Chapter 30 - Bermuda III

   I'm sure there's somewhere better to be. But when you're here, its kind of hard to imagine where that is. Its a big island, its got the best weather possible, and the whole place is set up for one thing. Fun and relaxation. Everyone's on board, to this end.

   The island police? Are divided up. There's a beach patrol. Their uniforms aren't so strictly enforced. And other than the uniform, they seem to be largely much like any of the vacationers. You see them walking, they smile and wave. Some go around on bicycles, riding all the many walkways around. Some ride around the smaller roads, on the little French mopeds. There's very few of what an American would think of, as a police car.

   I'm used to where I live, and everywhere I ever visited in my country. You can go to the tiniest town, and the police are all decked out. Bulletproof vests, highway interceptors. Gone are the normal police cars, they all drive around in "police cars" that are upgraded high end sports cars, with a few four wheel drive gigantic SUV vehicles.

   My dad always joked with the tiny farm town police where I came from. The hell do you need a sports car that goes 140 miles an hour for? A pickup truck would make more sense. What's the M-16 and bulletproof vest even for. When's the last time you ever fired your weapon, on the job. A potential bank robbery, or jewelry store robbery? Our tiny town didn't have either one.

   Its by and large, a gigantic waste of resources. The police have top of the line night vision and thermal scopes? The cops take turns borrowing the stuff, for coyote hunting.

   Here? At least its geared towards what they typically might encounter. They have more manpower, and less equipment. With no need for high speed chases and all the equipment? They can afford the extra warm bodies. Drunken brouhaha, is the typical police call. Top shelf booze, on comp? Yeah, guys get blind drunk and get silly. Honestly, the women get into more fights than the men, and I mean by some kind of huge margin.

   The police know what to do. Separate anyone acting up, and they calm down. You basically get grounded, like you're a little kid again. Everyone has traveling money, so theft is rare. The locals? Know the routine. If you mug or rip off tourists? You'll be dealt with, and harshly.

   Older ladies call the cops, because they can see drunk people and they know what they're doing under the big beach towel. Having sex. The police? Honestly don't care. Every second or third low end worker? Has some kind of gig they're running. Selling pot to the people on vacation. Some bar coke. The cops just giggle and move on. Its a giant frat party, basically.

   They have a very small pool of actual detectives. Murder, is almost unheard of. When it happens? Its almost always something involving locals to locals. The hospital? Gets skinned knees. Surfers ditching in coral and get skinned up. A few broken bones, because everyone's partying and running around. A few broken noses and stitches, again because of all the comped top shelf booze flowing.

   Off duty? You see the moped cop, on the beach or snorkeling. Drinking or smoking a joint. Off duty, they're like any tourist, just a little more reserved. They live in a party town.

   Francois says, monkey island is just like this? But. Less tourists, and less business aspect. Toss in a large population of ornery little monkeys, and... there you go. You rent golf carts and these tiny mopeds and buzz around drinking all day and night. When you see someone run the golf cart into something? You point and laugh. Honestly, there's no real keys on the mopeds. Panic has a hobby for lock picking? He laughed. Its three tumblers, but he called them "half tumblers". If you copy eight keys? You can "steal" any moped on the island.

   People just stagger up to the long line like a bicycle rack of mopeds? And try their key until one fits and starts up. Off they go. Yes, you accidentally "stole" someone's beach bag. When the cops track down the "criminal"? They laugh and just lift the beach bag off when you stop somewhere to eat or drink, and return it. Protect and serve. Here? Its more like serve, then protect.

   There's a giant box of cell phones and laptops, that people leave laying around in the lost and found. You can basically just walk up and paw through it, and take whatever you wanted. You can drive the moped around the beach line, and head towards any fire you see. All you find is people drinking, eating, and fucking. You can walk right up to the lobster boil? Yank one out and go off and eat it. No one notices, or says anything.

   You can go into one of the town restaurants, and walk out without paying? Your drunken face is on camera. A moped cop stops by, and gets a copy of the picture. He rides around until he finds you. You get reminded of your tab you left on.

   Apparently, there used to be an organized crime element, but that was a long time ago. Turns out, that organized prostitution and drug dealing? Leads to violence. Huh, go figure. Their answer? Eliminate the organized part. Apparently, girls selling ass to rich vacationers? Doesn't lead to much of a problem. The occasional drunken rape, would be about the only real serious crime that the detectives actually spend time and money on solving.

   But that's rare. Why rape a girl, when there's cute young girls that work all over? Smiling and gently offering their services. It seems that as far as vice crime goes? You just eliminate the pimps and drug dealers, and let people do whatever the hell they want to do. Way fewer problems.

   Who exactly is calling the cops, anyways. The girl that slept with the guy on vacation, for three hundred bucks? She's happy, the guy is happy. The guy that sold the pot or bar coke to a guy partying on vacation with money in his pocket? He's not calling the cops. Neither is the guy that scored his weed or coke.

   Sports cars make almost no sense here. Trucks only make sense if you own a business in the town. There's what looks like giant golf carts, so if a local works at a resort or beach area? They get picked up and taken home automatically. A lot of the workers, just live on premises.

   I'm in my usual position, we use for the tub talking time. Hugging him from behind, my legs around him and my feet over and inside his legs. My tub is now the ocean, though.

   "Honey?"

   "Hmm."

   "How the hell much money, do you think, it would take to just... live here."

   "For how long?"

   "I mean... forever."

   "No idea, honey. Remember. It might be vastly different? To live here, than to just be on vacation."

   "The locals seem happy."

   "I would say... we would want to own and run, some kind of business. But, remember. We're outsiders. The land owners? Might only lease or rent, store space. We have no idea, what the local taxes are like. They might be taking half the take, off every business. Weren't you a steakhouse waitress?"

   "You're silly. You know I was."

   "Well? I'm comparing going there to eat. Against, working there. It could be like that."

   "I guess."

   "I've noticed this. There's a lot of locals? That seem to work all the service jobs. There's a limited number of business owners. There's a limited number of rich people, that seem to have mansions and houses and stuff. I'm pretty sure? Real estate, and taxes. Are going to be fucking outrageous here. Limited amount of land. Very desirable place to own it. I mean, if I owned a store building here? I'd never sell it. I'd only rent or lease. We drove around on our mopeds. I think all the regular workers, just live in those apartment buildings. Where are all the regular houses at."

   I guess he's right. He's describing late stage Europe. A couple of rich families and businesses, and... all regular people. No one is going to pay the person that cuts the grass or washes the laundry, enough to buy any of the super premium land. I thought about it. If your mom cleans rooms, and your dad tends bar? What would you even do, to be a rebel. Go work at the jet ski shop. They might be slaves, and not even know it.

   I lived a weird life for years. I was making really good money, because FBI agents don't exactly make minimum wage. And agents like me that live undercover, 24 7 365? Yeah, you have to pay extra. I lived as a steakhouse waitress, in the heart of Washington DC. It was the textbook definition, of what working poor is. I quickly got used to working an average of six days a week, 10 to 12 hours a shift. Not like I never cashed an 80 hour paycheck before, either.

   I had to live like that. It was my cover. My job. I didn't have access to my regular six figure paychecks. Sure, when I was done? It was mine. But, it was easy to pretend I was working poor. The girls I worked with, I could observe them. I learned how to make friends quick. Hey. Guy has a Rolex on. Doesn't look like an off the rack suit. God, they would all crowd and stare. I'd smile. I get your 15 minute break? Go wait on him. And, it was simply shameless. Giggle, hair flip. Giggle, hair flip. Tapping the shoulder and the hair, every ten seconds. Anything the guy said? Laughter, he was so charming.

   What I used to call a shameless gold digger? How else is a waitress, working poor in the city... supposed to move up to the next social class. And I'm a girl, and I'm not butt ugly. I got tips. If I was a guy in my same situation, I'd of had it even harder. And what did I do. I sold pot to my fellow waitresses. For a little extra spending money.

   I was no different from the workers, right here. But, I knew it would eventually end. I knew I had banked all those six figure paychecks. The girl we see waiting drinks? Doesn't have that. So, she's just like my fellow gold digging waitresses. I bet she's been played before. I bet you anything, she knows a real Rolex from a fake one. An off the rack, from nice material and custom fitting.

   And just like that, in a flash of insight? I understood my steakhouse waitresses, and their values I had thought were horrible. Bad values, get born out of necessity. They're practical. No one wants to live like a nun. You want fucked, and you want to enjoy it. Bad boys. But for serious dating, and to try to land a decent husband? Yeah. You go gold digging.

   Yeah. Easy for me to have more values. I was born and raised to the values. Not everyone is. I bet I could go back home to the family ranch tomorrow, if I wanted to. I'm Dorothy, and Dorothy can go back to Kansas. Most people can't. I could have quit the FBI, and went back to something in my psychology field. The other waitresses? They didn't have my Kansas and Psychology options.

   I can't fault them. Karma, demands that you judge according to the situation. No absolutes. So? With no other realistic option, you fuck bad boys and go digging for gold. With no other option? Yeah. You kill, or you get killed. I can hear some of you complaining. You have to stick to good values. Yeah, you do. And I've been there, done that, got the T shirt. I didn't run around in high school. I didn't in college, either. I stuck to my guns on that count.

   Its hard. And if I wasn't raised on a working farm. Lots of hard work, and few creature comforts with all things considered. Yeah. I was primed to do work, and not take the easy way out. No matter what everyone else is up to. No matter how much sense it seems to make. And its not fun to be the only one playing by the good values, when everyone else seems to be running around, having a ball. I had two serious boyfriends in college, in my first two years. And trust me here, that made me the nun. The second one? Wizzy.

   We all think we're doing what we have to do. I can imagine trying to explain how many lives I've taken personally. To someone who isn't in my world. To them? I'm the monster. But people were trying to come and kill me, and I hadn't done anything wrong. It was kill or be killed. Me. Elise. Panic. We're the result of survival of the fittest. Yeah. You get philosophical about it.

   My waitresses, they had their own philosophical about it. Some, anyways. Most people just adopt whatever the hell everyone else seems to be doing. A few? Do without. They're mostly all of them, the betas. You can drop a beta off, in any culture, anywhere in the world you feel like it. Come back a year or two later? They'll be dressed how the other people are dressed. They'll sport the same values, they'll be doing the same things.

   Beta personalities? Are the bulk of the human population. They're flexible and adaptable. Everyone is religious, and has strict moral codes? They do, too. Everyone is running around, no values, anything goes? Them too. They're not bad, that's just how the average person is wired up. Both sides of the human brain, have equal amounts of control. So? The logical side of the brain, and the creative side of the brain? Each get an equal vote.

   You also got you're highly creative people out there. Artists, and interior decorators, for example. A lot of them are left handed. For them? The other side of the brain predominates and gets the big vote. Everything is by feel. Anything can work. A beta creative person? Think, starving artist. Or, a waitress or nurse. I just like meeting people, talking to people. I like helping people. An alpha creative person? Think, musician or singer. An actor, or director.

   I asked Panic once, about governments and people. He shrugged. He said, I came from a farm or a ranch? Sure did. Then, I understood government. The government, is just the farm house. All your crops and animals? That's your population. There's no morality to it. Its practical. Different countries, have different strategies. You got all poor people? Like a third world country. You basically have a chicken farm. Zillions of chickens. Those chickens could come for you, and eat the farmer and his family? But they never will. He's right. That many chickens? You can't care about any one chicken that has it bad.

   I found it interesting, this way of looking at things. What about a modern country, with a middle class. Has said, those were pigs and goats. They need more care, and you have to manage them more. But? They're worth more to farm them. I asked what the rich people were. He said cows. They need a lot of space, and a lot of care. But? If you manage them right, you make more.

   It sounds silly, but it makes perfect sense. On one acre? You can have all chickens. China, for example. Has mostly chickens. A billion people, crammed into tiny living spaces. Goats and pigs? The middle class. Less per acre, but more care needed. And yeah. A thousand pound boar pig, can raise some hell if he gets a bug up his ass. He doesn't really know he can, but if he figures it out? That's the educated middle class, gets all riled up. Sure, you could just shoot the big pig, but... you're flushing a lot of profit down the drain.

   Rich important people, really are cows. They need lots of water, lots of food. They need constant care. And? You can't abuse cows, like you can chickens, or even goats. If you fuck around with a two thousand pound bull in his prime? You won't do it ever again. Even the "harmless" rich people, the dairy cows. Sure. You can just yell and wave your arms, they go the other way. Almost always. The first time I encountered a 1,400 pound dairy cow, having a bad day? It was literally out of nowhere. This thing snorted and charged like a bull.

   She made a lot of milk, and made a lot of nice feeder babies though. It made sense to treat her very nice, give her treats, and watch out for her. Daddy bought a barrel of sweet molasses feed, and you gave her some. Before you milked her. And? Yeah, we treated her calves all special.

   This island. All these workers, who seem to be smiling and happy. Its a big chicken farm. What's Francois, though. He's no dairy cow. He's one of the big bulls. His French farmer government? Thought they could abuse the big bulls, and laugh about it. Well, I was raised on a ranching farm, so... I could have told them from the get go. Not, the brightest idea you ever had.

   You're raised on a farm, to not be afraid of big animals. You yell and wave your arms? It solves about 99.9 percent of any problems. But daddy and the farmhands cautioned me. You need eyes in your ass, and don't go thinking you can handle a bull or a big feeder. They can kill you. Talk nice to them. Hand out a treat. Keep fresh water and hay around. Be the thing they like.

   You see some farm boys, though. Kicking chickens, kicking pigs and goats. Scaring penned up dairy and bulls, for no reason other than to show off. Look, how tough and unafraid I appear to be.

   You can even get away with it, for a very long time. Maybe, even your whole life. Still though. Its not a good practice. Its not right, and its not even very bright. I guess my daddy was good government. Be as nice as you can to the animals. They make us a lot of money.

   I know what's going to happen now.

   Macaroni, and the horse faced bitch from Germany. Idiots who had no business running a farm? Got a hold of a profitable one. This happens, when long time farmers sell out to some rich city slicker. Boy, is this easy. Look at all these eggs. All these chickens. Wow, you get that many gallons of milk? Every day? Holy shit, is this easy. Wow, even the tall grass makes money. Those cows though. Oh, you just raise your voice and wave your arms. Huh. Horses, too. The bulls? Aw, you can pen and gate them off, shock them to teach them a lesson. Yeah, I'm like a god. I got this. I'm god, and these things? Make me money.

   They penned and shocked, the exact wrong bull.

   That shit only flies? For a certain amount of time, with a certain number of bulls. The stage is set, though. For complete disaster. One day, some big bull has had enough. He figures out he can charge right through things. Buckboards go flying. You wouldn't think a big bull can leap like a dancer, over the tallest fences? Surprise, they can.

   The problem can get bigger. Once one bull snaps and does it? All the others follow suit. And if you've been shocking and teasing them all, for a long time? You're fucked. We never had that problem, but... it happened on the other side of my farming county. A four generation stud bull operation. Kids inherited, and sold out to some rich clown. Who thought he was going to be this big time gentleman rancher.

   All anyone knew? Big and highly aggressive bulls were running around all over creation. It was local gossip, the hell's going on. Why are we seeing big bulls, in the woods this weekend. Other farms, had bulls coming in and hanging around. One got into the dairy herd. Another? Broke into a sheep and goat field. He wanted food

and water. We knew something was up. Daddy said it sounded like a 40 foot double decked bull trailer might have wrecked. It happens, they fan out.

   Then? A giant bull, very aggressive. Downtown. Police report? There's a bull running around. Snorting and pawing, and coming for anything that moves. He charged a little car, and it looked like it had gotten ran over by a tank. Didn't take that long to track it down. These expensive animals, have marks and tags and tattoos. They went out to the farm they had come from, and? Complete devastation.

   The rich city slicker, and his two or three junior partner cousins or whatever? All dead. Gored and stomped to death. There were holes in the barn walls, and gates broken everywhere. Fences had been gone through. The old family neighbor to this complete disaster? Just shook his head. Why, them morons? They thought you can just pen up ornery bulls, and shock them. Teach them to respect you. Apparently, he went over when he had heard gunshots a few times? He tried to tell them. Moving these big bull herds, from fenced pasture, to fenced pasture... by cracking off guns in the air? Is not a bright idea. You're all gonna get killed, trying that too many times.

   He claimed, they laughed at him. Told him to mind his own business. Gotta show these animals who exactly is in charge around here. And so? The old farmer neighbor just left, shaking his head. They tried it too many times, and they stampeded a big stud herd of giant ornery bulls. I mean, one? Is bad enough. We jokingly call it, the bull "redecorated". He took out the buckboards, to be with the other animals the next pen over? Well, he redecorated. He decided he wanted a bigger pen, and took a wall out. I once saw a giant hole, in the ceiling. The ceiling, of an aluminum 40 foot cow trailer. We laughed. The bull? Redecorated. He put a sunroof in the trailer.

   When you grow up on a farm, in a farming town? This passes for entertainment. I was a teenager, and my farm boy peer group decided we're all going to the farm auction, to watch this show. Its basically a giant barn, with fenced yards around it. The back, is all pens and chutes. Chutes, are the hallways.

   The game plan? Is simple here. Animals come in on trailers. They get sorted, penned and yard-ed. Then? The animal auction. You have to bring every animal out, into the indoor arena. Out of its pen or yard, and into the weighing station. The animals don't understand all the excitement and why their life is suddenly so strange. They tend to act up. The workers? Yell, shock, and close gates off and whack animals with sticks. Here, time is money.

   We could hear the hell and confusion, all day waiting. Cussing. Booms we know are that big bull slamming into walls and gates. Screaming, because this one doesn't understand who is really in charge. We could hear buckboards splintering and gates flying.

   It took a half an hour, to get this one big ornery bull, weighed. Bellowing, snorting, stomping like you wouldn't believe. This big muscular bull? In, his, prime. Over two thousand pounds. And what's more? He's just wearing it. He now knows, he can go through things. People included.

   They finally got him into the arena. Its like a little auditorium. A little penned in central area. Seats like a cross between bleachers or seats at a movie theater, going up three sides. The auctioneer and his computer helper, are up on a raised dais, fairly safe. There's a guy in the arena, trying to move animals in from the weigh, and out to the chute. The workers know how to handle big bulls flipping out? And this one, was unmanageable.

   Complete pandemonium. This big bull was threatening to get over the thick steel tube fence around the show floor. Everyone was running and screaming. He almost made it to the crowd, too. Next? He went for the auctioneer, on his raised platform. He damn near got up there, and had the auctioneer and his helper cowering under the counter. The poor guy in the show arena, is hiding behind the corner walls. Really thick railroad ties walls, in the two corners. Its so you can hide from an ornery bull or pissed off dairy. This giant thing? Is rearing up on its hind legs to get as fast as possible in the short run... to try to get to the guy hiding behind the railroad tie steel reinforced corner hide walls. He didn't make it through, but not from lack of giving it the college try. New railroad tie walls the next week. He was making headway.

   Another half an hour, to just get him out of the arena. He's been shocked, beat, and yelled at back there in the pens and chutes all day. He knows he don't want to go back there again. Then, he runs out the door, to try to get someone. They're baiting him, to get him out. Well, he redecorated some more. He went through multiple pens and buckboards. He ended up working a pen door by ramming it, like a bulldozer enough times. He charged through a place animals definitely aren't supposed to be? And found his way out.

   He raised hell in the parking lot, he raised hell on the road. He terrorized cars, and dented several as he finally found his way down the road a couple miles, and went off into the woods. The owner don't want this bull back, and moreover he ain't responsible once he drops him off and unloads at the auction. The auction couldn't get a buyer quick enough, and go figure on that one. Even the guy that buys "anything" for ground meat and hot dogs? Wouldn't touch this thing with a ten foot pole.

   In the end, the bull just ambled around for a couple weeks. Terrorizing farms and anyplace he could eat or drink. Police were getting calls. There's a big scary bull, tearing up my vegetable garden. Yeah, we know. You're not the only one. Stay indoors if you see him. Basically? This big bull was wanted, dead or alive. And highly preferably? Dead. Hunters started tracking him from the tore up turf, and got caught up to him in the deep part of a creek. They managed to bring him down with 12 gauges, lighting his ass up with rifled 12 gauge slugs, like he was a Christmas tree.

   I remember, us teenagers that knew this bull's story? We tried to be nice, and tell the auction workers in the back, who we all know from going there. A bunch of tough looking guys. Yeah, yeah. We do this for a living. We got this. We know how to handle big bulls acting up. We tried to tell him, it ain't what you think this time.

   Now, that's just one big pissed off bull, if it comes down to the bitter end. You're not nearly as much "in charge" of big bulls? As you like to think. You like to think you're in charge, and the bull doesn't usually know what he can really do. But, you push just the wrong bull too far, and his balls drop?

   Then you find out, who's really in charge.

   And, if other big bulls are around, like in their pasture? They follow their leader, their alpha bull. If he snaps, they all snap. You entice, and you negotiate with big bulls. You don't ever corner them after you get their dander up. Which is what France managed to quite unwisely do. Just like that stud farm that imbeciles bought, and thought they were gonna show those bulls who's in charge. Well, they actually did. Turned out? The big bulls were in charge. You think its just a phrase? Fuck with the bull long enough, you'll get the horns.

   And that's what's coming.

   These people, who arranged and planned all this. They're not dumb. They got a young billionaire, to gather a team of other investors. Managed to get them to do exactly what they wanted. Other countries got them to do what they wanted, too. How in the hell, I'll never know. You got France, the United States. The equator countries involved, and even China. All lined up, and everyone played their part, and got something they wanted. I'm impressed, actually. That's a giant, well oiled, well planned and coordinated scheme. And? They pulled it off. That might be a lot of things? But, dumb isn't one of them. Quite brilliant, really.

   I'm sure those people would laugh at me. After all, I was just a dumb farm girl, the hell do I even know about such things. But I could have told them one thing. Hey guys. You won. Take your win, go home.

   No. They had to gloat. They had to laugh and enjoy their victory, like assholes. They laughed up their sleeves, at the investors they managed to get to do all the dirty work. Guys? You won. You better quit. Nope. They decided it would be a bright idea, to publicly humiliate and torture, the guy that did everything they wanted. Francois.

   I asked Panic. Do you really think, they killed his priest? Or it was just an unfortunate accident. The look on his face told me all I needed to know, but he did think out loud. Anything's possible. But? It was awfully convenient. I know Panic refused to do what he called... butcher's work. Taking contracts out on innocent civilians, who just happen to be some kind of obstacle to too much money and power and influence. He's the one to ask, though. Honey, if you did that kind of work. How would you have done the priest.

   He dropped his face, and I got the right eye, the bug on a pin stare.

   He taught me a long time ago, even he knows to stay out of certain things, and this world was one of them. Whoever killed the priest? Probably got a big payday. The corporation, got an even bigger payday. And? The client, most likely, paid an even bigger price? For what Panic euphemistically calls... operational insurance.

   Its one million to kill the priest. Another ten million? We'll snuff the contractor. For insurance. And? You'll never really know. Was it really an accident, or not. You have to read between the lines. See who benefits, how convenient it is. How many times has this convenience, happened to have shown up.

       But, after my little reverie? I came back to earth. I probably don't want to live and work here, but it was still a fun line of thought for idle fun.

   "Hmm. Well. If you wanted it, and I wanted it? What would your strategy be."

   "Eh. I'd try to figure out some kind of... service to provide people on vacation. Something, they don't already have."

   "Which would be hard."

   "Figure that out, though? Some unique service to provide. People on vacation? Will pay almost anything, to do something unique."

   "I'm just daydreaming. I'm sure its not practical."

   "Honey?"

   I kissed his shoulder light.

   "Hmm."

   "Slide your water panties on."

   "Why. You never complained I was naked in the tub before."

   He leaned back in the surf and was sliding his swim trunks on already, so I joined him leaning back and slipping my string bikini on. We already nicknamed my one swimwear "the Disgrace", so I didn't know what to call this leather string bikini he picked out and dared me to wear around. We're calling it "the Shoelace" if nothing else better comes out of our mouths or hits our ears from without.

   "Someone's coming."

   "Are you sure?"

   "Yeah. You can't hear that?"

   I strained. Nothing.

   "Are you sure."

   "I used to do this for a living, honey."

   "Okay. I'll bite..."

   I tightened my hug around him from behind, and nibbled his neck for a few seconds, giggling. Then, I finished my pun.

   "What is it you hear."

   Wizzy again. He loved puns and wordplay. Panic does too, but Wiz was my first giant punster. He's shrugging and smiling predictably now, over the water. I know he can see and hear my actions, so I just mouth the words. I love you.

   "Listen to the surf. I'll raise my finger, when it happens again."

   We both listened, but I was straining now. I cupped my hand to my ear, to make the "playtime" radar. He had indicated to our left, up the beach. So, my left ear got my radar hand dish on it. Instantly, the surf deepened in pitch and raised in volume. Like messing with volume and treble controls on a stereo. His finger moved.

   Sure enough, the sounds of the gentle surf washing, had a little something in it, but it was periodic and intermittent. I would have thought some little animal, but the birds aren't here at night. Then? I got my ankle and shin rubbed affectionately, when I indicated when I heard it now.

   "Okay. What is that. A crab is coming."

   "Nope. Crabs don't come out, until the moon is risen up more. Crabs have good eyesight. Its early, for the roaming crabs."

   "Well?"

   "At least one person. Walking, and I'd say barefoot... in the wet sand. They're up around the bend, coming this way."

   "Then how do we hear them."

   "Someone? If there's more than one... is jogging in the edge of the surf a little, now and then. I'm guessing... it cleans the sand off their tootsies."

   Once he said it? Yeah. It could be that. I had to tease him.

   "Height? Weight? Hair color? I mean, I thought you were a pro at this stuff."

   He cupped both his ears and swiveled now. He took me serious, to be a smart ass and see if he could guess better.

   "I'm gonna guess... two or more people. You can sort of get a hunch about the height of a person, by the time between the footfalls. It could be a kid with mom and dad? But really, that messes up the whole, moonlight walk on the beach. So? I'm gonna guess, since you put me on the spot... under five six. Thin, with small feet. Girl or a woman, keeps going off and walking in the surf every so often. Can't hear anything else, but I might as well guess a guy's with her."

   We were doing human microphone, mouth on ears to stay quiet. He stood up, and led me by the hand. So we stood back in the shadows, where the brush line met the sand. I human microphone-d his ear again, one final time before we went Redwater silent. He always teaches me little things, when we're outdoors or even in public. How to watch, how to follow. How to read signs. The little things.

   "If you're right? You win. If you're so off base, its silly? I win."

   He came back, hot in my ear.

   "What's the bet."

   "Loser? Plays truth or dare. All night. Never gets to their turn."

   He shook my hand. We waited. Sure enough, people were moving quietly up the edge of the water. The nonchalant, no purpose speed. Guy looked about average, not too big. Maybe around under six feet tall, light build. He had a tall woman with him, at his side. Another smaller girl was the third, and sure enough, Panic had guessed it. She would jog off into the surf and walk back. It reminded me of how a little kid walks in little circles, to burn off that little kid energy when a parent wants to walk slow.

   It was early in the evening. The guy, seemed like he enjoyed stopping and gazing at the moon starting to rise. In Wrightsville, rural Pennsylvania where we live? There's lots of rolling hills. But here, with the flat water and skyline. The moon rising is a lot more dramatic.

   The guy standing, regarding the rising moon? Triggered the littler woman to walk around in the water's edge some. The other, taller woman? Was more like the guy was. She didn't walk around extra. Guy looked like he was wearing some kind of Khaki knee length shorts. The beach gift shops have drawstring cargo pants and shorts, and they're a popular item to bum around in. Pockets when out of the water, the drawstring so you can swim if you go free-balling, that is to say... without underwear.

   The littler woman, looked like a beach T shirt, and I'd guess it was over a swimsuit. And the taller woman, the one that walked like the guy did? She looked like Panic did in the daytime. The big T shirt, the loose oversize drawstring T shirt material, to make pants. She probably has fair skin, just like Panic does. She looked around some, until they motored on in their slow fashion. They weren't talking.

   We stuck to the brush line. Panic had taught me a long time ago. Walk when the quarry walks. Anticipate and stop, when they stop. I'd already muffed the game up though, not knowing I was going to play. I had stared intently at them from the shadows, and if you're not playing around you shouldn't do that. It sets some people's creepy meter off.

   We've been out long enough we have our night sight, our pupils adjusted to the beach at night. Depending on how far they've come up the beach, they might or they might not. If they came off the boardwalk, the light poles will have washed their visual purple out.

   The Redwater men? Do all this and more, on autopilot. I picked it up from him. Light breeze is coming in with the surf in this spot of beach. We're slightly inland, at the shadow line of the brush. I wear my expensive banana scented sun oil all day, and the expensive perfume for the trip when I'm not swimming. And a lot of either in the evenings, for obvious purposes. But? They are, too. I'm thinking I'm getting a strong perfume and a strong cologne scent.

   If we were playing for keeps, we're both busted at the slightest shift of that slight surf breeze. I doll him up with too much musk vanilla cologne he got for the trip, and double dose him for evenings if I expect... fun. Which? Had better be every night, we're on vacation.

   When we're both over-dabbed in our scents, in the little cabana beach shack we like, and our pores open up for sex... its quite a thrill. After a few bends up the beach, we can hear more. Sounds like one of the many night beach parties going. Fire, seafood boil, a few drinks or whatnot... and some people? All it takes.

   Once they got to the edge of the little beach party, we stayed faded into the shadow line, and sat. Observing. Might not be our crowd. If there was going to be too much drinking, and coke going around? I get enough of that at the biker bar I tend drinks at. Not my chosen part time job, its for work. Undercover FBI agent. Embedded firmly as a member of the outlaw biker world. No busts, just build intelligence files. Hoover style. This, is my first real vacation? In... oh my god, before college. High school vacations with the family, I guess was the last. I mean, me and Panic take little trips to wine and cheese country sometimes, stay in a bed and breakfast for something to do now and again. Walk the shops in the little town, hand in hand.

   We started doing Gettysburg bed and breakfasts, and walking the battlefields, but... we've yet to see a ghost, like everyone claims. Panic smiled. Haunted old inns? Its to create business. Stories float around that you can see civil war soldiers sometimes, around the battlefields. Nothing yet. We decided ghosts probably aren't even a thing. Those soldiers? Would have fulfilled their karma and moved on.

   This crowd looks okay for us. Looks like a couples party. All about early twenties to early thirties. Some jugs of local flavored rum, but the boys aren't doing power drinking games. Driftwood fire, and the obligatory big pot going. Seafood boil. I don't see much of the... elite upper crust thing going on.

   Our couple and the third wheel moved around from the fire blocking our view of them. We're in the shadow line, back. They came in from the water's edge, so the fire was between us and them. I giggled and pointed. Its Francois, and his wife. The taller woman, that walked more like the man did? Elise.

   We were deciding whether to go back and do our thing, or join in here a little while. Either way? I'm on the hook tonight. I have to answer truths and take single, double, or triple dares as he says. All night. And? That's a yum. Little Lightning, is taking a little nap. The plan, was she joins us after she gets up. It was a veritable coin flip. Nothing for or against it. We were about to walk out and join in, when Elise had a little text or two. She glanced up the beach behind her, and finally waved.

   It was Lightning, walking up with Vladimir. No, check that. She has Teddy Ball with her. With everything until recently? Teddy had slipped my mind. Of course Tedward came with her on a vacation. So? That flipped the coin for us. We came walking out of the brush line, out of the shadows. We were offered rum and mixer, but we went with just fruit juice. We're on vacation, but we both hardly want to be drunk all day and all night, every day and night.

   Christ, I could go for a joint, though. Its a little private beach party, someone probably scored some. Enough of the workers smile and offer it freely. And if not? No loss. I'll just find some tomorrow, milling around. Honestly, I think if you walk around smoking a cigarette, its what clues them in you might be a good tourist to approach and make a sly pitch to. There's no real risk. I saw one drunk young guy, asking a cop on beach patrol about it. The young cop laughed, and just spread his hand out. Indicating? All over. Nobody cares.

   Francois finally noticed us, and pointed us out to Elise who was still standing near him. They ambled over.

   "Hi Elise. Still having fun?"

   She smiled.

   "Some."

   "Learning any French?"

   She smiled more.

   "Again? Some."

   I smiled back.

   "Well? Let's hear it."

   "Hmm. Apparently? I am... le roi."

   "Sounds nice, but everything sounds nice, in French."

   "It does. Unless I'm being teased? Le roi, is... the best thing. She said, it means, the king. I thought she was teasing me, for being... a tomboy? But, she says when something is wonderful, its... le roi."

   "You are wonderful. Its fair."

   Elise shrugged.

   "Anything else? Or haven't you had enough time to talk much."

   "Ha. Funny. I am, or I should say... I have? Je ne sais quoi. if I'm saying it right."

   I giggled.

   "Know what it means?"

   She nodded, and smiled more.

   Francois's wife jogged up, and put on her cute little spoiled brat show. I'm used to it, and it really does grow on you. Sure, she's childish when she does it, but... its innocent somehow as well.

   "Is, enough. Elise? Is... my, mistress. You? Can, have. Your, own."

   The thick accent makes it sound so sweet. Francois shrugged, and talked as his wife ran from Elise, giggling. Apparently, she had to get her butt swatted, for acting like a spoiled brat. When she knows better. The other couples found it entertaining. Hell, I did too. They came back in short order.

   "Hmm. Elise? Perhaps, these here? Are... why you say, we were being..."

   He made the walking motion with two fingers on the palm of his other hand.

   "... follow."

   Elise cocked her head at us.

   "Well? Was that you guys?"

   We both nodded. I answered for us.

   "We were... talking. Sitting in the water's edge."

   I shrugged.

   "We heard people coming. We didn't want company. Then? We followed you up to the party. Didn't realize it was you guys, until we were already here."

   Elise smiled and nodded. Francois raised his eyebrows.

   "I thought, Elise was being... dramatic. And, now I see, it was not so. She, text Vladimir, to... come behind us. I was, surprise. She is, very good, at these thing."

   Elise chuckled.

   "I told you, Francois. I'm a cop. I need to know, when I'm being followed. For work."

   Francois shrugged.

   "Such a strong, and beautiful, woman? Should not have to... such a living."

   Elise rolled her eyes.

   "I told you, Francois. I'm retiring soon. I can't do what I do? Forever."

   Elise looked at me, and spoke as much to me, as to answer Francois.

   "Its a young girl's game? And, I'm not so young anymore."

   Francois raised his index finger.

   "Ah. So, modest. Elise, is all... surprise. She play, with my wife. In the sand. They are, pushing. Like, children. All fun. My wife, she scream to me. Save me, protect me. I went to play, and? I find, for my surprise. I can no play, with Elise. I quit. She make me, do it more. I can no win. I know, I am no dangerous man, like was my grand father? But, I will say these. Elise, can I believe? My wife, is maybe more safe. Walking with her, than with me."

   I giggled. I know all about it. I can remember seeing Elise and Wiz, practicing before taking a run at shutting down the small town crime boss. Now? Panic and Little Robbie even like practicing with handguns at the range, with her. She keeps up with the boys. Wiz met her as a female MP, and was impressed. Wiz was like Panic that way, they both liked tomboys.

   Wiz admitted he liked her, but. While they did go out for drinks together in the service? They were both looking for the same thing. Girls. Wizzy jokingly called her... his boyfriend.

   Francois grinned at her.

   "Elise? If you are going to retire, soon? What, will you do. You should think, about maybe being, bodyguard. No one? Would, suspect."

   "Francois? I'm pretty close to retiring already. I'm going to open up a big Judo gym. Teach Judo. I've done it my whole life, just about. I'm way too old, to even think about competing. I might as well just be an instructor."

   "Well? Why, do you wait. Do, these thing."

   Elise shrugged.

   "I'll have my gym. A year, maybe two."

   "May I, ask. You work, as a police. It is, dangerous?"

   "Yeah."

   "Mm. I hope, they pay you well enough, to take these risk."

   "I do okay. Plus? I'm not married, no kids. That helps."

   "Ah. And, how rude is a French man, these time. If he would ask---"

   Elise was suddenly polite, but all business.

   "I'm not for sale."

   "Mm. But? You do work, for some one, some... where."

   "Of course."

   "Ah. Let me say, these... the, other, way. Come, look."

   He drew something in the sand, with his toe.

   "You see these number?"

   "Yes."

   "That? Is what I pay. For one man, one year. I am paying, him? And, his... company. That, send him."

   "For that? I hope he's good."

   "Mm. My, regular man? Is. The, replacement? Not, so, much."

   "What are you getting at."

   "Nothing, bad. Come."

   He turned around again. He wrote another something with his toe in the sand.

   "You see, these number?"

   "I'm not blind."

   "And, do you make, these much. In, the year. Doing, what you do."

   Elise sighed.

   "No."

   "Ah. Because, these number? Is what I would give... you. To spend? One, year. Being around, my wife. You see. You, were on... my, boat. But. The, other boat? Is, my wife, her boat. She like, to be on it. My wife? She like, your time. And you, you seem to like, your time. With, her. I suggest, only. My wife? Will be, more safe. And you? Will you not... get, your, gym? The quicker."

   He rubbed out the figure with his foot, as he had the previous one. Elise cocked her head, looking in the sand where the figure had been. Thinking. Francois added, as an afterthought.

   "Although, I must say. It would be, quite unpleasant. To live, on such a small boat."

   Elise was thinking.

   "Just? Think, about these. And? Remember. I, do not try to... buy, you. I merely, want to... hire, you. You, might not know, of these? But. Female, bodyguard? Are very rare, and very expensive. There are, place? Where, men can no go. But? You, can. Just? Think, on, these."

   Francois's wife was suddenly standing there. Arms crossed. The cute little insouciant pout.

   "You. You, promise. Tonight? For, the fun. No, for... business."

   "Ah. I am now? In the trouble. I did promise, no business."

   The wife persisted.

   "Come."

   She had a tiny clutch purse with her.

   "Open. No, more."

   I couldn't see with Francois's back to me, but I would guess he rolled his eyes. Then, he must have opened his mouth. She put something in his mouth. Then, she went to get a bite to eat. Dragging Elise along, like a child drags the parent. Francois came over and sat down with us, while Elise and his wife were at the food table. He shrugged.

   "If I am not, fun? I get one. She make me."

   He stuck his tongue out, and I was expecting to see a pill. Maybe an antidepressant, I'd expect. He has PTSD and related things. But, it looked like a piece of candy.

   "It is? To... relax me."

   "Candy? Oh, you have low blood sugar."

   He giggled.

   "No. She call these, candy? For... the candy, man."

   I furrowed my eyebrows at him.

   He did roll his eyes, and grin.

   "Pot, candy. Not, for children."

   "Oh. I, uh. I usually just... smoke it, when I want some."

   "I will smoke it, but... these? Much more, gentle. If I smoke it? I can go to sleep. But, I am promise her. To be fun, and no business. I forget, I make a little business, talking? And so, I now must have one."

   "Do they sell them in town?"

   "Hmm. I do not know. But, what I do know? Is my wife, her purse. She like them, and I keep boxes of them, on our boats. It is? Better, than drinking. Oh. Where, are my manners."

   He got his wife's attention. He motioned something, then she pouted and tossed him her clutch purse.

   "Here."

   She had no money or credit cards in her purse. Just a box of candy. Edibles. Two of them. One was gummy bears, the other, gummy worms. He explained.

   "The bear? Is... very gentle. The worm? Is not so gentle. I do not know, the... rate, of exchange, on this... transaction. But. The worm, is going for, several bears."

   "You sound like you know this from experience."

   He grinned.

   "Some. We decide. From, trying. The bear? Is, in your head. The worm, is... more in your body. The bear? Come quick. But, the worm? Will wait, then... sneak, up. Oh. And, the bear? Make me, quiet. But, the worm? I get... silly. Like, child. Out, in the public. A bear, for me. But, for in the house all night? The worm, she enjoy for us. She like me, silly."

   I handed me and Panic each a bear. Then? Why not. He made the worm sound like a strong pot brownie. I dangled a worm in my lips, then sucked it in. Then, I just couldn't help it.

   "You. Open."

   I tossed the worm in his mouth, and gently pushed my palm up on his chin to close his mouth.

   "Maybe, do not drink, so much now, eh?"

   We giggled.

   "Gotcha."

   Its not like other people aren't in Bermuda. And by that, I mean people not off of our own boat. So it wasn't necessary that me and Panic recognize these couples that had put together their own little impromptu beach boil party. Honestly, there's enough people on our own boat, the Green Frog... for us not to recognize faces. Then, there's the entire passenger and crew list of the Spoiled Princess. Naturally, there's other people who flew in or arrived by boat in Bermuda, its a popular destination for vacations.

   We just found a ship in harbor, and paid to go because they had a double for us to stay in. The Spoiled Princess is no doubt the same. There's also people that were booked into it by travel agents and other essentially similar services. These couples had all met on the way in, aboard the Spoiled Princess. The younger couples? Were newlyweds on honeymoon. It wasn't just that they claimed it, you could see it. The silly smiles, the longing looks. The lingering touches and glances, the knowing, wistful smiles.

   The older couples, were on the same package. A different travel agency had sold them on the idea of an additional honeymoon. If you're still as in love as when you got married, and you intend to stay that way? Treat your marriage to the honeymoon you deserved but might not have gotten as youngsters hitching up. So, the couples a little older were in the same boat. I apologize for that pun, if only the tiniest bit.

   In general, people experience young couples who are "so in love" and stuck in that infatuation phase, in two broad ways. There's a camp that shakes their head, and rolls their eyes. Even if they smile while they do it. They regard them as happy children. Its a sort of mild annoyance. The other camp? Smiles and gazes at them, and talks about how wonderful it is.

   I get a Wizzy instant replay constantly seeing the honeymoon couples. That? Was once me. My original destiny, my plans I had been making with Wizzy for the two of us. While of course, the universe had very different ideas for us. I was originally the quintessential good girl in high school and then in college. A limited number of boyfriends, as compared to all the other girls.

   I thought I fell in love with an older boy in pre-med, but he went off to medical school. Also, I found out that one of my team mates had "sport-fucked" him. If it sounds silly? It is, or at least I think so. Then? I slowly became infatuated with some guy I saw around campus. I ended up in a class with him, and I sat behind and off to the side of him, so I could stare a little.

   My girlfriends, the sports girls? Didn't approve, once the report came back on him. Nice body, but bad news, sister. He's a major general, in the geek squad. I never did follow the girl rules, though. That was my Wizzy, and we eventually got together. That? Was that. I was like these young honeymooners. He was simply the one. We were going to go to graduate school, probably get our doctorates. Then? Married when one or both of us was situated in our career. We both felt it, nothing could shake it.

   But, I had forgotten that life happens when you're making other plans. It was grand while it lasted, though. Wiz had believed wholeheartedly in karma. I became fascinated with his code. Then, all the MP's he called in, to set things right? I got to see it in them, too. Living your life, by a code.

   I hadn't known, that before we set out for the final phase of the operation? Wiz had made out his will. Not a real one, of course. He didn't have much in life. Yet. But still, he had written me and Little Lightning each long letters. I'm sure nothing will happen, and I instructed my father to simply burn these when its all over. But just in case? If you're reading this, I'm sorry. Something happened. And just like that? My life changed.

   Basically stated? I instructed my father, that all my possessions, are yours. This girl is my wife, we just haven't gotten married yet. Most of the letter remaining, was divided into two parts. Karma, and to follow it. And, I'll be back. You'll see me, in some other man. It will be in the eyes, what he says, what he does. One day, you'll just know its me.

   He believed in reincarnation, and I mean actually believed it. He had a little dog he loved growing up. He thought the dog came back to him, in another dog. To spend a couple more years with him. He said it was in the eyes, and in the actions. When it happens? You'll just know.

   An FBI former MP, the one that led their case. He brought in, Mike. A higher up at the FBI, to legitimize their case now that they had things rolling. To take down the little dirty town and the criminal and his son that ran it. I had been thinking about becoming an MP, like Wiz had been, like all of them had been. Mike courted me successfully to become a pool agent, at the FBI. A permanent undercover agent.

   I'd stand behind the steakhouse, taking a smoke break. Where are you, honey. I'm still waiting. One day? It was busy, I was having a bad day. I asked in my head. I wish you'd just hurry up and find me. And? That's when it happened. I had closed my eyes to say it in my head. And, I could just smell him. I figured I'd finally lost my shit, and I mean completely. I still smelled him, though. Like, he was there.

   I turned around, and... there was this guy. Panic. I listened in, like only a waitress can in a restaurant. He talked, like Wizzy would have talked. He acted like him. He even looked like him.

   Little lightning edits video files for a living, mainly and among other related things. If I were to view my life, as a video file? And, I were to somehow be able to cut out a portion. Right before Wizzy was shot and the same bullet that claimed his life, drilled through the meat of my shoulder. And, deleted all the space between that moment, and when I had Panic over to my little efficiency city apartment the first night? You know, somehow edited out that whole part of my life's movie. Somehow fixed all the little plot holes created.

   Well. That's what it was like. I never did take being in love, and getting it back lightly. And I sure as hell take it even more seriously, now. So yeah. I don't get annoyed by young couples still in the slap-happy infatuation phase. Stay like that.

   The little pot gummy bear? It does act quick, and I can feel it. Edibles are vastly different, than smoking it. I'm feeling loose, warm, and relaxed. Hasn't been long at all. Francois is back, sitting again.

   "How do you feel, Francois?"

   "Mm. Better, perhaps. My wife? She do love me. She is, the good wife. I am sure, you do realize it. When, the bad things, they began to happen? Many wife, would have left. I was, not pleasant to be around. My love life, went away, for the small time. She could have, what. Leave me. And? I, could not have, blame her, for these thing. She marry me, and... it was not, what... she, signed, up, for. I already have, a lot of blood money, then. She could have, many thing. She did not, need me."

   "She didn't leave you."

   "No. For some women, it is the money. For some? I think, it is the... look, what I have. But. Macaroni, and his kind. They, take that from me. I was, no hero. Not, any, longer. Gone, were the medal, the TV. I was? To be pointed at. There, that? He is, The Devil. I tell her. You should leave. Go. Find a man, you are still young, still beautiful. I tell her. I give you, more than they will make me give you. I want you? Happy. I can no make you happy, in some ways, any longer."

   "But she stayed."

   "Mm. She got, very angry, with me. Look at you. Quit the business. We do not need it. We have more, than we can spend. In... ten lifetimes. We go, we leave. Where, no one knows us. Let these, fools. Fuck France, in the ass. We will, laugh. At them, on the TV. Somewhere nice."

   I looked at her. She's pouting and playing with Elise.

   "So. She deserves, what she has. She really loves you."

   "Yes. I ask, my priest."

   "What did he say."

   "He say? You were married, in the eyes, of the god. I marry you, myself. You? Swore, the oath. In front of me, and in front of the god. For better. For worse. It, was better, yes. Now? It is, worse. But? If you can not, make her leave. What more, can a man ask for. In his wife."

   "It got better again."

   "Yes, it did. My, love life? It return. Finally, my priest. I was thinking, about it. Disbanding, the investor group. We think, we are doing good. We are not. Look, what we do. To, these poor people, in these country. That, is when he suggest it. You are? In, charge. Maybe? Do not, turn them loose. Guide them."

   He paused.

   "As a, young man? A young man, he dream. Of, what. Success. Having, nice trinkets. And? Of being, important. I tell him. I do no longer like, being important. He say? You have learn, the important lesson. Do not have, some other man. Who, does not learn, this lesson. To lead them. Those men? They need you. I? Have forgiven you. God, has forgiven you. You have only? To forgive yourself. And when you do? You will become something. Something, more. No more, do you pray for... weakness. For, punishment. Now? You will pray, for strength. For, courage."

   "Did you get it?"

   "Mm. I did. I did not know it, but yes. I thought, courage. Was, only for... men. Like, my grand father. You know, for... dangerous men. The priest, he say no. There are, other kinds of courage. And, one day. He buy me? A little gift."

   "What."

   "A book. The, Joan of Arc. Her, story. I had to read it. Of course. She was not, a big strong woman. Not, in the body. But? She was, very brave. More, than the men. The men? Were, all shame. Here. This, little girl. She, was not so old. If, this little girl. Is unafraid, to fight and die? How can we no follow. She had, no men. No, army. But? She tell everybody. I? Will do, these thing. She, was very much believe, in god. She prays. And? One man, he comes. A knight."

   He paused.

   "You see. Everyone? They laugh at her. So silly. This man. This, knight. He walk, into the church. And, in front of... every one. He ask her. Do you swear, on your soul before the god. That the god, has called you? She say, yes. He say, you will die. Are you not afraid, to die. She say, no. And? He say, he believe her. He was, famous. From, a crusade. Every one, they know him. He say. If the god lead you? Then, I must be led by god. He kneel, in front of everyone. He has, his armor on. He kneel, in front of her. On his... right, knee. He offer her? In both hands. His, sword. Then, I offer you, my sword. We will die, together."

   "He was the first one."

   "Yes. And? No one, could laugh at him. These was not, silly. Not, any, more. He had, other knights, with him. They were, outside. They were, in their armor. One by one, they all come. Each kneel. Offer up, their sword. These? Were, the... most dangerous men, in that time. And. These, was not the little church. These? The big, important one. The people, there? They were, the important ones. Joan. After accepting the knights, one by one. She turn, to the priest. She kneel, as they did, to her. Will the church, will god. Have, me. It was? No silly. Not, any, more. The priest? He bless her."

   "That was the beginning."

   "Yes. All these, knight? Have men, under them. Now? Other knight, they come. With their men. And? Regular, people. They come, too. The fight? Was long. But? They win. And, the people? So happy. This, young little girl. Raised, the army. Led them, into battles. And? Won. Saved, the country."

   "Her story? Its epic."

   "Yes. It is. If, some little girl. Can do, all of these? Then I can. I read, all the books, of Joan. I have? Whole library, just for her. There was, though. No... happy, ending. It should have been. But? The church, the pope. They, turn on her. After? She save, every one. They burn her. Alive. At, the stake. In, public. Such a thing. She? Break... no, laws."

   "They had to have burned her, for something."

   "Mm. It, would be. Today? Like, execute, the criminal. But? For... parking, ticket. Is silly? But. They charge her? For... wearing, pants. For the life, of me. How can a girl, ride into battle. Side saddle, in a pretty dress. Of course, she must have armor. Ride properly. She is, a holy knight of god. And so. If a country, turn on me? Mm. I say it. I piss, upon France."

   Another pause.

   "Is okay. For me. To be, what. Called? The Devil. But. For my wife? Silly."

   Yet another pause.

   "I? Restructure. My, investment group. I lead. But. I have? Right, of, first, refuse. If a man, is not right? I can, let him go. I now have, my... knights. My, army. Once, you are close? Over, the, hump. The rest, it come. These thing? Will now happen. It can no, be stop. To kill, me? Change, nothing. I have, already? Succeed. And, the money changers. In, the temple. These time? They can play, no paper game. We will, actually? Pile, up, the, coal. The... iron, ore. And so, the money changers? Can no change, the price. With, paper."

   "We have, enough. The profit? Will not come, from the coal. The... ore. It will come? From investing, in everything else. And? All, those, men. All, those, jobs. They? Will want things. People? Will want to give it, to them. The store, the place to eat. More jobs. More? Happy, people. Every, thing. A man, has the good job. What, does he want. What. A, house. More jobs. More, happy, people. And? You will see. You will, once again? Have. Your... roaring, twenties. It will be, so easy. All these thing, to buy the stock in. And then? I will see it."

   I wondered what.

   "Success? More than before."

   "Hmm? Oh, that thing. Of course. But? I? Retire. I will spend time? On my, precious... monkey, island. I will find? Another, little Allah. And one day? I can look. And see it. Liberia. Schools. Hospitals. Africa? It is, shit. But? It is also, beautiful. I believe, it can be done. When the, neighbors? See, what they have. They? Will want these thing, as well. The, long lesson? The gentle one. The, good example."

   "I hope you succeed."

   "Mm. I will. My priest. He say. When a man, want for himself? Is, the one thing. But. When a man, want... for others? That, is the best."

   He pointed at Little Lightning. He seemed to be speaking to Panic now.

   "Your, mistress. She is, beautiful."

   He nodded.

   "She is."

   "I am a rude, French, man. But? Only, the little bit rude. Why, is she not with you. I miss, my mistress. If she were to... walk, right, up? I would go, spend the time with her."

   "We will, Francois."

   He nudged me.

   "And you, Merry. You, are not the... jealous, wife?"

   I smiled, and brushed my hair back over my ear.

   "No. I'm not jealous. Me, her? We're best friends."

   "Mm. You? Share. With her, with your friend."

   "I suppose."

   "Like, my wife. She know. She is, my most important thing, I possess. She come, first. She know these. It take away, the jealous."

   How can I even explain.

   "Francois?"

   "Yes."

   "Panic here. He... didn't have to talk me into it. I? Had to make him do it. I wanted her with us."

   "Really."

   "Yes."

   "She... isn't really, what. The mistress. Its not like... I'm the wife, and she's the girlfriend."

   "Oh. But, it work."

   "It does."

   Lightning walked over. With Teddy Ball. She nudged me with her foot.

   "What."

   "Why you pointing at me."

   "We were talking about you."

   "Have fun."

   Francois looked up at her.

   "I must apologize. What is your name, again."

   Light smiled.

   "Szarabjorna Sturmer. Honest? Don't even bother, with my real name. No one can spell it, pronounce it, nothing."

   "Then? I will call you. Mademoiselle Sturmer."

   "That? Sounds so sweet. But really. Everyone just calls me Zar. Or? Light. Lightning. Little Lightning. Pick one."

   "And, will Mademoiselle... Lightning? Sit with us."

   "Sure. Hold on."

   Light went and got fruit juice, and a plate of the oysters. They had them in big buckets of ice. A plate of the shrimp, too.

   "Sorry I took a nap. I wasn't trying to be rude."

   "Is fine. Myself? I like to have a nap, in the afternoon. And. Do you like, the little beach house. My wife, she pick it out."

   "Your little beach house? Its huge. And yes, its very nice. I don't think I ever slept in such a nice bed, in my life."

   "If you like it? All that does matter. And, did you have a nice nap?"

   "Yes. I, uh. Its funny."

   "What."

   "I woke up? I, uh. I thought someone had stolen my clothes."

   Francois laughed.

   "Ah. And, did you find them?"

   "Yes. Someone, unpacked my clothes. I found them in the closet."

   "Yes. The girl that cook, that clean. She do these thing. I apologize. Perhaps, I should have warn you, of these."

   "No. Its fine. I'm, just not used to... having that."

   "Mm. And? If you leave, your clothes, on the floor? They will, once again. Disappear. But? You will find them, once again. Washed. In the closet. The girl."

   "You have a very nice place, Francois."

   "Thank you. As I say, my wife. She has? The... taste. She pick it out."

   "Well. The house? Is gorgeous. I'm afraid to walk around, or touch anything."

   Francois laughed.

   "Oh. Do not be. And? Go to the gift shop. Your, card? Get what you want, for the beach. Everyone, does these."

   "Yeah. What is that card. I don't exactly speak French."

   "When, must you be back. For, the work."

   "Oh. Nothing new at work. My cutters are fine. Why."

   "If you want to spend time, with your friends? You can, not take the plane back. Ride back, on the boat. Ask Merry of it. It is nice. You like, the sun. You get, the tan."

   "Yeah. I like to lay out."

   "Then, you may like, the sun deck. Vacation. Enjoy."

   I stepped in, during a pause.

   "Light? Here's some pictures. Of being on the boat."

   She swiped through a number of pictures. I stopped her on one, of me on the captain's sun deck. Elise was in the next chaise lounge over.

   "Okay."

   "Now. I am, French. Which mean? I am, rude. But? Only, a little, bit. And so, if it is rude, to ask you. I apologize."

   "Depends what you ask, really."

   "You are friend, to my friends. I want to know some things, about you."

   "Like what."

   "What, do you do."

   "Long story."

   "Good. As you see? My wife, has a new friend. To, amuse her. The night? It is young. We have, the time. Tell me. Amuse me. I like to meet, and learn, of things. Please."

   "Well. If you're that bored. I played soccer. That? Got me out of my shitty little town. Scholarship. To a... real college. Playing soccer at my university? Paid for a couple degrees."

   "Mm. A little town. I like."

   "Glad you like it. That little town? Was fucked. I couldn't wait to get out of there."

   "Keep, going."

   "My last degree? My masters. Was, audio and video. AV work. A, friend of a friend? Got me a job. After college. I... edited training films. Did that for a while. When I finally got promoted? They called me a... media manager. I still edited video, but. Now? I worked with the people that wanted the video made. Help them find a director. A writer, if they needed one. Arrange all that. Then? We had video, to cut and edit."

   "Good, you... moved, up."

   "I guess. Clients? Had to tell me. I didn't know. What my company called, a media manager? Was... a producer. Arranging all that."

   "So. You are now, producer."

   "Yeah. But? Merry and Panic, here. They... wanted to be nice to me. They, got me started. My own cutting house. So? I could do everything for myself. Then? It worked out, so. I had to hire another cutter, so I could handle the production work, when a new job came in."

   "Mm. So. You are, business woman. You, own your business."

   "I own a part of it, yeah. But I run it."

   "It sounds, what. Important."

   Light chuckled.

   "Maybe one day. We specialize in, training films. That's the bread and butter. We do audio, we have a little booth. For, voice overs. A few radio commercials. Sometimes? I get a few video commercials, but... nothing huge yet. Oh. We also do, you know how you see, titles and credits? We make those, for other people's work."

   "Hmm. How big, or... long? Of a, training film. Can you do."

   "Honest? Time, is money. Companies don't spend millions of dollars, on training films."

   "I am, curious. What, does these thing cost."

   "If you have the raw video and audio, and you like it? We're just working with your existing audio and video. We, don't have to process the audio. Just, cut. Edit. Its about a thousand dollars a minute, of finished product. If you're happy with your existing video, and sync audio? Twenty minutes of finished product, is twenty grand. What people don't understand? Is the other stuff. You want good lighting, good camera work? I have to hire, lighting and camera people. A director. These people, aren't free. They all work in unions. They have, minimum rates."

   "You are, producer."

   "Yeah. You come to me, you explain what you want. You give me, your budget. I document, every penny. Everyone thinks of... the actors. The director. In a way? They all work, for the producer. And I work? For whoever gives up the budget. That? Is the executive producer. Whoever has the checkbook. You can take your raw video and audio, and go to another cutting house, to get edited. To get the audio post processed. The video, post processed. Any special effects you might want. Or? I can either do it, or find it. Since I own the cutting house, I double as the line producer. Overseeing the dailies."

   "This is, very interesting. I work, for a company. We are, coming. To America. We will need, what. A documentary. About, another country. And? An, interview. Say... one, half, hour. Each. It will not be, for the while. But? If you have, what. Samples? Of things, like these. Perhaps, you could... email them. My company. We are get, the... cold, shoulder. In your American, Hollywood. I would not, want to get your company? In the trouble."

   Light laughed.

   "We're not, Hollywood. I don't care what they like or don't like. The only thing I won't run through my company? I refuse to cut porn. That's... bottom feeder. I'd rather starve, than pay the bills, cutting porn. If it ain't porn? Not a problem."

   "No, porn. One? Long interview. And the one? Documentary. Of a third world country."

   "Sixty thousand, bare minimum. To edit one hour total. Titles and credits? We do that in house. You need a director, for a documentary. I know a couple, they work for scale rate. The one I'm thinking of? He's actually really good. You need a voice over person, for the documentary. The more existing or stock footage, you can find? The less camera and lighting work. A long interview? You have to pay the interviewer. That's technically an actor. You can get away, without a director? But really, I'd recommend using the scale rate director, to make sure that comes out professional looking."

   "I will, give you email. For the samples."

   "Great. If you like the samples? Try to put a good word in for me, with your boss."

   Francois smiled.

   "I? Will see, what I can do. About, that."

   They both looked up. Francois's wife was standing there. Pouting.

   "Francois. Am, I... deaf?"

   "I hope not."

   "I see? You. I hear, you."

   She huffed and grabbed her clutch purse.

   "You. Not, learn. So, now? Two, bear. Open."

   I'm trying not to giggle. Francois opened his mouth, quite obediently. He got two gummy bears. She started to tromp back over to Elise, then turned around and shook her finger at him.

   "One... more. Of, these? And. You? Will get, worm. I? No more... play, with you. Next? Two, worm. Look. No? Sun. You will... stop, these. Hmm."

   She went back to Elise. Francois shrugged and smiled.

   "I? Am no allow, to do the business. After dark."

   Light patted him on the shoulder.

   "Sorry I got you into trouble. Hope she's not mad at me."

   "No. She like you. And, I would add. She is being, the good wife. She is right, I will work and worry, too much. So? No more, of these."

   "Okay."

   I nudged Lightning.

   "What."

   I winked at her.

   "Open."

   "Why."

   "Remember, the brownie parties."

   "Yeah."

   "How much have you had to drink."

   "I've been drinking the fruit juice chaser."

   "Open."

   She opened her mouth, and I put a gummy bear on her tongue.

   "Open."

   "I already, opened."

   "So? Open again. You're no lightweight."

   She hung her mouth open again. I tossed a worm in.

   "According to the experts?"

   "Yeah."

   "The bear? Is gentle and quick. But the worm? Takes longer, but... less gentle."

   Lightning giggled.

   "Let me get this straight, Francois."

   "Mm."

   "If you don't listen, you have to eat edible pot bears and edible pot worms, if you keep it up?"

   "Yes."

   She laughed. I nudged her again.

   "What now."

   "He thinks, you're Panic's mistress. You wanna explain it?"

   "Francois?"

   "Yes."

   "Maybe I am, I mean, technically and all. But. I'm not second banana. My banana? Is as big as hers. We're... equal."

   "Oh. I had been wondering. Which of you, would..."

   "When we leave the party?"

   "Yes."

   "We all three leave together. If that, explains that."

   "It, does."

   Light waited.

   "I see Elise, gets along really well. With your wife."

   "She like her."

   "I never would have guessed."

   Elise had her pinned down, and was poking and teasing her. Like you tease a kid sister. But, with kisses here and there. The couples? Were laughing and enjoying the show.