know?"

   "Not really. No. I'm sure your parents are fine."

   "Well? Whenever you're ready."

   Mike sighed, and sat down on a rock. He had some paperwork rolled up in a back pocket. He slapped it gently with one hand, into the palm of the other. He eventually sighed again, and handed it over.

   Mike due to the nature of his job at the bureau, can look at information other people can't look at. He can also do it without leaving any log of having looked. He just can't print it out without leaving a log trail. So… he'll take digital pictures of the screen(s), and then print that out at home to show me anything he doesn't want a record of having it.

   "What am I looking at…"

   He sighed. He was doing that here and there.

   "Its… release papers."

   "Releasing…"

   "Prisoner release. If you didn't mess the order up? Page three has the vitals."

   I didn't immediately recognize the name. What jogged my memory? The word "officer".

   "Oh. Is this… who I think it is?"

   He nodded.

   "I can't believe he's out."

   Mike's tone was soft and apologetic.

   "There's various reasons."

   "Some of which, would be…"

   "Well. Prison overcrowding is always a concern. Another thing in his favor? He didn't kill anyone. He just talked about it. Yeah, they threw the book at him, but… parole hearings are their own thing. He used to be a cop, so… there's that at the parole hearings, too. Then… there's the matter of… you."

   "What about me."

   "Security. You're Merry now. And Merry? Can't go and read a heart wrenching victim impact statement for the parole hearing, to better keep his worthless ass behind bars for as long as we'd all like."

   Now it was my turn to sigh.

   "I thought Elise handles that."

   "She does. She did. They still let him out."

   "He's a dirty cop."

   "He was a dirty cop. He'll never be a cop, ever again. He'll be lucky to ever be a security guard, and he'll never own a firearm in his life. Not legally, anyways."

   "Great. He'll never go hunting. I'm so impressed."

   "Merry? I don't like it any more than you do. Trust me. You know enough about this game. He was a dirty cop, sure. He got money and favors. He didn't commit any violence. Talking about someone else doing it? That's conspiracy. To the system? He's just… some cop who went along with the others, and took money to look the other way. When they're looking for releases from state prison? Non violent former cops are some of the first to get kicked loose. I'm sorry."

   He chimed in softly.

   "Is this… one of the dirty dozen DC cops?"

   Mike sighed, I nodded to tell him.

   "No, Panic. This… well? This… isn't the cop that killed her… ex. He was pinched on conspiracy. Talking to the cop that actually did it. If I remember correctly, the text that pinned him, was…"

   I finished his thought for him.

   "So? Just go and get the son of a bitch if that's what you're planning on doing."

   "Oh. Sorry, Merry."

   "You're fine, Panic. You didn't do anything. This was before you were thought of. This is just… history. Its not ancient history to me? But… its just history."

   Mike pleaded with his eyes. He knew this hurt.

   "I had to tell you. I didn't want you finding out some other way. Sorry it had to be me. If… he had violence on his record? Victims would get notified of his release, but… as technically a non-violent offender…"

   "Mike? You're good with yanking strings. Maybe… have a talk with his PO."

   "Oh. Way ahead of you on that one. His PO? Agreed to read him the riot act. Standard speech. I'll violate your ass and send you back inside so fast your head won't have time to spin. Try me."

   "Well. Thanks for that. You tried."

   "I can have an official opinion. I'm not the one compromised. You, on the other hand? You're Merry now."

   I guess my face showed I was pissed.

   "What are you thinking."

   "Honestly? I was wondering about Pounding his ass. You know, like they did to Pound. Drop a little something on him, and paper his ass back up with it."

   "If we went that route? The way the system works right now… it'll be a year, maybe two. And that trick only works once or twice."

   "Yeah. Well, I don't want this to ruin your visit, Mike. I'll forget about this for now."

   "Yeah. Again? I'm sorry, Merry. You know that."

   "I know, Mike. Not your fault. And thanks for sucking it up, and telling me. I appreciate that."

   "Anything I can do? Just tell me. We go back, me and you."

   "This… is just something I have to deal with and put behind me. That's all. I'll… deal with it."

   "You… want time off… anything like that…"

   "Nope. You know me. My case comes first. Everything else comes second or less."

   One upside to my unemotional condition. I don't have to ruin the day for everyone else, just because mine got ruined. Like I would take it out on Mikey even if I could feel.