Found - Chapter 91

   Two police officer's, in an unsubstantial small area, a good bit out of the city… were on patrol. Normally, this being before the weekend, this late at night would be rather laid back. Nothing but the occasional call. But, with the whole power grid down, it had already been a long night. There had been a string of incidents all night long, and calls were still coming in. They pulled up to a red light, and looked at one another.

   "Do you see, what I see?"

   "Drunk. Passed out in the middle of the intersection. That's what it looks like."

   The radio was blaring on what sounded like top volume, and the engine was running. They put the lights on, and tweaked the siren. Nothing.

   "Passed out. Let's go wakey wakey…"

   They got out and approached the car slowly. Calling out, to no avail. When they finally got close enough, they peeked in, and found… no one at all. No one in the back seat, no one hiding on the floorboards. No unconscious victims… nothing.

   "Call it in. I'm gonna shut the engine and radio off."

   The partner went back, and stood with one foot on the open door sill, while he called in the car description, and the plate number. With no driver and no driver ID, they only had the plate number to check on.

   He came back to his partner, and said…

   "Surprise. Stolen car. Fled on foot. Joyride, my guess."

   The other partner shooshed him and pointed at the trunk. He took his gun out and pointed it at the trunk. Not directly at it, but held down at the ready. His partner followed suit and asked silently with his hands… what, why. The partner walked over and said quietly.

   "Call for backup. I can hear something in the trunk."

   "Car's stolen. You hear the carjacking victim."

   "Maybe. Go look on the front seat, and tell me what you see."

   They both walked up to the passenger side, and opened the unlocked door. A cardboard box. Full of several cell phones. A couple wallets. A purse. A computer tablet. One grabbed what looked like a message folded up, and held it up for his partner. Big, bold, block letters simply read "COPS".

   "Okay. We're investigating the now located, stolen vehicle. Someone left a note clearly intended for the cops. That's us. We located a stolen car, it's routine to examine the car contents thoroughly. So? I have no issue, opening the note left for us."

   Upon opening the note, which had been written in nondescript block letters slowly and carefully, on of all things what appeared to be a page torn out of a phone book… three little bundles of folded paper came fluttering out, and a tiny baggie of off white powder that fell onto the ground at their feet.

   "We got a stolen car. We probably have drugs. Wanna make a guess as to whether we just located stolen property?"

   "Like I said. Call for backup. Screaming and yelling and pounding in the trunk. I want the boys here when we pop the trunk. Anything could come out."

   "What's the note say?"

   "Dear police. We robbed the motel right beside the FastTrack bar. We are in the trunk having gay sex. We have drugs hidden up our assholes. Please arrest us. If you can't arrest us, would you please hold us for questioning for three days. This will give you time to go to the address of our drug dealer. We were helpful enough to write his address down for you. Thank you. Signed? Concerned citizen… name of A. Spades. PS - one of us fell down. Several times."

   The partner started cracking up, and had to holster his weapon.

   "You're making that up…"

   "Read it yourself."

   "Holy shit. You know who this Spades guy is?"

   "I don't know it's pronounced like that, to be honest… you probably say it like SPA-days. Or spa-DEES. Looks Mexican."

   "Call for backup. Did we, or did we not… have a ruckus out the motel."

   "We did."

   "And? What was the nature of the ruckus."

   "Everyone was accusing everyone else of burglarizing their rooms."

   "This is probably going to be that stolen car, that was outta that convenience store. Call for backup, because… if everything else on this note is sounding about right…"

   "We're hearing three queer tweakers, having gay sex in the back of the trunk?"

   "Do you really wanna pop the trunk right now, and have three naked tweakers jump up, all tweaked out on meth, and the two of us try to grab a hold of all three of them?"

   "I'm calling for backup… I'm not chasing naked assholes all over town at three in the morning."

   The partner handled it.

   "We got one bad domestic, everyone else is on some kinda noise complaint. All the non essential calls, are coming in. Three cars inbound."

   "Eight armed cops, versus what's probably going to be three naked tweakers, going by the note."

   "I would say stranger things have happened, but… this is a new one for me."

   "Hey… everyone's gonna wanna see this anyways, if this is really going on."

   "How do we play it?"

   "Fuck it. Let them all read the note, then… we all pop the trunk. We taser the ever loving shit out of anything that won't stay still in that trunk."

   "If this is some kind of… joke… setup… we could end up all tasering a carjacking victim."

   "Victim? Said someone stole his car from the gas pumps when he went in to pay. If this is that car? The vic was left at the gas station."

   Cop lights were now closing in from all directions. Three cars came up, and parked all around the located stolen car. The two officers first on the scene, showed everyone the note, and the drugs, and the handwritten addresses… and explained how the engine was running and the radio was on full blast when they pulled up.

   "So… everyone see why we wanted backup?"

   Every other cop had a taser at the ready, and every other cop had a gun pointed at the ground. One guy tried the car keys in the trunk, and it snicked open.

   A number of things happened at that point in time. Three naked men sort of exploded up out of the trunk, and were not listening to any commands, and seemed impossible to control. Tasers went off one after another, then everyone fired their second round of taser shots. And naturally pumped full juice to them, until the little light went from red to blue. All the screaming and flailing of three highly agitated naked tweakers saw one roll out of the trunk, flailing and slobbering. The cops that had guns ready, holstered them and started putting hands on them. People tasered have a strong tendency to piss their pants, and when they don't have any pants on? The piss sprays everywhere, like changing a baby's diaper. One cop got junkie piss in the face and screamed.

   "Oh great. One shit himself…"

   "This is just fucking precious."

   "Crime scene photos, gentlemen. Crime scene photos."

   This all needed no explanations. Handcuff everyone, bring everyone down to the station, in a different car. They would be held and interviewed separately.

   "I can't wait to hear the explanation for this. Now hear this… no one says a word to them about anything we found. You guys all got that?"

   Everyone laughed and agreed.

   Down at the station, no one could quit laughing. The cop that got his face pissed on, was positively livid.

   "I got fucking faggot tweaker piss! In my goddamn eyes!! I'm gonna catch AIDS… and Hepatitis A, B, C, D, E… the whole goddamned alphabet of Hepatitis!"

   His partner and fellow officers got a charge out of this.

   "Hey, you know what they say… you have unprotected sex with a tweaker? You just had sex with every other tweaker he ever had sex with, you know?"

   "I didn't know you was into water-sports… you pervert…"

   The senior officer was asked what they do next.

   "Keep them separated. I wanna hear what they have to say, before we tell them we have anything. Now… you two? Get the report out from the motel. See what was listed as stolen, see if that squares up at all, with what's in the box. You? Find the test kit. I'm pretty sure we got crystal meth, but… I don't wanna think, I wanna know. Pick one out? At random… into the fun room. Hose him off first."

   "We put clothes on him?"

   "Fuck no. That's how they came in? That's how we interview em. Cuff his ass to the chair, I ain't wrestling a naked tweaker to the ground."

   The car was indeed the car stolen earlier that night at the convenience store gas station. Video was unclear, other than three guys hopped into the car and took off, and they sort of fit the description of these three. Except they weren't naked in the video, and without a confession… everyone knew the video wasn't good enough to make a positive ID. But, the three suspects or victims maybe didn't know that.

   They all took turns going in, to hear the guy's sob story. They all met up, leaving him handcuffed to the interview chair, and compared notes.

   "Okay. My buddy picked me up in a car he says he borrowed from some other buddy. That's what everyone caught with more than one guy in a stolen car says. He basically, just as well admitted it's a stolen car. He says he wasn't driving said car. Big surprise there. Go in, and tell him you believe him, and just want him to write his statement down, in his own words. Sweet talk him, be nice."

   "You ain't buying that line of shit…"

   "No. Not in a million years. But… I want his handwritten statement. Go get it."

   Then? They hosed off and went to the second one. Same routine. More or less the same sob story, except he wasn't driving either, and his buddy said he borrowed the car. Another handwritten statement. Then? The same routine, produced the same results, from the third. They all met up again to see where they were at.

   "I don't see the point of this… it's obvious they cooked this bullshit story up in the trunk. Only difference? Everyone says a different buddy borrowed the car and picked them all up. Everyone says someone else was driving. It's complete bullshit. You know this, though."

   "Right. I don't care. I just want it written down in his handwriting. Watch this… I was curious about this… tell me what you guys think."

   The senior officer laid out the three complete bullshit one paragraph statements, side by side. Under each complete bullshit statement? He matched up one of the handwritten addresses. The one with what appeared to be dried blood on the address paper? Matched up with the one who had sustained injuries to his face.

   "Anyone notice anything… strange here?"

   "The one with the blood here, is the one got his face busted up some."

   "Good. And what else? Look too hard, you won't see it. Look closer."

   "Hey. The handwriting matches. All three."

   "And the note says… we wrote down the address of our drug dealer for you. Look at the handwriting. They did."

   "Not willingly. Someone obviously beat it out of him. Look at his face. Note even says, one of us fell down. Several times."

   "Why make all three write the same thing down? What's the point?"

   "Guys… you never handled a call, like… kids doing Halloween pranks? You hit the party, you tell everyone to write down the name of who broke the window. You read all the secret notes. Whatever name comes up on almost all of them? That's the one who did it. In fact, the only one who writes down another name? Is the one who actually did it."

   "You're saying a cop did this."

   "Could be. The phrase fell down, several times? That's an old Marines joke. Cops aren't the only ones who use this write it down tactic. Grade-school teachers, principals, lots of people do it. Who owned the stolen car?"

   "His name ain't spa-deez… laid off union construction worker. Pissed off his union hall card was in his wallet."

   "What do we have on the stolen property from the motel?"

   "Everything matches up. Except… we have one extra wallet."

   "Got ID in that wallet?"

   "I'll get it…"

   "Here. Name matches the guy who had his car stolen."

   "Wallet has no cash…"

   "Of course not."

   "But… how much cash did he report leaving in his wallet?"

   "He thinks, around three hundred bucks. Approximately."

   "Okay. When was the car stolen? It was before the lights went out, or we wouldn't have candid camera on the three stooges. Then… when did the motel brawl and stolen property call come in?"

   "Uh… about an hour later. After the car gets jacked."

   "There we go. Who tested the drugs. Meth, right?"

   "Positive for methamphetamine."

   "And… what do you think that much meth would cost."

   "They steal the car. They get the cash out the wallet. They drive to the meth house, and score as much as they can afford."

   "Right. After about an hour of snorting meth and sticking it up each other's asses, what do they go do? Lights are out now…"

   "They go to the motel. By the FastTrack. They steal shit out of the drunk's rooms if they don't lock it up. Everyone hits the bar next door."

   "Right. Why was there a drunken brawl at the motel, in the parking lot, the parking lot between the motel and the bar?"

   "Everyone was accusing everyone else, of going in their room and stealing their shit. Everyone's drunk and coked up. They all beat the shit out of each other."

   "We got a vigilante."

   The senior officer on duty smiled.

   "Ding ding ding. The real question is… do we care."

   "We cleared a stolen car, inside of one night. We got the three tweakers that stole that car. We now have, all the stolen property most likely… that produced the motel brawl. Do… we have probable cause… to go out to this address?"

   "We might, we might not. But, what we can do? Is in the course of the investigation, of course. Politely go knock on the door of this address, and ask if they know anything. Anyone want to bet on we interrupt early morning bible study? Or… we see naked tweakers running around, doing tweaker shit."

   "What do we do next, with these three?"

   "Interview them again. How do they get naked, and into the trunk. You telling me, that three tweakers are buzzing around town all night, having fun doing burglaries cause all the cameras are off… and they just randomly decide to strip naked, and hop in the trunk. In the middle of the intersection. About a block away from the police station. Which is the last place a tweaker, tweaking around in a stolen car, will want to be. I mean… I wanna hear this one, if for nothing else than the entertainment. I don't care what I get, I book them for stealing the car, possession of the stolen car. Possession of stolen goods. Burglary."

   "We know those three. They're on the revolving door at county program."

   "Oh yeah. Anything they do? They claim act 234…"

   Act 234 was a state program. Designed to reduce drug addicts time spent clogging up the state pen, for non violent drug related offenses. Basically, any addict just runs around committing any theft, robbery, and assault they feel like… when they're finally caught? If they claim act 234… all their crimes have to by law be lumped into one court case. The judge is legally bound to keep them in county, not state. Two years is the maximum county time for any state, so… the overcrowded county jails? Cut them loose in six months for time served on good behavior. They parole them out. They run around like addicts again, until the next time. Every cop lamented the revolving door on the county jails from it, and act 234 was the cause. If they don't commit murder, they risk nothing more than gaining weight and working out and drying out in jail for several months.

   "Once we start, you already know they'll all cop to the 234 song and dance. That's happening anyways. I wanna know where they were, and who put them in the trunk. They all know they're going to county. Why not burn the guy who burned them. Plus? This is just plain fun."

   Another hour of round robin produced little. All three of them, claimed act 234. Which was as expected. Finally… the one with the marked up face says, they were at room 19. Why were they there? Because the one buddy wanted to meet someone there, for something, he didn't know what. Some "lunatic", beat him up and told him to write that address down. Then made his buddies do it too. Guy has a gun, guy's crazy, they should be looking for him, he's a violent lunatic.

   "Well? Where we at now, boys…"

   "All three of them, shit out room 19. Everyone says someone else went there, to meet someone else, and for what they don't know. Then? The crazy guy with the gun, beats the one up. Makes them write that address down, and they don't know why."

   "Is anyone here, not reading this story line? Why were they at room 19…"

   "They were fucking robbing it."

   "And, what happened to them?"

   "Wrong fucking room. Some scary guy with a gun catches them. Smacks the one guy around, makes them tell him where the drug dealer lives."

   "Anyone buying this shit, that the scary guy with the gun, tells them what address to write down?"

   "Nope."

   "Now then. Where's every drunken malcontent at, after bars close? Hmm?"

   "The FastTrack. They lock the doors, and you can party till the next day. We all know this."

   "Of course we do. Why chase drunken fools around all night long, when if you want one of them? You know where to go. They're all in one place. The worst they do, is beat each other up there, instead of all over town. No one will call the cops, because no one wants to get the bar closed for the night. Out of sight? Out of mind."

   "What's your point?"

   "Anyone ever stay at the little motel right next to the FastTrack?"

   "Yeah… I might have accidentally ended up there one night. Some girl I met in the bar might have got us a room there. Some shit like that."

   "And. How many rooms do they have there? I know. I'm wondering if any of you ever noticed…"

   "Holy shit. You're right. Sixteen rooms…"

   "Now, use your thinking caps. Some scary guy with a flashlight and a gun, is who caught them. Why would he have a flashlight, if he wasn't at a motel with the lights off. They don't have a room 19 at the FastTrack, and the only other motel with the lights off is…"

   "The bigger one. The one with the pool."

   "Now. Who uses a flashlight, with a gun?"

   "Cops…"

   "So. What are we going to find, in room 19? Guess."

   "Pissed off cop."

   "Probably drunk. Probably in for the big game."

   "What do you want us to do with him?"

   "Just call it in. If he doesn't attack you? Play nice. He put a bow on these tweakers for us. My guess is, he'll play dumb. Let him. Just one thing…"

   "Yeah?"

   "Get his name, would you? We're looking for… officer Spa-daze or whatever. Probably Hispanic… what fucking Mexican first name starts with an A?"

   "Uh… Arturo… Spanish for Arthur…"

   "Right. Do not play hard ball with him. I don't wanna start trouble with a brother cop, who did a great job. Just tell me if you see signs of a struggle in the room."

   "Such as…?"

   "All three admit he bashed the guys face off the desk. There's blood all over it. Ask politely, for the phone book. Every motel room? Has a bible. Every motel room? Has a phone book. Pages… 87. 88. 89… and? 127. Even if he cleaned up the desk blood… the phone book will be missing those pages."

   "And?"

   "You smile. You explain to him? He's not in trouble. I want the off duty cop, to testify catching these assholes in the act. Be? Nice. Smile a lot. He's probably drunk? Compliment him, on such fine police work. Let him ride in the front of the car, so he knows he's not in trouble. I want his testimony, not his fingerprints. Who wants room 19?"

   "We got the car. We'll go."

   "And? Off you go. Now… volunteers, to go out to the FastTrack? I wanna know the whereabouts of one drunken, out of work, construction worker. Also? Everyone in the brawl out there? Had shit stolen off of them. Take the box of stuff out. If anyone can activate the phone? Make them sign a criminal complaint. I don't care if you have to write it for them, just get them to sign it. Everyone try to get back by sunup. That's when I wanna head out to this address. See what that shit-hole looks like… I see anything I don't like? We're taking the day crew with us."

   The guys that picked the motel with the pool? Arrived. It wasn't a very far drive.

   "And? Here we are. Pool party. Why can't the whole town, just get drunk and party till the lights come back on, you know?"

   "I see people skinny dipping."

   "Like we give a shit. They're skinny dipping without generating calls on the place. Unlike the FastTrack. Where we have no end to the calls."

   "We hit the pool? Or the night manager's office."

   "Night manager. Has to be someone on duty, to check people in that arrive late. If anything went on here, the manager will be the first one to hear about it."

   They knocked on the door. Which didn't produce immediate results. They knocked again, and said "police". This got the door opened.

   "Hi."

   "Hello. You guys need a room?"

   "No. We're just checking something out. Probably nothing, but…"

   "What is it?"

   "Honestly? If I told you, I swear to god… you wouldn't believe me."

   "I'm the night manager, at a motel. You'd be surprised what I'd believe."

   "I can imagine. How's things been tonight…"

   "Tim. Names Tim."

   "Nice to meet you Tim. Your buddy work here too?"

   "Naw. We're allowed to have a buddy out with us. Help us stay up all night. He brings pizza, we play video-games all night."

   "No video-games with the power out…"

   "Nope. Card games."

   "We're just curious. You have anything go on out here tonight?"

   "Nothing major."

   "No… drunken fistfights… busting up a room… anything along those lines?"

   "Nope. Actually been pretty quiet. All the out of towners are in for the big playoff game, so… you can see everyone's out at the pool all night. It's supposed to be closed late at night, but… with the lights off? Fuck it."

   "All right. Tim… any chance you had some robberies out here tonight?"

   "Funny you should ask that. I don't really know what I had, to be honest. Weird, but…"

   "Hey. Tonight only? I wanna hear about weird. So, what was it."

   "All right. You can ask my buddy here. We're playing cards. I hear a knock on the door? More like someone kicking it, really. I come out… no one here. I look down? There's a box. Has… mostly cell phones. Tablets. Maybe a laptop in it."

   "Weird."

   "Tell me about it. What did you do with it?"

   "Walked right out to the pool party. Asked if anyone recognized anything. Hey, that's my cell phone. Hey, that's my wife's tablet. Like that."

   "And?"

   "Everything belonged to someone. Basically, anyone that went to check their room and left it unlocked to go out to the pool party? Their shit's in this box."

   "Okay. That's weird."

   "Yep. Sure is."

   "Why didn't you call 911?"

   "And say what."

   "We had a robbery…"

   "You ever heard of a robbery, where the robbers steal your shit, then put it in a box, then knock on your door and leave it there for you to find?"

   "He has a point. I'm not sure if that's even a robbery."

   "Huh. My partner's right. More like… simple trespass. If anything."

   "So, was it weird? Very. But… everything anyone was missing? Was in that box. Wallets, purses, phones, tablets… everyone claimed something."

   "Anything left over?"

   "Nope. Like I said. Weird. Ain't never even heard of such a thing."

   "Tim?"

   "Yeah…"

   "You get any complaints tonight?"

   "The usual. I can hear the guy next door fucking. I can hear some woman moaning. The bed's hitting the wall. Usually? It's complaints the TV's on too loud, too late. Tonight? Just bitching about cold water coming out the showers."

   "You wouldn't happen to still have that box the phones were in, would you?"

   "Uh, no. After everyone got their shit back? They wanted a trash can fire, so… they went around for all the cardboard and wood they could lay their hands on."

   "No one's missing anything now?"

   "Not that they didn't get back in that mystery box."

   The one turned to his partner.

   "What do you wanna do?"

   "Ask if we can spot check just one room…"

   "Tim? Is there any chance, that you'd mind too much… if we could maybe check up on one room in particular?"

   "Mi casa, su casa. Computer's down. That's the bad news. You want the good news?"

   "Sure. I love good news."

   "When the computer was still on? We print out a hard copy at the moment of registration. Now, after the lights go out? I fill out the old pen and paper way. We'll save those up, they get entered as soon as the power's back on. And? Everyone has to sign the register. With ID. The days of George and Martha Washington checking in? Long gone. Are you looking for a particular name? Or… a room number."

   "Either. Both. Neither. We don't really know. Honestly? We're just checking out some wild goose chase."

   "Got a name?"

   "S-P-A-D-E-S… first name? Starts with an A."

   "Uh… no… here, look for yourself."

   "Anyone that looks like a cop? Anyone scary looking? You know, you wouldn't wanna tangle with the guy. A vibe or anything… a hunch…"

   "No. Nothing like that. Everyone's either traveling, working, or… in for the big game."

   "Would it be rude to ask who's in room 19?"

   "Off the record? Sure… let's see… that? Is back in Cheater's Row…"

   "Cheater's Row?"

   "Nickname we have. See how all the other rooms are out front? Got a little row, of slightly bigger rooms, with private parking out the back. You want that, if you're out cheating, and you don't want the husband or wife to see your car, so… we nicknamed it Cheater's Row. Hey. We get 10 bucks extra, a night, for the private parking and rooms about two feet bigger."

   "And cheating in Room 19, tonight… is…?"

   "Ha. Funny."

   "What?"

   "Married couple. Mr. and Mrs. Varleans. You don't have to sign your occupation? But… they are… retired school teachers. Here…"

   Tim gave them the paper.

   "They're… pushing 60…"

   "Yeah. In for the big playoff game. I'm starting to figure out? School teachers, retire better than night managers of motels do. We don't exactly have a union or anything."

   "You think they're up in their room?"

   "Honestly? About everyone in for the game, and some others… are all out at that pool party. If they're not sleeping or fucking in their rooms. It's a motel."

   "Can we see room 19? Unofficially."

   "Follow me…"

   They were led by the night manager, Tim. To room 19. He knocked. He knocked louder. He yelled… nothing. He was about to try the door handle, and use a key… when they heard something. A man who looked every bit of 60, came to the door, in his boxers. Short, and fat, and not at all scary looking. He looked, well… more or less what you'd expect a retired school teacher to look like. Patient, quiet eyes. His voice went with his general body, face, and demeanor.

   "Yes…?"

   He yawned, and squinted. He had obviously been drinking, but… he wasn't in the least way unruly. Grampa had a couple beers at the BBQ and went to bed.

   "Hi sir. We're just curious. Have… you had any kind of disturbance, or… trouble this evening?"

   "Why… no. Honey?"

   "Mm… who is it?"

   "It's the police…"

   "Okay."

   "Sir… we hate to trouble you. Do you have anything missing from your room?"

   "Hold on…"

   The old man reappeared with his cell phone. Which he squinted at, and made the light come on. He looked around…

   "I don't think so."

   "Sir? Would you mind if I checked your desk out? It'll just take a minute…"

   "Oh. I don't care…"

   The old man padded barefoot. Tottered over, really, the truth be told… and shined the flashlight on his phone over it. Both cops peered at it. One bent down and sniffed it. Shook his head.

   "Sir? Would you mind if we looked at your phone book? We would appreciate it."

   "Phone book? Is that an app on my phone…"

   "No sir. The phone book. It's in the desk drawer."

   "I don't care… you know, you boys should just use your cell phone for that sort of thing…"

   They got the phone book out. It looked like it hadn't been opened once since dropped here by the phone company years ago. Pages 87, 88, and 89? All there… he showed his partner.

   "Sir? We are so sorry to bother you. Please, you and your wife? Have a lovely time at the game. Again? We are so sorry to disturb you for nothing. We just… had to check something out."

   They left. The old man toddled over to the bed, and they saw him get in carefully. He obviously wasn't a threat to anyone. Tim had to actually close the door for him. On a whim, he reached in and punched the inside push lock, then re-closed it.

   On the walk back out, they considered knocking on all the doors, but stopped. The one shook his head at the other. Everyone had cell phones. Everyone could call 911. Everyone could go and tell the manager there was a problem. Three tweakers in a brawl with a big, scary, intimidating and most likely Hispanic guy with a gun? Dragging said tweakers out naked and stuffing them into the trunk? This was a wild goose chase.

   "Tim? Sorry to have bothered you… thank you for your time. If you hear anything? Here's our cards…"

   "Will do, boys…"

   "Tim, let me guess. The cameras are all down, right?"

   "Yeah. Sorry."

   "No problem. Have a good night…"

   This actually happened more or less directly outside of a room much further down the line in Cheater's Row. Outside of a room that had loud music, and the noises that sounded more like fucking than fighting. No sense rousting the whole damned place. Everyone was either drunk at the pool, or sleeping, or banging in their rooms. As Tim always said… it is a motel, after all.

   They left and went back to the station. After checking to see if the two guys that went to check up on the out of work union construction worker, at the other motel? Needed any help. Because that guy, actually looked and sounded a whole lot more like the description of the scary guy with the flashlight and gun. Who actually had his car stolen by the three tweakers down at the station. Who actually had a reason to go and if he did manage to run across them? Was highly likely to spread some sunshine around. According to the two cops who handled his stolen car report? He was headed to the ATM machine, and going to the bar across the street. To get drunk. To? The bar that was right next to the littler motel. Where there were lots of fights, all the time. Where the tweakers had stolen shit from. Where the construction worker definitely could have came across someone to help him out.

   When they got back to the station? They reported their complete failure to produce anything even remotely useful. Person or persons unknown? Had made a late night secret donation of recently stolen goods to the night manager. Who handed shit out to people who didn't know they had even been robbed yet. Stopping at the pool on the way out? Confirmed this story. Room 19? Occupied by retired school teachers in for the big game that weekend. They reported their impression, which was that they seemed about as dangerous? As two hamsters. No blood on the table. Not so much as a cleaning fluid smell. And the intact phone book, that looked like no one had ever looked a number up in it. Which of course in today's world of smart phones? Was about the size of it.

   The construction worker, and the local drunken malcontents that generally partied till the break of dawn at the FastTrack bar and the little motel across the parking lot? The construction worker was face down at the bar, inside. Everyone was piss drunk, but said they had been doing shots with him all night, poor guy had his car stolen. Candlelight drunks. Honestly, given the nature and reputation of this place? This was probably one of the "best" possible outcomes of a night here. Slurring, sloppy, laughing drunks. The police that had that responsibility? Had to have people sign criminal complaints, that they themselves wrote out. The signatures? Looked like you taped a pen to a cat's leg, and it kicked it around near, but not on… the dotted line.

   The drunken brawl when everyone accused everyone else of robbing them? Had been quickly forgotten.

   Everyone was now back at the station. There was one uniform at the front desk, and everyone else was in the interview room. They were being entertained with now all three tweakers, still naked and handcuffed to interview chairs, mind you… trying to get something useful out of them.

   "You mean to tell me, I got tweaker piss in my face, maybe in my mouth… for no goddamn reason? I will beat you to death, with a bag of soap bars, I swear to god…"

   The senior cop started in again.

   "All right. let's go over this… one… more… time. You guys go to… you claim, room 19? Stop, I don't give a shit if your story is you heard that was where the AA meeting was being held that night, or, it was bible study. Whatever, and god bless. You go there. Big, scary, crazy guy… with a flashlight and a gun. Right?"

   All three nodded.

   "All right. Now, I can understand with the lights out. With a flashlight and a gun in your face… you don't really get that good a look at him, right? Or anyone else. That? I can understand. Hell, boys. Why do you think cops use flashlights at night? Now… one more time. Was the guy in the room? Or, did he come in from the outside."

   "Like I told you. It's like he was just there. Just like that."

   "Okay. Dark, taken by surprise. Flashlight and gun, I know, I know. The guy… makes you write the papers… right?"

   "Yeah."

   "You… get smacked around. This gets you writing…"

   "Uh huh."

   "Then you, then you."

   They nodded their heads.

   "And, you were all three, on the bed."

   They all nodded.

   "You… all had your clothes on? Or… you went to the room naked."

   "We had our clothes on."

   "Right. Now… your story… is that you are all sitting there on the bed. In your clothes. Right?"

   "Yes."

   "Yeah."

   "That's right."

   "Now… how do you get naked?"

   They just blinked at him. With dumb looks.

   "Did you take your own clothes off?"

   All three shook their heads no.

   "Did… someone else take your clothes off for you?"

   All no again.

   "Now… stay with me. You guys all claim, that the guy gets calm, and says he's gonna let you go, right?"

   All three nodded yes.

   "And your clothes are all still on?"

   All agreed.

   "And… bang. You're in the trunk. Naked. One second? Clothes on. Room 19. On the bed. Next second? You're naked. In the trunk. That's your story?"

   Everyone agreed, that was it.

   "Guys? We all met before. We arrest you, doing tweaker shit. You? All say 234, and you spend a couple months on a two year stint in county. They parole you early, and you run around tweaking, and violate your parole, and it's back in county. Who cut you loose again. It never ends. What do you have to lose, by telling me what really happened? Where you were really at?"

   Nothing.

   "You. On parole. You violated the shit outta your parole. You know what comes next. You? Probation. You know what happens next. You? Might as well have your own cell at county. I found you, in a stolen car. With a couple hundred dollars of crystal meth. With stolen shit, in that stolen car. I got you assholes on video, getting in the car. There is no version of this story, that ends any other way? But a trip to county. Who will cut you loose in a couple months. You have nothing to lose, by telling me where you were, and what really happened."

   No one knew. More frustrating? Was that they seemed to be telling the truth.

   "Okay. Let's try this a different way. If you can give me anything, that makes more sense? Than a goddamned UFO beams your ass, out of a room you were never in, and out of your clothes, and into the back of a stolen car… maybe… just maybe, mind you. We can think about dropping a few charges. I mean, I'm up to my goddamn ass in tweakers. Y'all? Run around until we pick you up. You spend a few months in county. Which cuts you loose. Overcrowded. As long as you don't kill anyone, you get your precious 234, I can thank my state legislature for that sweet move. I mean, like it really matters, whether you go to county, or not. My work days don't change any, if you three are in, or out. Tell me something. Try me."

   Nothing.

   "You telling me, your story doesn't change… if I let you walk out of here?"

   "Dude. Tell me what you want me to say? I'll say it."

   "Okay. What if I drop all charges. What if I were to let you walk back out, with your bag of shit. Would that change your story?"

   "Tell me what you want me to say? I'll say it. You want me to write the shit down? Give me a pen and paper."

   "No one used a name? There's three people hold you at gun point, and you didn't hear a single name?"

   "Honey. Hun. Babe. Like that…"

   "That's about as useless, as dog shit. Free as jaybirds, I might even give you your meth back… and you can't come up with a better story, than a UFO beams your ass from clothes on, on the bed… into the trunk of a stolen car, naked. Seriously?"

   No one had an answer.

   "Take them? Back to the holding cells. I can hold you three? For 72 hours before I charge you. Fuck it. Maybe your story will change."

   Everyone decided? There was a slight chance they were just so scared of who they knew did this? Or, and this was way more likely, they were actually telling the truth. Problem was, tweakers do what tweakers do. They want meth. They snort and smoke the meth. They run around, and steal shit to get the meth. Meth heads? Don't want anything else. If you give them coke? They'll snort it or smoke it, but… you put anything you want out on the table? They'll go right for the speed, every single time.

   They stay up for days. They get weirded out. They run around like chimpanzees. But, the one thing tweaker's aren't known for? Taking a nap. They get paranoid, they hear voices in the end, but… they don't typically nod off like heroin addicts do. And certainly, not three at once, all at the same time.

   "All right. Who wants in on a little field trip, to go see that address? I know we're all wiped out, but… we go and see that, then you guys can go home. Get some sleep. Come in after dark tomorrow. Morning guys should be showing up? About a half an hour from now."

   Everyone nodded. Why not. It was an abandoned property. Meth heads hung out there, everyone knew it. If someone was dealing meth outta the place? It was no surprise. About half their town? Was sort of respectable. The other half? Sort of not respectable. This was on the far end of the not respectable area.

   The day guys came in, and the night guys teamed up with them. Everyone piled into squad cars and personal vehicles, and drove out in force to see the place. They parked a couple blocks away, and two of them walked around on foot, trying to see what there was to see.

   There was a fire, somewhere. Fire trucks were honking. They went closer. It was near their address. They got right up to the scene? It wasn't as near as they thought to their target address they were there to check out. It was their address. It was a giant, old, wood framed structure. It had once been a boarding house, way back when. The slate roof? Had kept it standing all these years. It wasn't going to be there in a few hours. The firefighters had no chance to save the structure. Old dry wood had gone up "like the Hindenberg Zeppelin", the head fireman in charge claimed.

   "Old wood floors? We can't get in to even try anything. It's abandoned anyways. We're concentrating on hosing down the smaller abandoned structures around it. So far? That's been largely successful."

   "Any idea what happened?"

   "Got a 911 call. Ask them. Place was roaring by the time we got here. We got two more volunteer houses on scene, and another one on the way. Your guess? As good as mine. You guys want? We can bring out the fire dogs when the ashes cool down. I'll be able to tell you where the fire started. If there's any accelerant? The dogs will let us know. Other than that? Without a witness…"

   "Give us a call, if you find anything."

   "Why are all you guys here? We didn't call for traffic control. We're off the main drag, and it's a section of town mostly abandoned and slums."

   "We came out on an anonymous tip for something."

   "Nearby?"

   "Real near. This address."

   "Oh. Sorry for your luck."

   "Eh… if you don't need anything?"

   "If you're not gonna put helmets and jackets on and run hoses? Like I said, we don't have any traffic control. Too far back off the beaten path."

   "Good luck? Stay safe."

   "You look like hell you know."

   "We were up all night. Chasing tweakers around, doing tweaker shit. Lights went out? Whole town went nuts."

   "Get some sleep."

   They went back to the station, and got the three tweakers back in the room. When they asked if it would surprise them to know, that the address in all three of their own handwriting? Had been burned to the ground, would that amaze them.

   All three jumped up at once. Proclaiming proudly, that they were in the police station. Before that? Locked in a trunk of a car. All three wouldn't shut up, how there was no way they had anything to do with this shit.

   Because arson? Was a trip to state prison. Not county. All the tired cops shook their heads in defeat. They honestly seemed to be telling the truth. One of the squad cars, on the way to or from checking out the FastTrack bar? Had driven past a ways back, and the structure had not been on fire then. These three? Had no way to have done it. It had to be the scary, crazy guy. The one with the gun and the flashlight.

   "Fuck it. Take those three to county. Book them on anything. The meth. Stealing the car. Every individual room from the FastTrack motel? Burglary. Trespassing. Criminal trespass. Theft by distraction or deception. Every single piece of receiving stolen property found in the car. Disturbing the peace. Disorderly conduct. They pissed in an arresting cops mouth? Assault and aggravated assault on a police officer. Resisting arrest. Add sexual assault? Because the piss landed in his mouth. Call the one's probation officer. Call the other's parole officer. Urinating in public? Yeah. Shitting on the street, during the arrest? Littering. Indecent exposure. Make it the fuck up as you go along."

   "Okay. We both know, they're just going to invoke…"

   "I know, I know. Act 234. Anything I have done? I am a drug addict, and it was in the pursuit of obtaining drugs. I know. Maybe. Just maybe… county will take pity on me? And hold these assholes for six months on a two year stretch, instead of the usual three. I have a fucking dream? Where I could just keep one goddamn tweaker, in county, longer than a couple months."

   "What do you wanna do about the…"

   "The guy with the flashlight? Oh. Let's put out an APB. All units, be on the lookout. For a man with a flashlight. During a grid down blackout. Nope. I got a couple people with the last name Spade in town. It's a fairly common name. None of them start with an A for the first name. I can't get anything on the last name Spades. I don't have to know how to pronounce it? I just have to know how to spell it. I get nothing. Drop them off at county? And get some sleep. And tell the other guys… if anyone shows up late for work tomorrow? It's fine. We ran a double shift. Show up an hour or two after dark. Go on. The sooner you drop these assholes off? The sooner you can get to bed."

   "Okay. Anything else?"

   The ranking officer that night, looked down at the pieces of paper on his desk. He looked at the cute note left for the cops. Pretty much everything had been true, in one way or another. The phrase "the drugs are up our assholes" kept ringing in his head.

   "Yeah. Tell the boys at county something."

   "Shoot."

   "When they go to hose them down, and delouse them, and all that jazz?"

   "Uh huh…"

   "Tell them, to take extra special care. To check in the rectums. All three. That we have reason to believe, that they might have hidden something up their kiester."

   "Okay."

   "And I mean, ask them to let medical take a good look. I'm talking, tell them to take a microscope up their ass."

   "If you say so. Done."

   "And one more thing, before you go."

   "I'm all ears."

   "Check the stainless steel shitters, in the holding cells. See if anyone shit anything out."

   The holding cells? Wouldn't flush until an officer manually did it. This way? A perp hiding something up his ass, it would come out eventually, and he had nowhere to hide it. The officer came back, and said nothing doing. He left after promising to tell the county boys to check the assholes, on the three assholes.

   Then? The senior officer was the last one to leave. When the chief left for the day? He was in charge until he passed off to either the chief coming back in? Or the next senior ranking officer who took over. His wife had separated from him and taken both his kids, a couple years back. He hadn't turned to booze. He hadn't turned to drugs. He had not beaten the wife or the kids. He had not yelled at them in frustration. Neither husband nor wife had cheated on the other. She just got fed up with his job and that it took the life out of him. When he wouldn't quit? She took the kids and quit him. After warning him this was coming, for two years straight. He didn't have an answer for her. She didn't have any other answer for him.

   So? He went home. Tired. Worn out. Lifeless. He put the TV on, and fell asleep to the noise. He got up and went to work on time, after several hours of sleep that really didn't make him feel rested. He checked his station email. Two emails. Both from county.

   One. They had checked the three assholes, literally. Two of them? Did indeed have something up their ass, although it didn't seem to be drugs. He had the dubious enjoyment, of watching camera footage from booking. Seeing a little something, dragged out of two assholes, with curved forceps. Then, another video. Some poor shlong had rubber gloves on, and had to tease whatever it was… to try to see what it even might be. It had unrolled and then unfolded? To turn into a playing card, of all things possible for a prisoner to hide up his ass. Both of them had one. The third one? Apparently they spent "some time" trying, based on the success with the other two, but… his ass was clean. What a fun job, at least someone in county? Had it worse. That was something.

   Oh yeah. Second email. Maybe they finally found something up the third one's ass too? No. All three of them, had what at first appeared to be tattoos, on the bottoms of their feet. It had turned out to just be something put on with a felt tip marker. Each man's right foot? Had a capital letter A. Each man's left foot? A spade. Someone had typed in below the pictures of the bottoms of their tootsies? Ace of spades. It was noted, that this matched the playing cards found in two of their rectums. Both were the ace of spades. Lab analysis on the playing cards was going to happen to be sure, but, didn't seem to be any way to smuggle drugs in that way. No one could in any way construe a soggy, shit soaked playing card as a weapon either. A final notation, said maybe it was some drug gang sign. Yet no one had any real idea, and had never seen it before.

   That's when it struck him. He looked at the note. It had been signed A Spades. Ace of spades. The drugs are up our ass. Whoever it had been? They had some kind of a warped sense of humor. Wait a minute. The night manager? He looked at the report. The night manager said him and a friend had been playing card games all night. Was this guy… Tim the night manager… fucking with him? He drove out to that motel. The day manager greeted him, and he asked casually about the night manager. Didn't the night manager play cards with his buddy?

   "Yeah. Not regular cards, mind you. Some… kid's game. They keep the deck right here, in the desk drawer. Wanna see it?"

   "What the hell…"

   It wasn't a regular deck of cards. It wasn't even playing cards. It was all pictures of some kind of weird fantasy cartoons. Hell, his own son that the wife took with him? He had seen these. Anyone that played video games had a deck like this, even if they didn't play it? They collected it. He already knew there was no ace of spades to be found.

   He apologized to the day manager, and told him Tim the night manager? Was a swell guy. That there were no problems. God forbid he accidentally fucked with the poor guy's job. Then? He walked out and back to his car, to go back to the station. A man and a woman, swimming in the pool, waved friendly to him. He forced a smile, and waved back. Guy looked like he was drinking a coffee, kicked back on a lounge chair. Under the umbrella. He wasn't the most tan guy in the world, and no doubt the southern sun would tear him a new asshole if he didn't use sunblock. The woman was really tan though. Kinda tall. Notably muscular legs, she looked like she probably worked out. Cute brunette, cute face. Guy wasn't gigantic, but he wasn't small, either. He wasn't skinny, but, he didn't have the exaggerated build of a weight lifter.

   They had the pool to themselves this early. The ranking officer idly wandered over and looked around.

   "Big party at the pool last night, huh?"

   "Yeah. Football crowd was out here. Hell, with the lights out? Practically everyone was out here. Kinda fun. They had some kinda baseball game going, in the pool, but played with a football. Weird game."

   "Fun?"

   The man laughed easily.

   "Never really could figure out all the rules. Seemed to change over time, but… something to do."

   "You guys out here all night?"

   "Well. Not all night. I, uh… spent some time with my girlfriend, in our room. If you can dig it."

   "Oh, sure. Anything… weird happen last night?"

   "Uh… is skinny dipping considered… weird?"

   "Not if no one complains."

   "Manager unlocked the pool gate for everyone, said have a ball. So? No complaints. No hot water, so, I guess if everyone takes a swim…"

   "Yeah. I meant weird, like… people had stuff stolen… anything like that?"

   "Oh, yeah. Anyways, we're out here. Hell, just about everyone's out here last night. Pool party. We're all having fun. Honey? How did that… phone thing go again?"

   "The… desk guy brings out a box of cell phones and stuff. A couple people said their cell phone was in a box. I never really understood it all, I figured people were drunker than I thought? I don't know. Honey, did you ever figure what that was?"

   "The big phone thing. Right. Hey, guy… if you're interested in that? She didn't touch her coffee. Still warm. Come on, sit here, I'll buy you a free coffee. Come on…"

   "Aw, what the hell."

   The ranking night officer wandered in and sat down, under the umbrella, on the other chair, on the other side of the table the man was seated at. He sipped the coffee. It was still pretty warm.

   "Thanks. So… you were saying… about the phones…"

   "Right. Now… the pool party was in full swing, by the time we get out here. We… stayed in our room a little, if you know what I mean."

   "Sure, sure."

   "So, we had a couple glasses of wine, but… we're half sober, and the party's going by then. We give out some of our wine… they give us some beers… we're playing that football baseball game in the pool. Whatever. Some guy's telling me, his phone was in the box the desk guy brings out. I mean, I'm not real concerned. Guys kicked in the ass anyways. Why the drunk guy puts his phone in some box? I don't know. Then? Someone else, is telling me the same thing. People are going back to their rooms, looking to see if anything's missing. Near as I remember? Couple phones and whatnot, was all in that box. Something about rooms were unlocked, I don't know. Me? My room's locked. Course, everyone's half drunk, and I'm half sober."

   "But… no one's missing anything?"

   "We're not. A couple people, are telling me it was weird, that their phone gets from their room, to some box."

   "So… stuff was stolen. Out of rooms, right?"

   "I mean, technically. See? That's where every drunk person's story, made no sense to me. Maybe if I was as drunk as they were? It'd make more sense. Now… I got this town's finest here, in uniform, so… there was a robbery?"

   "I don't know. Story I got was, cell phones were in a box, and no one knew they were missing? Until the box is found."

   "Okay… I mean, that sounds like more or less what the drunk people were telling me. It sounded like a drunken half story last night. Now, this morning, sober as a judge? Gotta tell you… it still sounds… I don't know."

   "Weird."

   "Yeah."

   "Any… fights last night?"

   "You mean like… drunken brawls? None I saw or heard of, anyways."

   "I'm trying to come up with a theory, how this goes on. The phones are in the box, and I can't come up with one."

   "People are drinking? A lot? All I got."

   "You ever hear of anything like this?"

   "Hmm. My little brother, when he was a toddler? He used to go around when people were over the house. He loved car keys. Little kid, barely walking. He would find car keys, and take them all. Play with them. Then put them in his toy box. Little kids? I can't come up with a lot."

   "Join the club."

   "You want me to make a theory up? Off the top of my head?"

   "Go on. Entertain me."

   Merry cut in.

   "Officer, is this necessary? Someone, watches too many investigation shows on the cable TV. I'm not saying any names, but… it could be someone very close to us, even right now. It could be, someone sitting right next to you. Think twice…"

   "Honey. Don't you have to get some sun? I. Am having morning coffee? With a real, live, uniformed police officer. The nice officer? Is interested… in my theory, thank you very much."

   The officer started chuckling, watching these two banter and snip.

   "Go on. Your theory."

   "Okay. What are our facts. What do we have."

   "We have missing… cell phones, and some other stuff. But, missing cell phones, for the sake of argument."

   "But. No one knows said cell phones? Are missing. Until… someone finds a box. With them in the box. Correct?"

   "That's… about what I heard."

   "Makes about as much sense as it did last night, which wasn't a lot. So… cell phones don't fly through the air on their own. Someone, has to move the cell phones. We can agree on that much."

   "We can."

   "Okay. I'm trying to imagine, a thief. He goes from room to room. And, if your room is unlocked? He goes in, he steals the cell phone. I mean, in my mind? I can picture this story. How about you."

   "See? I'm with you, right now. Go on. I'm out of ideas."

   "Well? That's where I lose my train. What self respecting thief, goes and steals shit? And puts it in a box, and leaves it for someone to find. I ain't never heard of that. Ever. You?"

   "Not a once."

   "Let's try. Okay, everyone's drunk. Always a good start to anything strange, right?"

   "That? Doesn't hurt any, no…"

   "Okay. Now, I've seen people at parties? All put their keys in a box. When you think you're sober? You have to go to the… keeper of the keys, and convince them, you can have your keys back. The more you argue you can have your keys back? Usually the harder it is to get your keys. Your basic irony there."

   "Been there, done that."

   "I'm trying to come up with a scenario, where everyone has a reason to all put cell phones into a box. Drunk, then they forget and leave the box out. A box of car keys? Actually makes perfect sense. Cell phones? Not so much."

   "No."

   "Okay. My little brother? Toddler is stealing car keys, and playing with them. Someone's kid? Gets out of mom and dad's room. Wanders around… wants to play with cell phones. Puts them in a box. Leaves the box. Goes back to his room, and gets back in and goes back to sleep. I know, this is fucking thin, but I gotta come up with something."

   "See any little kids running around last night?"

   "No. But, no one ever saw my little brother stealing those car keys. He was a little ninja in a diaper, goddamned-est thing you ever saw. Thing you didn't see. Whatever."

   The ranking officer chuckled again.

   "Officer? How annoying is my boyfriend being right now?"

   "Oh, ma'am… believe it or not? His little kid theory, makes as much sense, hell, more sense? Than anything I heard yet on this."

   "I haven't seen little kids yet here. Not saying there ain't any? Just saying I ain't seen them yet. But.. I have seen? Drunk people! Now… I gotta come up with a theory, that fits our facts, with drunk people. That? Would be a lot more believable."

   "Go for it…"

   "Okay… my neighbor one time? His kid stops over. Him and his kid, they're looking for the car keys. Damn things were on the hood of the car, they just blended right in, none of us saw them. To tell a family secret? Some drinking may have occurred. Now. I went to college once. I got so drunk one time? I did that thing I'm looking all over the party? For my wallet. Which I am convinced? Is in my coat pocket. I'm stumbling around. Where's my coat. I can't find my coat, which is how I'm gonna find my wallet. So? I'm bumbling around, going through everyone's coat pockets, looking for my wallet, all night. Apparently? I annoyed the shit out of everyone."

   "You find your coat?"

   "Plot twist. I never had a coat. I was hammered."

   The cop chuckled.

   "Rumor has it? I did something similar, looking for my car keys once. Everyone had stolen my car keys, and pretended they didn't. No one wanted me driving. You ever get your wallet?"

   "That was the other plot twist. Apparently, everyone can see plain as day, that my fucking wallet? Is in my back pocket. Only I'm too drunk to notice. Apparently, I was the entertainment that night."

   "So… how's this form a theory on the cell phones."

   "I'm getting there. Okay… we have drunks aplenty last night. Happy drunks, but drunks none the less. Let's imagine, some guy… drunk as a skunk. Instead of looking for his wallet like I was? He's looking for his cell phone."

   "It's in his pocket."

   They both laughed.

   "Could be. Now… drunk guy wanders off. He wants his cell phone. Only, he's so drunk? He can't find his room. With me so far."

   "Okay. This much? Sounds… logical."

   "All right. I once heard that Einstein? Couldn't find his own door, had to have it painted red. He rode his bicycle up and down every street in the little college town? Until he sees the bright red door. That? Is how Einstein found his way home, from teaching college… every day."

   "You know? I heard that one too, I think."

   "Right. Now. The drunk guy? Cell phone in his pocket, and he can't find it. Can't find his room either. He goes from room to room. Piss drunk, and if the door's open? He goes in… and… gets his cell phone. Only? His code don't work. Why? Not his cell phone. He gets some others. Can't get none of them to work. Throws them in an empty box. Wanders back to the party."

   "Hmm. That? Sorta works. This drunk guy though? He collects a few wallets, a few tablets. A purse."

   "I'm back to the little kid wandering around theory."

   "No. Not bad. What do you do?"

   "You mean for work?"

   "Yeah."

   "Electrician. Residential and commercial. 110 and 220. My boss got the room, I'm just waiting on the job to start? Then maybe I'm out of here."

   "Where you from?"

   "Pittsburgh. The steel town."

   "You?"

   "DC area."

   "How the hell did you two meet?"

   "I was traveling for work. She? Simply throws herself at me. I mean shamelessly. I felt so bad? I had to take her in."

   "Smart ass here? Means to say we hit it off. I was a waitress. He… talked me out of the city."

   "You get to travel with him? For electrical work?"

   "Not sure his boss knows about it, but… it doesn't cost his boss anything for me to stay in his motel room, so…"

   "Hey. Free vacation."

   "Yeah. Still warm down here. Why not, you know?"

   "Well folks. I thank you for the coffee. And? I thank you for your ideas and talking about the cell phone mystery."

   "Hey. You said, my theories made sense? You're just being nice."

   "Nope. I was serious. The little kid, the drunk guy? Makes more sense, than anything I heard so far."

   "I'd ask what you heard, but, I figure you can't tell me anyways, so… no biggie."

   "Ah, you guys are fun. Now, people always ask me. What's the strangest thing you ever saw, as a cop. Right?"

   "I could see people asking that, sure."

   "Okay. So, a ways back… I find a guy. Well, two guys, actually. Where they should definitely not be."

   "Like… a bank vault?"

   "Something like that. Yeah. So, I got these two guys I found in the… bank vault. Did I mention they're naked?"

   "Two guys. Naked. In a bank vault."

   "You'd think that was the weird thing, but no. I ask them… why are you naked, and in the bank vault? They both say to me, and I shit you not. Why, I'm just sitting there, on my couch, watching TV. All my clothes on. Next thing I know? There I am. Naked. In the bank vault."

   "You gotta drink some serious booze, to wander naked into a bank."

   "No, no. We open the bank vault up, and there's the two naked guys. Don't know how they got there."

   "You're making this up."

   "Swear to god. I'm bitching, you expect me to believe what? A goddamned UFO just come down and beamed your ass, naked, into that bank vault?"

   "Guy says, with a straight face, mind you. That's about it."

   "Holy shit. How drunk were they?"

   "You said you're from Pittsburgh, right?"

   "Yeah."

   "You got… crystal meth assholes running around up there? We call them tweakers."

   "Ugh. Meth is one of those TV things to me, up there. We have good old fashioned crackheads. Coke heads, crackheads. Pain pill freaks. We got the heroin thing comes in waves."

   "They run around stealing shit all day and all night? Maybe get naked once in a while?"

   "Oh. The stealing part? Fuck yeah. They'll steal the pennies off of a dead man's eyes. The naked part? Crackheads tend to keep their clothes on, but… I'm not a cop, not sure I'd really know."

   "Well, that's about it. You got crackheads? We got tweakers. Same shit, different state."

   "So… exactly how much… meth do you have to shoot up? To think a UFO beamed your ass naked into a bank vault. Curious."

   The cop chuckled.

   "I'm not a doctor. A bunch, is my guess. And… they don't shoot the meth. They snort it and they smoke it."

   "Like cocaine and crack?"

   "More or less, yeah. Folks? Nice meeting you. Good luck on your electrical job. Best advice? Keep your doors locked, if you're out of your room. I'm ashamed I have to say it, but, there it is. Christ, this job's getting to me."

   "Bad week?"

   "There's just no good weeks. I used to think? Well… that I made a difference. Now? It's like I'm not allowed to. You. You get your… wiring done, you can stand back and say hey. That wiring? Done. Lasts at least 20 years, right?"

   "Longer, even. 40, 50? Ain't unheard of."

   "Okay. Imagine… if you had to do the same damned job? Over and over and over again. Every 3 to 6 months. Again and again. Like a rat on a wheel. There's no winning anymore. That? Is where I'm at. Aw, you don't wanna hear this shit."

   "No. Go ahead."

   "So, they make this law. It's called… act 234. See, the lawmakers. The state prisons? Are over crowded. Non violent drug offenders? Are filling it up, and they have to cut murderers loose early, there's no room for all of them. So? They make a law. If you're a non violent drug offender. Non violent means didn't kill anyone, not no violence. But… you can commit… 100 burglaries? I pin every one on you. No matter what they do, no matter how many charges the jury finds them guilty on? Judge ain't allowed to put them into state prison. Nope. County only. County? Has a two year limit, by federal law. Now… county is now overcrowded. County kicks them loose every three to six months."

   "Wait a minute. I can go out, and commit… 100 robberies. When I'm caught, I get two years. In county? And they cut me loose in three months."

   "That's what the geniuses in the state legislature came up with. I can't win. I mean, I win? But… every three to six months? I gotta do it all over again. It… never… ends. Already cost me my marriage. Which cost me my two kids. Which is costing me half my paycheck. I need my head examined, is what I think. Wanna trade me jobs?"

   "Hmm. Don't take it the wrong way, but… no."

   "I don't get it. It's like the higher ups? Want more crime. Who the fuck wants more crime. Well, criminals do. No one else does. I can't wait to get my 20 in. I tried. I used to make a difference, or at least I thought I did. Now? I'm just running on a treadmill. Beating my head against a wall."

   "How long you got?"

   "A little bit? Two, maybe three years. Something like that. Kids are close to 18. I don't know what I'm gonna do. Probably just work some… burger and fries job? Full time. Hey, you want fries with that? Here you go. Have some extra fries."

   "Well. Try to relax? And take it in stride, buddy."

   "Thanks for the coffee. Keep your doors locked. Bye…"

   "Bye."

   "Have a nice day…"

   Merry took the uniformed cops seat, and sat next to Panic. After the cruiser left. Merry looked around casually, and asked.

   "Is it just me? He didn't even ask us our names."

   "Poor guy. Did you see his face…"

   "Panic? That's a classic case… of job burn out. That's what it looks like, that's what it sounds like."

   "Is… that what happened to me? Down at the equator. I used to think I made a difference. I'm not allowed to win. There's no point, no one will let me do my job. Christ."

   "Yeah. There's no more point? You're done. You heard him. Burgers and fries, and he's happy about it. You? Delivered pizza. It's the same thing. Totally different? Totally the same."

   "Mike sounds a little bit like that. Just a little bit. Speedy? A little more. Senior? About like Speedy."

   "JG?"

   "He's young yet. He's still making a difference."

   "Did you catch the… UFO beamed the two men naked into the bank vault?"

   "Oh yeah. We both know, it was three men? Beamed into a trunk of a stolen car."

   "I wonder if he heard about the fire yet."

   "If he didn't? He will soon."

   "Think he'll care? I honestly think he'll laugh about it. Privately, but…"

   "Probably. Maybe."

   "Now honey… you promised me… that you made---"

   "Hun? I went through that place twice. Every room? Twice. I cracked rounds off, to get them moving. Fucking crackheads everywhere."

   "You didn't…"

   "Not one. I swear. You ever see cowboys in the old movies, cracking whips and shooting up in the air. To make a stampede."

   "Duh."

   "It's what it looked like. A stampede of crackheads. They thought it was funny, till I started cracking rounds off. You should have seen them move then. Jumping out of windows… rolling down the stairs…"

   "You checked the basement…"

   "Twice. Every room? Twice. Some three times, counting back down and out. I told you, after all that? I started it in the attic. That way? It takes time… to burn down. Fires burn quick, bottom to top. Someone could get trapped. You go top to bottom? No smoke getting you. Heat and smoke rise."

   "You feel better?"

   "Hmm. Do I look better?"

   "Yeah. But… do you feel better."

   "You know? Yeah. I do."

   They both glanced around once in a while, just to make sure they were completely alone.

   "Merry?"

   "Yes…"

   "Question?"

   "Why not."

   "That was a great idea you had. Can I ask you something? Just curious."

   "Get to it."

   "Why exactly… do you have your… eye-drops on you?"

   "Why not. You could just wake up? Find yourself… naked. Helpless. In a very compromising situation, you know."

   "And then?"

   "Oh. Remember the time you saw the cell phone video? The rock candy."

   "Ha."

   "You blushed… I was thinking, you'd wake up. I'd have you watch a video. You know, break the ice on something new. Worked on the rock candy. It'll work again."

   "I see."

   "No. You just heard. When we go in? Then, you might see."

   "Okay."

   "Any other questions? Or are you just stalling."

   "Not sure. But… you gave me gloves. For the car. Where did you get them?"

   "Had a little pack of them with me. Why?"

   "What were they for, is my new question."

   "Again. You'll see. If you're in the mood. You think the music box is charged up?"

   "Ready to go."

   "Now… pick."

   "Pick what?"

   "You want Science girl? Or… do you want to go to the Holly VIP room."

   "Question."

   "You're all questions. Jesus."

   He looked around, and so did she. They were still all alone.

   "Holly was the original you."

   "Yeah."

   "Holly turned into… the Merry I met. You know what I mean."

   "Uh huh."

   "Merry… turned into… science girl?"

   "Without knowing any better, Holly was just who I was. It wasn't working. You once told me, you were trying to force yourself to box, because everyone else did. It wasn't working. Not working well. Not for you."

   "Grappling? Worked way better. It fits me better."

   "Holly? Was like you boxing. Sort of worked. A lot of effort? For very few results. Merry? Grappling. Less work, more results."

   "And science girl?"

   "Mm. Science girl? Is… did you eventually learn why grappling was better for you, than boxing was? Cause other people, it works the other way for them, right?"

   "As I learned more, bit by bit… it dawned on me the reasons why. Yes."

   "That's science girl. You still box a little, even though you grapple a lot, right?"

   "Sure."

   "Still a little Holly in there."

   "If results didn't matter… which one would you pick?"

   "Honestly don't know. I'd be lying if I didn't admit, that when I was still Holly? There was jealousy at what girly girls could do. Effortlessly. There's no jealousy anymore. I can do what they do? And… they can't do what I can do."

   "You think if we'd have bumped up against one another in high school, college… you would have even liked me?"

   "An intellectual? Working on his first mask. Trying like hell to become some quote unquote… tough guy? Because he thought it would fix… everything? Like some magic wand. And there was still gobs of that sweet little boy left in there? I think so. Yeah. Remember. I picked you out before I knew about that side of you. Before I knew you had an egg."

   "I'm gonna sound like you. That's too much sweetie pie, dear."

   "I think it's true. I told you once, maybe twice. You can tell what the real person is, under it all. Under all the layers that life puts on us… when you see their ego. The thing, they'll argue and defend. Your main ego? Only comes out… when you're playing the intellectual. That's you. When I get to see the intellectual, with his face dropped because his cogs are turning every which way? I'm seeing the real you."

   "And you?"

   "When you see me, sitting in the donut shop. With you and the cops. Talking about high school sports. Rather sit with the guys, and all but make fun of sitting with the girls. Because they act retarded to me. I drop my face and do that? That's me. Under it all. I can't drop my face too much. Some prissy bitch in an elevator rolls her eyes at me, and I drop my face, and give her the eye? She looks like she's gonna faint. I come up behind a guy shaving in the mirror, and I'm distracted and he sees my dropped face in the mirror? They run. Not right then and there, but… they're looking to get out. You're the only one I can do it with, and they like it. Okay… maybe playing sports, but… that's it."

   "We going in?"

   "Sure. My turn to ask a question?"

   "Anything."

   "You told me, you don't get anything out of… being a tough guy."

   "Most guys? Sort of get off on it. It's normal."

   "You don't? Never?"

   "I don't get off on it. No. You've seen me, when I finish a crossword puzzle? Same thing. What would a guy want, right after… winning a bar fight. You know, running around, sticking his chest out, talking loud. Looky here, I'm the man baby, drink it in, huh? Woo hoo. What would he want, that night."

   "Mm. Rape rock… doggy, I mean… kitty style. Like that."

   "Okay. Whay is that?"

   "Well. He used his masculinity. He wants to… keep using it. It's his male ego, his male confidence. Remember that duck, showing off at the river? Quacking, flapping his wings. You did the duck voice. Me much duck. Quack… quack quack quack… me much duck. Rrrrr."

   "Yeah. Whatever."

   "what… do you want? Not rape rock. Not kitty style. What?"

   "Honest? Remember slow? Maybe ease into another little… taste test."

   "You don't want sex right off the bat. You want… the prolonged physical intimacy. The hormones, the chemicals. Then? A little taste of Holly."

   "Or… you remember the hot tub?"

   "Can't forget it."

   "If the lights hadn't have gone out…"

   "That was some prolonged physical intimacy, followed by your special treat. We were planning a break, some more intimacy… then I remember what all was planned. You want me to describe it, like science girl?"

   "I do like the glasses."

   "A particularly rough, aggressive nothing-fuck. Followed? By a particularly lengthy period of serious over-stimulation. Then? I remember what made you blush when I whispered it in your ear. That's what you want? I got candles. We do it over again, then pick up where we left off and finish it as planned? You're asking for… science girl, science girl, Holly style, Holly style."

   "Come up to the VIP room with science girl, she gets you in the mood. Then? After the second half… Holly comes out of the locker room, wearing science girl's glasses."

   He put his arms around her and leaned his forehead on hers.

   "You think that will… work?"

   "You won't know what hit you… and while we're at it? You wanna be in a little trouble? Just for fun."

   "Why not."

   "I'll tell you why not. How… about… I eat a hot pepper, like you wouldn't believe. You know what kind I can eat. Then? I'll make you cry, just by kissing you. Dare me…"

   "If you want."

   "I obviously do. What… did you honestly think the timer, was the worst thing that could happen to you? Pffft. Yeah… I think, a little hot pepper kissing? Is gonna be just what the doctor ordered. Then, we'll have a little talk about a few things. You wanted to be in fun trouble? There. Be careful what you wish for…"

   Merry smiled, and suggested he should go up to their room, and wait for her. That she would be up in a little bit. When he was still there, she smiled and jokingly said to "move it" and swatted his butt playfully.

   She joined him shortly after. They had a brief shower, and they joked that the cold water only situation was mildly reminiscent of bathing in the creek. They had to admit, that while cold water only was a mild irritation? It was one they were well used to back home at the cabin, and it gifted them exclusive use of the motel room until the power came back on.

   Science girl and her now infamous glasses appeared out of nowhere, and they more or less recreated the magic of the hot tub room, just without a hot tub. It was early in the day, and they had all day. There was no rush. Things were slow, unhurried, and intimate. With no sweat and no exertion, pure undiluted hormones and chemical markers built up. Science girl smiled when she was finally able to tell him his pupils were "exploding". Once she said it, he noticed the same on her as well. Her natural body scent and taste built up until he got his natural pheromone high he now knew to wait on.

   This early in the day, bottled water and caffeine made more sense than wine or beer. The occasional shared cigarette, both hand-rolled and store bought, became little treats interspersed throughout their lazy adventure. When somehow it became clear to both of them it was time? He got his special treat, then she got hers. Laying on each other quietly for a time, they took turns dozing awake in the scent.

   Eventually it became clear from their little jokes and talks, that Science Girl had played the first half of the game, and Holly was likely to play the second half. When Merry picked up a quart of milk at the gas station when they stopped and got a pack of cigarettes? She had smiled like she knew something he didn't know. Now he figured it out. It was the antidote for Merry's hot pepper kisses.

   The hot peppers she was able to enjoy, were completely ridiculous. His eyes watered and his nose ran just from sharing the air space around her, as she giggled and munched and crunched on several of the dried sticks, much like some soccer mom would raw carrot sticks. She wiggled the timer at him, and she giggled and restrained him for kisses.

   She started out by laughing, and simply licking her lips… then forcing her lips onto his firm. She laughed when he twisted and tugged gently, and did it some more. Her lips were warm. Then tingly. Then… actually hot and he felt the slight numbness that burned. When she darted her tongue unexpectedly over his lips? He was taken aback. Her tongue had a mild sting now, from a fleeting flick. Her tongue could now be used almost like a weapon. By the time she started kissing with her tongue? It was uncomfortable, and heading towards mildly to somewhat painful.

   She giggled and said his face was getting red, and he knew his eyes were already starting to water. Kissing her passionately, was getting to be positively painful. Eventually his eyes watered enough, and his tongue and mouth and lips and throat got somewhat adjusted to it, or as adjusted as they were going to get.

   That's when she took a break and explained the pretend trouble he was in, just for fun. She winked and showed him the unused timer.

   "Now then. Remember in the hot tub? What did I tell you about your special treat, huh? I told you I felt a little silly, and you were not to tease me or make fun of me. Normally? I like it, but… I warned you. What did you do?"

   He couldn't come up with anything. She could. She could also get out a new pack of dried pepper sticks. She waved one under his nose. It burned and stung.

   "Now then. Don't make fun of me for this, I feel silly. Now, help me out here, hun. How did that go exactly? They had cheap hooker problems in the hot tub room… I was as good as the town whore, right? I was… putting out for free, for beers, huh? Oh… bad move…"

   *Crunch*Crunch*Crunch

   "I mean… I had just told you not to, and you said that. Now, that makes you either the stupidest boyfriend on earth, or… you're trying to get punished. For fun. You must like it, is all I can figure. Right? Help me out here…"

   *Crunch*Crunch*Crunch*

   "The town whore… hooking for beer? Then what was the follow up on that little gem. I just got that for free, makes me… wonder what I could get for twenty bucks and a line of coke? Oh… that was a very bad move. Comparing me to a scooter skank. That puts out for rails on the tank of the bike. Want something extra? Just roll up a 20, and let the town whore inherit the tooter straw, eh? Pffft.

   *Crunch*Crunch*Crunch*

   "Fucking brilliant plan you had, you know that?"

   *Crunch*Crunch*Crunch*

   "I wouldn't lie to you… this? Is gonna hurt."

   *Crunch*Crunch*Crunch

   "Don't believe me?"

   She breathed on his face. His eyes ran and stung.

   "Now… let's tally this all up… isn't it five minutes per? That's what I remember."

   "Town whore… hooking for free beers… 20 bucks and a line… and I'm adding the whole scooter skank thing, because you know how bad I hate them. One, two, three, four… 20 minutes sounds just about right…"

   She licked her lips and planted them firmly on his. It bit and stung and he made a noise. She let him see her setting the timer. She hit the remote for the loud music to start, and started with just planting her lips firmly on his, holding them there.

   "Just a little bit louder music… "

   She teased him by wiggling the milk in his face, then putting it down and going back to pressing lips. By the time she let him feel her tongue pass over his lips, his eyes were watering profusely. She stopped now and again to crunch another one, then suddenly dove into a passionate kiss. He wasn't sure if eyes watering counted as crying. Mainly because he saw people eating atomic wings water up profusely. He couldn't figure out at one point, if she had shifted to an even hotter variety of dried stick yet, or, simply left the entire thing crunched up in his mouth for extra effect.

   Her tongue and kiss, was like a red hot iron that bit and stung. She couldn't use her panties for this, so extra loud music coupled with her tight hug and lip-lock got used to stifle the neighbor's interest. She could feel him trying to squeal and scream during extended passionate kisses. She had baby wipes by the bed, and grabbed one now and again to wipe his nose, laughing.

   When the timer finally went off, she lowered the music. She sat up a little, and dropped her face, and inspected his condition. She traced tear tracks with her finger idly, as if playing with twisting hair. She kissed and licked some tears.

   "So… do you want me to get the really hot ones out? For the repeat…"

   She laughed.

   "Didn't think so. Shh. Stop with the whiny shit. If you wanna try to get out of the repeat? Oh, you do, huh? Well… get in my ear. Let me hear you beg Holly for some of that milk… it better be good, and I better hear some apologies and promises about what brought this on… now? Beg."

   She set the timer for twenty minutes, and lowered the music so she could enjoy biting his neck, while he gave Holly what she wanted in her ear.

   When the timer went off the second time, she sat up a little, and let him physically free. He collapsed. She held her head up on an elbow, looking at him, smiling.

   "Wanna know a secret?"

   "Sure…"

   "Remember the tickle-cherry situation? After it's done, and you go back to it, I mean…"

   "Fun the rest of the night, after a break."

   "Hmm. Do you trust me? I mean really trust me."

   He nodded.

   "I had three levels of dried hot pepper sticks. Remember the first ones, stung? Then… you numbed up… eventually."

   "Yeah…"

   She waved one at him.

   "Open up… what? Don't you dare tell me no… you don't trust me? Open…"

   She held the stick for him, while he crunched off the tiniest end and ground it up. He started crunching a little more each time, and she fed him another one, that he crunched up like she normally did.

   "Well?"

   "You popped my… pepper cherry?"

   "Never had a name for it, but… yeah, that works. That's pepper A… do you wanna try pepper B now?"

   "Okay…"

   "Here…"

   He crunched a teensy bit, then more and more. His eyes watered, and he ran sweat. A was now quite zingy. B? Was noticeably hot. If he went in tiny, slow crunches? He could do it. It was touch and go, but… he managed to finish the stick. Finally.

   She smiled and kissed him.

   "It's not the same as a shame blush, but… you're face is going up and down with red, as you take those tiny bites."

   "I can guess why…"

   "I don't recommend you go nuts on these things. Just because you can sit here and eat them, and you're having fun with pepper A right now? There's something you need to know."

   "What?"

   "When you… go to the bathroom? Um…"

   "What."

   "Let's just say… your little ass is going to burn, like a motherfucker. It doesn't affect me hardly at all. You? There's no way to numb your ass up before you… go. You'll know it when it happens, believe you me. Just warning you."

   "Hm. if you… warm me up like this. In private, beforehand. How long can I still eat Pepper A and Pepper B? To, you know… impress the boys around the campfire."

   "Oh. Quite a while. We could do… twenty minutes of hot, screaming kisses in the cabin with loud music? Then… walk down to the fire and you could show off a little. Now, if I was actually mean? I'd try to get you eating a pepper C stick, but… I kinda know what's already going to happen later on. Let's just say… that my revenge is not complete, until I hear you crying in the bathroom, and leave it at that."

   He just looked at her.

   "Hey… wanna hear something funny?"

   "Sure…"

   "You begged, and I mean pitiful begging and pleading… for the milk. You never got any, did you? Forgot all about it…"

   "Yeah."

   "Ready for… milk kisses?"

   "Yep."

   "Okay…"

   Milk kisses followed. Then a period of lazy laying around. Eventually, she started whispering in his ear.

   "What. Did you think I forgot about that? That's next."

   "Hmm."

   "Now. If you're planning on being good now, and not giving me any problems? I'll see what I can do, to get Holly to take it easy on you. Now then, see my pile of stuff on the floor?"

   "Uh huh…"

   "Don't make me use the panties and the handcuffs, is my advice. This can be a gentle, fun date rape? Or… there's the alternative. You wanna try it the nice way?"

   "Sure."

   "I bet you do…"

   Over an hour later, when they were done? They took another break. A hand-rolled cigarette followed by a shared regular cigarette, to enjoy their afterglow.

   "Do you have any idea, how bad you blushed?"

   "I wonder why. I still can't believe I let you talk me into that."

   "Oh, quit whining. You got a happy finish, didn't you?"

   "File that under I can't believe it, given the circumstances."

   "Aw. Does someone need a science girl lecture, so they don't feel bad? Always gotta sweet talk the virgin."

   "Oh, you're a laugh riot tonight."

   "Want me to be funnier?"

   "Why not, at this point…"

   She stretched over him and reached down, and rolled back and over with something in her hand. She leaned up and tossed him down a 20 dollar bill.

   He started giggling, and couldn't stop.

   "I'm mad at you…"

   "If you're mad, why are you laughing…"

   He snatched the 20.

   "I'm keeping this. I'm buying myself something at the store with it."

   "Go ahead. You earned it."

   "Oh! You…"

   "Ha. Went from oh my god, I can't believe you did that… to twenty bucks later, you're making a shopping list. You're cheap… you sure this is the first time you did this?"

   He tried to feign being mad, but couldn't suppress giggles.

   "You want you're… science girl, sweet talk now?"

   He held up the twenty dollar bill and examined it, pretending to be making sure it was real.

   "Sure."

   "Friendly little date rape, right?"

   "Yeah…"

   "And you were still all surprised, you could… happy finish."

   "What's your point."

   She hugged him, and started kissing him lightly all over his face and cheek, talking in hushed whispers.

   "You don't have to feel bad. It's not your fault, that the bad girl made you do it. You're not responsible, you were raped. Many first time rape victims are amazed to learn their bodies still work even against their will."

   Then she whispered into his ear, what was possible for another time, then laughed and laid her head back down on him.

   "What do you think of that, hmm?"

   "I think you're making light, of a very serious crime, young lady. That's what I think. And? That will cost you another twenty."

   "Paying you was supposed to make you feel cheap and used, you know."

   "Oh, it does. I plan on getting a pack of smokes, some energy drinks. Maybe enough left over for a beef jerky. To deal with the guilt I'm experiencing."

   "I'll remind you of this little performance you're putting through you, next time."

   "I used to ride the Merry go round. What am I on now… the Holly go round?"

   "Merry airlines? Commuter flights. Holly airlines? Anything but. Let me know when you want to think about the… final leg of your flight plan."

   "Hmm. Can I ask science girl a question?"

   "Why not. If my panties ain't scrunched in your mouth, what's stopping you?"

   "Smart ass. Am I supposed to enjoy your little… blushing program?"

   "Hmm. You know how humans enjoy sex? One of the main features, is the raised heartbeat. It's similar in some ways, to doing a big line of cocaine, just as far as what it does to heart rate, and for how long. It utilizes the same and similar pleasure circuits. Mother nature needs us to enjoy sex, or we wouldn't exist as a species."

   "What's that got to do with blushing…"

   "The chemicals released when I make you blush? Are different but similar. It's something different, at first. Then, you start to like it. When I tease you for blushing? You blush even more. It… adds to the chemical cocktails released during sex. Shame blushing during sex with an intimate partner? Serves another important function."

   "Afraid to ask…"

   "Hmm. Shame blushing, or embarrassment blushing? You enjoy it with me. I'm your dirty little secret. As long as I keep your secret? You have to come to me to get your fix. Because of the shame factor? You're less willing to ask for it from a casual partner, she can't give you what you really want. It deepens our trust. As long as neither one of us violates that trust, it's another shared chemical bond."

   "How long is the fucking book I need to read, to get all this shit…"

   "That's the problem. It's all spread out over so many books. The essential information I just disseminated about shame blushing, and it's proper use in our relationship? Comes out of an 800 or 900 page encyclopedia of… biochemical gobbledygook. And an example of how it's misused?"

   "Sure."

   "Let's say I'm… sensitive about… doing whatever. I wanna do it with you, but… I want it kept a secret. If you violate that trust, and embarrass me publicly, to have fun? You can imagine what that does to trust, in our relationship. I'll start not sharing. Pulling back. Not trying new things. Or? I'll try to get you back."

   "You're big on trust. It's a basic value, that used to be taught. Nowadays? People will violate trust, it's just a matter of when and how to best exploit it."

   "I told you many times. If you want to brag? It's fine. If you want it kept a secret? Tell me. Am I allowed to talk about what we just did? Hmm?"

   "Don't you dare…"

   "I know. Just teasing you. Now? I can blackmail you into doing more stuff, huh? Ooh…"

   "Trust, dear."

   "Just kidding. Sexual blackmail, to get more? Is a serious trust barrier to shatter."

   "Anything else on the subject?"

   "Raunchy comedians? Make a damn good living off of knowing what makes most people blush. You're quite the amateur comedian, especially around the campfire with the boys. Ever notice, that most of the raunchy jokes you get everyone laughing at, is pretty much a list of things we've tried, or are going to try soon? Hm?"

   "You mean…"

   "That everything you've been making jokes about to get people laughing, I've been keeping track, and putting it on my list? Because if it's raunchy funny, it's blush material… oh no, not me… I would never."

   "What the---"

   "You actually think, you've been basically telling me what you secretly want to be coerced and manipulated into? Nah. No way."

   "I need to rethink this whole, masters in psychology thingy. Maybe I should have picked a tomboy with just a bachelors…"

   "The more you joke and complain? The more I know you like it…"

   "Would you stop it?"

   "What…"

   "Playing me like a goddamn fiddle…"

   "Okay. I'll go back to manipulating you secretly. How's that…"

   "Isn't ignorance bliss?"

   "Eh. You like tall, strong women. Which necessarily means, you also like women with a tall, strong personality. You don't like girly girls. So, you don't like clingy, needy pushovers."

   "Don't you ever stop? To rosin up your bow…"

   "Is that another fiddle joke?"

   "Yes. Just so you know? I'm using mommy's special shelf, right now. Thought you might like to hear it."

   "I'm honored. Thank you."

   "For what?"

   "You treat me like a partner, not like an underling. I admitted you were right, last time this came up. Now? You're freely admitting it has it's place. Thank you…"

   "You're welcome. Wanna know what's on the shelf?"

   "Funny. That's like saying yes, if I ask if you're asleep."

   "I know. Maybe we can have shelf time later?"

   "Hmm. Your Elvis case?"

   "No. The Three Amigos case."

   "Isn't it over?"

   "Was thinking about… massaging it. Figured I'd run it past you."

   "Again. I'm honored. Wait a minute… are you patronizing me?"

   "No."

   "Well, thanks. Let's see. We have the final leg of our connecting flight, then… it's early. Maybe a swim? Then you can… play with your shelf. If it's not time sensitive."

   "Thanks. What do I get in the way of rape victim therapy?"

   "You get cuddle time."

   During said cuddle time, Merry couldn't help herself…

   "There we go. Shh. See? It's okay now. Holly's not mad at you any more. It's all over. For now…"

   He snickered once with his face buried in her neck, laying there in a loose hug while she whispered sweet nothings in his ear.

   "This is the worst part, you know. Affection, after the traumatic abuse? Convinces the poor victim, that the abusive partner actually loves and cares for them. Makes them think they have to accept the abuse, to get the affection they crave. Keeps the poor victim coming back for more, over and over again. It's a fucking tragedy."

   After a time of silence, and more cuddling, Panic laughed.

   "That's fucked up. That's seriously fucked up."

   Merry kissed him.

   "I know. I'm the one fucking you up. But don't worry. When you need therapy to deal with it? I'm qualified, and I'm there for you."

   Merry continued cuddling and kissing his face and cheek, with a smug smile.

   "Maybe you should turn me in…"

   "I think I will. Speedy worked state homicide for years. I'm sure he handled rape, too. He'll know what to do."

   Merry handed him her phone, smiling.

   "No one will believe you."

   Panic studied her face for a few seconds, while she studied his back. With her little smirk. Panic suddenly grabbed her phone…

   They giggled while they fought over the phone. He finally pushed up and in on her thumb, and got it out of her death grip. He rolled over and around the phone, protecting it while he found Speedy's number on the list.

   "Hey…"

   "Speedy?"

   "It's my phone, isn't it?"

   "I wanna report a rape."

   He could hear Speedy laughing, and Merry could too. He had the call on speaker for Merry's entertainment, as well as his own.

   "Are you turning yourself in? Or you just calling to brag…"

   "No. I was the victim. She raped me. You have to believe me… I didn't wanna do it? She made me…"

   All they heard was laughter. They could hear the other guys, and from all the laughter in the background? Speedy had him on speaker as well. Merry leaned over his hip laughing and yelled at the phone.

   "I paid him twenty dollars!"

   There was a new round of laughter erupting from the phone now, both loud from Speedy himself, and the background laughter rose in volume. The guys were either getting closer to the phone to better hear this, or simply laughing harder now. More than likely both. Finally they heard Speedy shushing them.

   "Panic? That's not rape. That's prostitution."

   The new peals of laughter erupted from the little phone speaker, then Speedy ended the call.

   Merry slowly pried his loose fingers off of the phone and took it back and set it down. She wrapped herself around him, laying down behind him and kissed his neck and shoulder.

   "Aw. I told you no one would believe you. They just laughed and hung up on you. Now I can do anything I want with you, whenever I feel like it. You're my property…"

   She clamped her hand tight over his mouth from her behind hug, and laughed while biting his neck before purring into his ear.

   "And next time? You're in trouble for telling on me. I tried to be nice for your first time. I can see nice isn't going to work…"

   When cuddle time was over, and the lazy together time without taking a nap ended, they saw to their final connecting flight. Merry smiled sitting up on him, and pantomimed that she was going to slap him.

   "Go ahead."

   She shook her head no.

   "Go on."

   So? She did.

   "Now do it again."

   "Why? You like it?"

   "Just do it…"

   She hauled off and slapped him again, but it didn't connect. He caught her wrist, and let her go. She tried it again, and he moved his forearms up and was kind of able to slap it away with his wrists or forearms. He reached out and she thought he was going to slap her face, but he just touched her with his fingers.

   "Freeze…"

   She froze.

   With his hands up like he had been protecting himself, he told her to do it slow. She slapped at him, alternating both hands, and he barely moved his wrists, tapping her wrists or forearms gently to render her shots useless.

   "You're on top. You have a mount, your legs are tucked in. But if you try to finish me like this? Do it slow some more…"

   She did.

   "Look how little I'm moving. You think you're just beating on me, and I'm just caught down here, taking it… so? You'll keep it up. You'll get mad, and start swinging harder and harder. Using up all of your precious energy. You? Will run your gas tank dry as a bone, and get nowhere. When you start to slow down? Keep doing it slow, I'll show you…"

   It kept happening. She tried switching hands, but, it didn't help. She got a smile on her face, and tried a backhand. He just tapped her the other way.

   "Now. Do one big one. Slow. You'll love this…"

   She went to give him a big slow slap, and instead of just tapping her away like he had been doing all along, he tapped her forearm, and kind of bounced his hand into touching her face.

   "Go on…"

   She started slapping at him a little faster, using both hands, trying to get one in. He was tapping her forearms and bouncing his hands into her face, gently.

   "I want you here. I want you swinging on me. You? Are tiring yourself out for me. You're doing all the work for me. When you get tired and start slowing down? I start attacking you back."

   "Hmm. Can I try it?"

   "Sure…"

   They switched positions. Panic smiled before they started.

   "What?"

   He slapped her once, laughing. He didn't do it any harder than she had.

   "I gave you a free one."

   She put her hands up like he had been doing, and he slowly let her do it for a while. Then he showed her how to bounce in suddenly.

   "When you're just laying there? You do it like that. But when you wanna come up on me inside like I was doing? You have to jump it, and suddenly start a wee bit sooner. You anticipate it. That's why you let them swing on you, while you're blocking and deflecting. They're wasting energy, and you learn their timing. When they start whaling away, one two three four, like a retard? It's really easy to time it. You get a slight jump on it, and you bounce up and in. It's like a… bank shot in pool. You're hitting the rail, my arm. Bouncing up into the pocket, my face. It's a bank shot."

   He let her do it slow a number of times.

   "Eventually? They'll get frustrated. They'll get mad. They'll usually try this one…"

   He grabbed her by the throat, and drew his hand back.

   "Hey, I've been beating on you a while. Time to hold you down and finish you off, right?"

   "Sure…"

   "These shots will suddenly come more straight down. They're going to really lean into it. Gravity and momentum, on top of their body weight. Holding you still with one hand like this? You can't move and wiggle like you need to to do what you were doing."

   "So? What do I do…"

   "Why do you think I'm frozen in place like this? When they hit this position, they're asking for it. Put your hands on my wrist. Both of them. You're not trying to move my hand off of you? You're holding it there. Yeah. Now move my wrist over, across my body. You can roll suddenly. My weight has to come off of you briefly, for me to wind back like this."

   "Like this?"

   "Yeah. Now look where I am. I'm fighting you, from rolling me. So… I'm gonna force back to where I was and… you suddenly roll the other way. A surprise. My strength? Fighting you? Will suddenly be in your favor, and you add to it. Count to three in your head, and reverse suddenly. I'll keep pulling that way, so you can see it…"

   "If you can get me off balance and pull right? I'm gonna lose my mount. Look down at my ankle coming up when I come down…"

   "Ooh. Is that you're… orange peel?"

   "Yeah. It's how you set up the orange peel. Look. When my hand posts up, on that side? That's when you can lift my ankle. One hand on my wrist, it holds it there, you just reach over and you can lift my ankle. Go ahead…"

   "Holy shit. It's like I'm lifting you up… how am I---"

   "Too much of my weight is over, and to the side. I'm off balance when you see my hand hit the ground over on that side."

   "I can't get you all the way up. You go up easy, then you get heavier…"

   "Take your foot on that side. You start with your hand, but… push with your foot. No, higher. There. Right above my knee."

   This went on for some time, and he stood her up. By face and body touching, he showed her the basics of standing up.

   "I only stand up and fight? To get them wasting their energy for as long as I can. I have to hold off a bigger, stronger opponent for a couple of minutes, tops. Before they start to run out of adrenaline."

   "How big of a person does this work on…"

   "The less skill and experience they have? The bigger of a person you can get like this. The gift from god himself? Is that really big, strong people? Typically don't learn to fight well. They don't have to."

   They both had fun as he let her push and shove standing up. When he finally showed her how to put her foot against a person's leg so they couldn't haul off and kick her, he was amazed she already knew how, and was actually quite slick at it. He wanted to know how she knew how to do it like that.

   "I told you. Soccer. We had way too many good players, getting taken out of games by people kicking them deliberately. The coach brought in some guy to work with us a half hour every practice for a couple months. I can do that in my sleep. It's automatic."

   "You're working off of having your hands on my shoulders anyways. Pull down on the other arm, when you stop a kick like that."

   When he got her to time it right in slow motion, she was finally able to stumble him and throw him off balance and almost fall over.

   Eventually, it degenerated into something else. She went from practicing a clinch, to just holding him in to kiss him. The game suddenly became to prevent her from fucking him, and her intention was to complete the act. At some point in time, he simply let her "win". They were both exhausted, and covered in a sheen of sweat. Merry checked the time, and showed him the clock display. It was still early in the day. They giggled and chuckled as they laid there, getting their breath back.

   "I thought the last connecting flight was scheduled to be---"

   Merry laughed.

   "It was. Got rescheduled."

   "I see. We still going for a swim?"

   "Sure. Then we can… un-shelf your shelf?"

   "Okay."

   They rolled in and laid on each other. Neither one minded sweat by this point. When they finally got ready to go for a swim to cool off and take a bath, Merry tossed him her soccer shorts. She wore her cutoffs and a cut off T shirt. They took a quick pipe, then grabbed towels and headed out to the pool.

   After a quick swim, they sat at one of the little round tables, and leaned in to talk in hushed tones.

   Merry thought about it.

   "Okay. Where did you get this idea from?"

   "Basically? Seeing Mike. He stagecoaches things. If I can use Mike… that guy will invite me and Mike in, and let us see everything he has."

   "You already know what he has…"

   "Yeah. But I have no way to know that. This way? I'm allowed to know it. You have to admit, if we give the guy the idea to just forget about that one scrap of paper? He has a better case against them. As soon as a legal aid free lawyer hears that UFO explanation? They'll spit on their client, and plead them out."

   "Then, you shouldn't have left that note in the first place."

   "Hindsight is twenty-twenty, dear. What do you think Mike will say. When I spring this on him."

   "Hmm. He won't be mad, if that's what you're thinking. If you can get him to go for what you have in mind? Not sure. But… how do you plan to get him invited in?"

   "Speedy taught me that. I want two cops to work together, and trade ideas. Trade strategy. Honestly? It's a matter of just getting them both sitting at the same table, talking shop."

   "How do you plan on accomplishing that, may I ask. Not that I think it's a bad idea."

   "We met the cop. That uniformed cop? He's the ranking uniformed officer on his shift. No chief? He's in charge. I ask him to come out and talk about his mystery case, I got someone I think can help him. Let's just talk, what do you have to lose anyways… and Mike just happens to be sitting here… I got Mike primed beforehand. Offering his… free consultation to help a fellow officer out… Mike knows my idea beforehand…"

   "Why are you running this past me, instead of Mike."

   "You're the psychologist. What are the odds of a burn out case, in charge, accepting outside help and outside ideas. You think he'll be hostile?"

   "Honestly? The classic burnout, feels like they're good at their career. But you heard him. He feels like he's running on a treadmill. Lotta work, getting nowhere. The mindset of a burnout case, is that no one will help, and everyone just holds them back from doing what needs done. He would probably jump at the chance, to have someone he sees as higher in station in his field, trying to lend him a hand. I saw him out here, talking to two random people. Asking for ideas. Fishing for anything he can get, to help."

   "I know you're guessing, but… how do you think it would go?"

   "He sees himself as… drowning in tweakers, and he can't get rid of them long enough to get anywhere. The person that tries to help him? The personality type matters. Uncle Mike has a very… laid back style. He suggests things, he doesn't order it. My best guess, is that this guy is looking for someone, anyone who can help? Here's Mike, and he has a number of gentle suggestions."

   "You think they would gel?"

   "Hmm. If Mike was the typical alpha overbearing kind of leader? He would probably get the treatment. We don't need no big shot from DC coming in, trying to tell us backwards rednecks how to do police work… but… Uncle Mike isn't like that. Uncle Mike makes polite suggestions, that seem like good ideas, fresh ideas? I think, the guy would start following him around like a puppy dog, to be honest. Finally, I get some help. Where have you been my whole career."

   "Do you see any way this could go bad?"

   "Not really, just off the cuff. If the guy clams up, and resists the help? Nothing lost. If he agrees to just talk? You're probably in. You could win, you could get nothing. But, I don't see how you could lose anything. You're already winning, per se. You're just trying to win a little better."

   "If the guy starts to go for it, do you think he wants quiet, secret help? From just Mike alone. Or… would he be impressed or whatever, if JG or Speedy tagged along."

   "I would try the initial meeting? With Mike alone. Then, if he agrees to meet and share. If Mike had a little entourage like that. It would look like a much more important guy coming in to help him. Wow, here's a team of specialists. I'm so lucky. The guy who feels like he's on the treadmill, getting no help, getting nowhere, everything against him? Here comes a team to help him."

   "You're signing off on this idea, then."

   "Yeah. Are you trying to make me feel important?"

   "No. Mike's a big brass, and you told me he likes to run things by you, asks you what you think about the psychology of people and situations to advise him. Why wouldn't I want to get to use that valuable resource."

   "And… you wouldn't be kissing my ass, just because anything coming from Uncle Mike's niece sounds like a better idea. Polishing my ass, because you don't exactly know how Mike's gonna take it when you break it to him what you did. This wouldn't be a grown up version, of getting permission from mommy first, who will then bring it up to daddy. Would it? This wouldn't be… bureau schmoozing."

   "You want that answered in order, or alphabetically?"

   She shrugged, smart ass style.

   "In order, would do."

   "I already kiss your ass. Literally. Not sure exactly what polishing your ass would even be? But I already do enough things with your ass as it is, that polishing it might as well be added to the menu. After some of the things I already did, and Mike was surprisingly cool about it? I wasn't really sweating it. I'm not schmoozing, I'm going through channels and following chain of command, to get access to resources."

   Merry giggled.

   "What?"

   "It was a bunch of yes no questions. Rhetorical yes no questions, mind you. I already knew the answer to all of them. And? I already know, that you know, what rhetorical questions are. Your response? Was a combination of humor, tap dance, and word games."

   "Does this mean my mom didn't hug me enough when I was little?"

   Merry grinned.

   "Let's talk freely. Everything is just like I said, right?"

   "Yes."

   "I already knew that. So, what's the problem?"

   "You tell me, science girl."

   "In the future? You don't have to frame things, to get me on board. Just ask. If you don't think I'm behind you, one hundred percent? You're missing the boat. So, on that note… did you really want my psychoanalytical assessment of the burn out uniform's approach and response probabilities? Or… were you kissing my ass, to make me feel… included or important."

   "The truth? Maybe just a little bit… but…"

   "Honey? Do me a favor and look me right in my fucking eyes, when you tell me. Don't search around for the absolute best diplomatic way to phrase it. Just look me right in the eyes, and do it. Go."

   He did.

   "A wee little bit? Maybe. I can usually read people pretty damn good. I have a good track record at it. But I'm not batting a thousand. Every once in a while? I get a really bizarre response, and it really blows up on me. If Uncle Mike values your psychological guesswork, and values your opinion? I'm guessing he does it for the same reason I'm doing it now. The burn out uniform? You might know something about his… personality type or something, that would surprise me. I have a resource? I wanna make use of it. And if going through you, gives me a better chance to use Mike? Or so much as makes me think or feel more confident about it, I'll do it to get what I want."

   "Okay. Wow."

   "Wow what?"

   "Wow. You really do think of me as a full partner. And… wow, this is rare and clinically fascinating. Seeing it."

   "Seeing what? How bat-shit crazy operates…"

   "No. Most of the research has been done on the traditional Alpha and Beta personality types, their mindsets and methods and thinking processes. I'm sitting here, getting full access to the thinking and planning process, of a Sigma male. Planning a follow up Sigma lightning strike."

   "Glad you're enjoying it, studying your favorite lab rat…"

   "No, it's fascinating. I already got to see you explode from beta mode to alpha mode, and just act. You could have just ran the three amigos off, and been done. Instead? You like Timmy the night manager. He did you a solid, so you helped him with an ongoing problem he's experiencing. Timmy has no alpha helping him. Then? The three amigos are out of our hair, as long as we'll be around. But you're not just concerned with you and your own pack's well being. You're calling in a second artillery strike, to finish them off. To give Timmy a better chance in the future. Now? The burn out uniform you see as a good alpha who's under attack. Sigma males help good alphas any way they can. You don't even crave the credit for helping. You're already planning beforehand, who you can pass the credit off to. JG… Speedy… and Mike. Uncle Mikey nailed you early on, mister. You really are the puppet master. Invisible behind the curtain. Yanking the strings. Calling in a second artillery strike, to finish off a weakened opponent."

   "Do you get some kind of thrill out of rubbing it in, how well you can play me like a fiddle?"

   "No. Remember, hun. I'm a Sigma female. I get no official credit, and I buzz around below radar, and my victims go down later. They don't even know who got them. Now? I'm spending five or ten years below radar. At the end? Instead of a lightning strike, it'll be more like a… Sigma nuclear bomb going off. And they won't even know who hit them."

   "Honey? When you're the only one that doesn't get blown up? It's not going to be hard to figure out."

   "Hmm. Do you wonder what the basic plan laid out will be? Subject to change, but still."

   "None of my business."

   "I get arrested right along with everyone else. We all spend time in the cages together. Then? I get… interviewed. Interrogated. It will look like the cops don't have much on me, and I kept my mouth shut."

   "How do you guarantee that?"

   "Easy. It will be planned, that some cop, gets frustrated. Loses his temper. Shuts the camera off, and marks my face up good. Then? The camera comes back on, and the cops are laughing how I fell down. They throw me back in the cage. Then? I magically get saved, and can't be prosecuted, because of police brutality."

   "Not to mention… you get continued time being the microphone, even in the cage itself. Then with enhanced credibility."

   "Duh. Remember, I'm only… guilty? Of buying and selling a little bit of weed. A couple of assaults. When my lawyer… saves me? And somehow gets a hold of the footage of me with beauty marks on my face, telling the cops to fuck off? And it gets magically leaked, like sometimes happens… well… that's the basic plan. Subject to change. What do you think?"

   "Eh. Should work. You could then… use this enhanced credibility to… good excuse to get out of the whole lifestyle, and everyone understands."

   "Then? I disappear. And retire. I'm 35 or 40. I have my nest egg."

   "And I'll be no longer… useful to you."

   "Don't even joke like that. My property goes with me. I don't care if I have to kidnap you, and throw you in the back of a van. You? Aren't getting away."

   "How romantic. Serial rapist, turns to kidnapping."

   "Yep."

   "We done planning?"

   "Almost. I have one question."

   "Shoot."

   "How did you know, that the burn out uniform… is the… ranking senior officer. Who plays police chief when the police chief is off of his eight hour shift."

   "Not hard. For one? I was in the military. I notice little things like stripes and patches and shit. He's not an enlisted man anymore, not even a sergeant. He's an officer. That? Means he's in charge. Also… every police department has a web-page these days. The chief is at the top. There's three ranking officers below him. A couple of sergeants on the next line of pictures down… and the rest in rows of pictures under them. It's a… command chart arrangement."

   "Hmm. Chief's the director. Burn out, is the local's version of… assistant director."

   "Yes."

   "It squares with his burn out syndrome. The higher up you are, and the more seriously you take your responsibility? The more it wears you down. He cares. Otherwise? He would have turned into it's just a job, going through the motions, putting in his time to get his 20 in."

   "All right. Do you want to get your fiddle out, and play Mike?"

   "Hand me my bow…"

   Panic put her cell phone in her hand. She speed dialed Mike, and looked around to make sure they were still alone, and put him on speaker, so there wouldn't be any secrets between them. Nice touch, Panic thought.

   "Hey."

   "Hi Mike. Your witness is checking in."

   "I'm alone. I got the van to myself right now. We can talk."

   "Okay. It's your favorite niece then."

   "Everything's all right?"

   "What makes you say that."

   "Honey? I'm in the field. If I'm not doing anything else? I monitor the local action. JG doesn't have any field techs to manage right now, and when he's on shift, I have him monitoring the locals. So yeah. While we were playing cards last night? We have the locals on instead of a radio station. It was like a zoo last night where you're at, when the lights were off. When we heard the word motel off and on all night? Yeah. Someone is on duty 24 7, and they monitored the situation."

   "Yes. Everything's just fine. What's your schedule like, today and tonight?"

   "I'm in a holding pattern, until I get my sneak team out here."

   "What's the big hold up?"

   "I want the locksmith tech I used in the past. He's in demand, and I'm waiting on him to get free. Rest of the team's on standby. So. If you want dinner and drinks today or tonight? Good time to ask."

   "What was that one joke you guys made about Panic, down in DC?"

   "Which one…"

   "Go Tarzan."

   "Yeah…"

   "Local wildlife was running around late last night. Tarzan went for a little swing through the trees."

   "Oh. Everything all right?"

   "Fine. If you're not doing anything important anyways, and just waiting around on red tape to clear up. Would you mind stopping by?"

   "Not at all. Social call, or… professional."

   "Maybe a little of both."

   "You want me at any specific time?"

   "Hold on… Panic? When's your local come on duty…"

   "4:00 pm."

   "We have a couple hours. Figured it wouldn't hurt to sit here with us and talk. If you're schedule's that free and all."

   "I don't need an excuse to spend time with my niece anyways. I'll be right out. You guys in the room?"

   "We're at the pool. If we get company, we can always go to the room."

   "Is Panic still there?"

   "I'm right here, Mike."

   "Should I bring my swim trunks?"

   Panic smiled and winked at Merry.

   "Yeah. We'll go for a little swim. It's great exercise."

   "I'll be right out. Sit tight. We'll go for a little swim, then maybe grab a bite to eat."

   "Bye Uncle Mikey…"

   "Bye dear."

   "There. Done. Now, there's just the matter of what I want. Before Mike gets here."

   "Not sure we have time for that. There will be plenty of time for super quick hand-job quickies in seedy gas station bathrooms, when we're on the road."

   "Not that. You don't have to beg me for help, ever. But… just for fun…"

   "Yeah…"

   Merry sauntered over, and sat on his lap, facing him. Not an out of place thing to happen at the pool, if anyone was watching out any of the motel windows noticing. She laid her arms on his shoulders, and rubbed noses with him, playfully. Closer after a quick kiss now, she could whisper into his neck, and he could do the same.

   "I wanna hear you beg Holly for her help. I wanna hear you beg… and plead… and tell Holly how you'll do just about anything later, to thank her for helping you out. Blank check."

   He played along. Merry seemed to think it was cute to bite his neck, and giggled at the little hitches in his voice when she did it. When she was satisfied and went to get up, he hugged her back down.

   "Aw… you like it."

   "Cut off jeans. Cut off T shirt. Ankle chain on full display. Getting more tan by the minute. I can't get enough."

   "This better be real, and not just some butter me up snow job, to try to get out of any rough stuff Holly has planned for you, you know."

   "It's not. I promise."

   She grabbed his chin rough for fun and studied his eyes.

   "All right. You're lucky. I believe you. If I didn't… well… let's just say you don't even know what all can happen to you. Yet. But eventually? You will."

   "As long as I get my cuddle time."

   "Oh… you will. The more you abuse the poor victim? The more affection you give them, right after it's all over. It quickly creates a link, in the victim's mind. How they have to pay for their affection. It doesn't take very long at all. Before you know it? They come and literally beg for more. And that? Is when the real fun begins."

   "I need my head examined."

   "I'm your therapist. That's my job. You'll be fine. I promise."

   "I'm not a professional, but I'm pretty sure? The therapist helping them deal with the abuse? Is not supposed to be the one abusing them."

   "Can you show me that in print?"

   "No…"

   "Well then. There's your answer. Ooh. Mike's walking over. Until he gets here? Give me a little more of that precious begging and promising in my ear. I'm enjoying it a little more than I thought I would. I'll tell you when you can stop."

   It didn't take long to hear footsteps, and a light chuckle.

   "Hey kids. Am I interrupting?"

   Merry hopped up, and suddenly had one of her innocent, smiling faces on.

   "Nope. A boy and a girl staying at a motel? Should be seen to be enjoying each other's company. You wouldn't want me to blow my cover now, would you?"

   "Right. I was worried you were going to rape the poor guy, right in public. Glad I got here in time."

   Panic and Mike laughed, and Merry kept her innocent smile on, and shrugged. Mike sat down and took his sunglasses off. He actually had his swim trunks on and a towel with him.

   Panic grinned.

   "I thought taking a swim? Was just a phrase."

   "It is. But I don't have AC, sitting around in a metal van all day, in this southern sun."

   They were all three alone at the pool, and looked for all the world, like two customers and a friend, taking a dip in the motel pool. On one level, they actually were. Once they were in, and all got wet and adjusted to the water which was quite warm, Mike started.

   "All right. One of you two crazy kids, fill Uncle Mike in. Panic? Merry already knows this, but for your benefit? Don't sugarcoat anything, or use polite euphemisms. There's no reason for me to have to drag it out of you."

   "Me and Merry were… staying up late. Having coffee."

   Mike laughed.

   "That's one euphemism? That's okay. I don't need any details on that. That's my coworker's private life. God forbid we all get to have one. Continue."

   Panic described the empty water bottle on the string trick, in detail, with hand motions to thoroughly describe it.

   "I'm used to the beer bottle trick. Or an empty glass."

   "Useful as an alarm, but… the empty water bottle, on a long string? That's a silent alarm. It doesn't alert the intruder that they're blown. The longer the string? The more sensitive it is. Also… if someone tried the doorknob quietly, and moves on because it's locked? You know. Remember how you wind the string around the handle? That allows you to see the slightest doorknob touch."

   "Okay. You two? Having a late night… coffee. Whatever. You see the bottle moving."

   "Yeah."

   "Go on…"

   Panic described how when they moved down the line of motel doors, he cracked the door and watched. When they went in an unlocked room, and posted a guard that wasn't paying much attention, how we went down and had them trapped. He described quickly, but in surprising detail, exactly what went on. Start to finish. Left nothing out.

   "Question?"

   "Sure."

   "Why didn't you just watch them. Or call the local cops to come pick them up."

   "Mike. Am I not supposed to be your insurance policy, for your asset. Ever since DC, people trying my door handle in the middle of the night? Isn't my favorite thing in life."

   "Oh. Yeah, I see your point there."

   "Right. If one of us forgets to lock the fucking door? I don't think it's very safe. I decided to handle the problem. Proactively."

   "Very creative. I saw you two… put on a little show for me, when you got the phone number I needed. Was that your idea?"

   "Actually? That was Merry's contribution."

   Merry smiled and waved.

   "Christ. She doesn't need any encouragement in that department. She pulls enough stunts of her own. Is this the end of the story?"

   "Almost. While the locals were having a little late night talk with their three new buddies down the station? Well…"

   Panic gave a quick description of how he chased out all the tweakers at the local abandoned drug den, and burned it down.

   Mike sighed.

   "What do you think the odds are, that the three tweakers, got a good look at you?"

   "About none. Dark room I held them in. I'm a dark silhouette against the open door. I kept a flashlight in their eyes. They can't see a thing when the light's off them."

   "Did they get a look at Merry? Or the night manager… Tim?"

   "No. They stayed at the door and outside of it."

   "You think these assholes picked up any of your names…"

   "No. I know they didn't. I told Merry not to use names, and she told Tim on the way bringing him up."

   "Why did you decide to involve Tim in this?"

   "I needed to know if these were other customers? Or local talent. He had that information."

   "What are the odds he'll keep his mouth shut?"

   "Very, very good. You see…"

   And Panic went on to describe, how Tim mentioned how the last time the lights went out? Customers were stealing off of each other, and fighting over it. Before this ever went down.

   "Oh. I gotcha. Yeah… he's very happy with you. Now then. I was monitoring all the action in your zoo last night. You interested in what else you don't know went on?"

   "Always."

   "The car? Was stolen. What you interrupted them doing here? They already did at the other motel that had the lights out in town. That? Is where the other stolen property you gift wrapped for the cops came from. In case you haven't guessed it by now, this little crew goes out and has fun, every time the lights go out and stay out for more than five minutes."

   "They got what they deserved."

   "That's fine. Are you aware, that the police were here later that night? Room 19."

   "Yeah. They found nothing."

   "How do you know that…"

   "Easy. Me and Timmy, swapped out the bloody table, for a clean one out of storage. The locals having a late night tailgate pool party? Wanted a trash can fire. We thought it was funny to break the table up, and give it to them for firewood."

   "Your friend you smashed his face off the table, to get him talking. There's blood on the bed clothes."

   "What do you think we used to get the trash can fire started, Mike. That? Was all Timmy's idea. He thinks it's funny. He hates the local tweakers."

   "Okay. Not bad. Actually? You're a little too good at this. But I like it. Do you think anyone can identify you from the structure you helpfully eliminated to save the locals the expense and trouble of condemning it and going through demolition?"

   "Late at night. In the dark. Flashlight."

   "And you're sure, that you didn't accidentally cook any passed out tweakers?"

   Panic patiently described how we went through two to three times, basement to attic and back. Every room. Indirect handgun fire, to make damned sure no one would want to come back anytime soon. He also described how he set the fire in the attic deliberately. So just in case he missed anything, or, if someone came back in after he left? It was impossible for them to be trapped by a fire below them. They would encounter a fire above them, and have no trouble getting back out. He also added at the end? That the side benefit, was that any animals staying in the place, didn't get trapped either.

   "You're really something else. You're actually more concerned that a stray cat doesn't get cooked alive, than those tweakers."

   Mike got a deadpan shrug.

   "Yeah."

   "Anything else?"

   Panic and now Merry as well, described the talk with the uniformed officer the next morning. Merry took over explaining his position in all of this.

   "So… other than running this all by me… what do you two want."

   Panic and Merry described what they had in mind.

   "Hmm. I actually like it. If that surprises you two. Wanna know why? If nothing else, we get to see what the locals have, what they're doing, and even suspect about it all. That's the worst case scenario. In the middle case scenario… if things go well, I can… offer suggestions, leading them towards what we would like them to do. And the optimum outcome? I smell a little PR work that makes the locals look good, and makes the bureau look good. Merry? How do you think I ought to play it."

   "The burn out cop. His nerves are shattered. He's about to start talking to himself. The state is tying one hand behind his back, and expecting results that he can't possibly give them. The local tweakers? Are running wild, and have nothing to fear. We both know how it's supposed to be. County is for tweakers that commit a few crimes to get their drugs. But… when you commit a hundred crimes, you're supposed to go to state, to learn a lesson. To set the example. The way things are right now, and with no end in sight. This is crackhead heaven, and they use county as a 90 day rehab and ship them right back out to have more fun."

   "That's stating the obvious."

   "He's desperate for help. You gently introduce yourself. Put your arm around his shoulder, and offer him help? I bet he latches onto you like a man caught in quicksand, and someone's holding a stick out, to offer to drag him to solid ground. I got 20 bucks says, you play it soft and helpful? You'll have him eating out your hand, and siting up to beg. You're gonna be his best new friend, and you'll have trouble getting rid of him, not keeping him around."

   "Are you betting your 20 bucks? Or is Panic betting his 20 bucks. I heard he came into some cash recently…"

   Mike, Panic, and Merry… all shared a belly laugh.

   "Panic. When I told you to get a low level criminal gig on the side, to make it look good? I didn't plan on prostitution, buddy…"

   Everyone laughed more.

   "But hey… it's a victimless crime, so…"

   More laughter.

   "Oh, shit. So… anything else?"

   Merry continued.

   "Yeah. Suggestion?"

   "Always. There's a reason you're my favorite niece."

   "Contact burn out quietly, privately. But… once you get him to grab your stick to pull him to shore?"

   "Yeah…"

   "If everyone's schedule is as free as yours…"

   Mike shrugged.

   "It is…"

   "You pick up the phone, and take Speedy. JG. You know, a little team comes in. Should make him feel… extra special."

   "Christ Merry. I'm trying to make friends with him. Not get a marriage proposal."

   Panic quipped.

   "Charge twenty bucks. Seems to be the going rate around here. Just saying. Then tell him it's not him, it's you… and you need your freedom."

   Everyone had another belly laugh.

   "All right. Let me set this up. Anyone got this burn out cop's name?"

   Panic handed over the guy's card. Merry eyed him up.

   "When did you get that?"

   "He was playing with it. Sitting at the table, fidgeting with it in his fingers. He set it down on the table? I palmed it and he didn't notice. I didn't know then and there I wanted him for anything, just… having fun with my hands."

   "Jesus Christ, my niece is dating a vigilante pickpocket."

   "Guilty."

   "All right. Be quiet."

   Mike put his index finger to his lips to be quiet, but left speaker on for his call.

   "911. What's the nature of your emergency."

   "Not an emergency. I'm an FBI agent, and I'm working in the area. I want to contact a local uniformed officer."

   "I need authorization, to release any such information, sir."

   "I understand. Are you ready to take my authorization down?"

   "Go ahead, sir…"

   Mike read off a short string of numbers, that he obviously had memorized.

   "Thank you, sir. If this is an emergency, you can stay on hold. Otherwise, I can call you back at this number. Is contacting you at this number okay?"

   "It's fine, ma'am."

   "Do you want me to send the officer to you, or direct you to his location? Or…"

   "No ma'am. I would prefer if you could just give me his private number. I'd like to contact him myself. I don't want him to think it's any kind of big deal."

   "There's not a large volume of calls at the moment, sir. I should be back to you shortly."

   "Thank you."

   "Over and out."

   The call ended. A couple minutes went by, during which they all made rape and prostitution jokes, largely at Panic's expense. He got a charge out of it, and dropped them more ammunition, to better have fun with it. Merry was always amazed at how easily he could laugh at himself and didn't mind being the butt of a joke, and didn't take himself too seriously.

   She had her own classic Sigma male. For a goddamn pet. He obviously loved being around her, and he was eager to please her. In any possible way he could. A complete wolf in sheep's clothing. Alphas could be dangerous, but you can't miss them coming for you. They confront you. They're all too easy to spot. Like Little Robbie. A big, confident, alpha. Dangerous as hell, but he could be avoided. Panic? Was actually far more dangerous. No one would ever see him coming. When Little Robbie, all six and a half feet of kickboxing champion alpha sauntered up to you, you knew you were in for it, if you didn't settle down. Panic? You didn't even know you were in danger, until you woke up in the parking lot, face down. If you even woke up at all.

   In the situation they were in, she knew exactly what an alpha would have done. Opened the door, and confronted them. Ran them off, or subdued them. A beta? Would have left the door locked. We're safe and secure. Be quiet, and let the danger pass over. Okay, they're gone. Each had their own way of handling the same situation.

   Not her pet. He had no big ego to prevent him hiding. Watching. Waiting. Until the time was right to strike. The alpha would have confronted them at the door, to give them a chance to escape. The beta? Would stay hidden until it was safe to come out. No… with no ego to feed, he had no issue with hiding and waiting. Studying the situation. When they cornered themselves? He quickly took full advantage of the situation.

   Then? There was simply no escape. By the time they realized the mistake they made, there was absolutely no way to possibly correct it. He had gained an advantage, then ruthlessly exploited it. She had stood right there, and watched. Something very scary. With no pity. No remorse. Not a shred of fair play or sportsmanlike conduct. They had probably never encountered an animal like this before. Addicts recognize alphas, and avoid them, or appease them. They take full advantage of betas, when they find one. But this? They had nothing to prepare them for it.

   He simply bashed the closest one's face off of a stout wooden table. Until he got what he wanted.

   I'm not a cop.

   I don't play by the rules.

   I don't play well with others.

   You? You're next.

   While waiting for the call back, Mike quietly asked Panic, very gently, if he could ask him something. Panic readily agreed. Mike took great pains. To explain that he wasn't mad, he didn't want to tell him how he had to do things, that he wanted him to feel free to act as he saw fit. With no rules, and no boundaries… that it was the entire point. Yet…

   "Panic. Is… how do I say this. You know how serial killers, have to leave their calling card? Their signature."

   "Yeah."

   "Okay. Is it entirely necessary, that you… sign your work? Not that it's a big deal. I understand. You make a nice painting, the artist wants to sign his work. Take credit for it. But… if I may…"

   "No. Go ahead."

   "Thank you. Was it completely necessary, to shove the playing cards up their asses? To leave your calling card on the bottoms of their feet, for them or someone else to find later?"

   "That's the big dilemma, Mike. See… imagine some big, tough cop. Smacking crackheads around. He'll look right at them, show them his name-tag, then smack them again. Look at me. You should remember me. I'm the one who did it. Next time they see him coming? They'll run. Now… when you fight smart? You wait. You hide. Then you strike. It's great, but… the enemy has no idea who to fear. You need some way, of letting them know. That's what Airborne leaves their card behind for. You operate a few times? Now, you can just drop playing cards on a new area, and the bad guys head for the hills. They know what's coming for them. It's psychological warfare."

   "I see. Panic… again. If I may?"

   "Oh, please."

   "Thank you. Panic. I don't know if you noticed, but, I held back the playing cards you left behind the bar."

   "I know. Kinda pissed me off. The whole idea? Was to let the dirty cops know. That something they didn't at all in their little world understand? Something dangerous… had come for them. If you had left the playing cards known? Well… let's just say that the thing we all agree we don't talk about? Wouldn't have had to have happened. I could have just dropped a playing card, on a cruiser seat, and that would have been that. He would have known his ass was next. He wouldn't have thought about doing anything. You took that away from me. You… created the need for… the thing that we will not ever once talk about."

   "Oh. I apologize for that. Panic… I got a phone call. Several actually. Making sure I understood, that I was being requested to hold the cards back from public knowledge. Would that… surprise you?"

   "Eh. Now that you mention it? Not really, I guess. I honestly didn't plan on that. I wanted to have something to wield intense psychological fear with. Afterwards. So… I didn't have to… well… you know."

   "I see. So… you did not know, that I would get… calls… and be asked politely but firmly, if I wouldn't mind holding back the cards from public knowledge."

   "No. My intention? Was the press would eat it up. Publicize it. And, I wouldn't have to… operate again. I would have preferred to just drop a card in a cruiser, rather than… you know."

   "Yes. I see now. That's… admirable. I mean you no disrespect, and please take no great offense, you understand. But… you stuck your calling card up three tweakers assholes. You tattooed it on the soles of their feet. Now. Help me out here. You are generating more… phone calls. Yes?"

   Merry couldn't believe what she was seeing unfold before her very eyes. Mike? Was scared. Merry knew body language, down cold. Merry knew speech patterns, down cold. Mike was treading very carefully. Very respectfully. Mike was avoiding taking charge and telling his subordinate what he expected of him, in a way that was ridiculous. Mike was a former military intelligence stage coach driver. Mike, was once very accustomed… to having people killed. Mike was the mil intel boss, and he directed operatives, and fuck it, let's call a spade a spade… he pointed at people, and sent assassins out to kill them. In the back of your mind, you just know it goes on, and Mike was the boss that stage-coached that at one time. Mike was very confident, dealing with anyone.

   Not now. Merry had never seen this. This was all new. Mike wasn't just scared. Mike was borderline terrified. Merry had worked with Mike for going on ten years. She had countless lunches and meetings with him. She knew all his little nervous tics. Merry suddenly realized, Mike called Panic a spook. From day one. Panic had taken offense to the word. Even if he hadn't denied it.

   Merry felt a sudden lurch in her stomach. She felt something she did not very often feel. Icy fingers danced up her spine. Her hair on her body stood up on end, and a chill passed through her body. Merry was a half a sociopath, and didn't have the normal emotional responses a normal person had, and what was more? She knew it. For her to feel this, she intuitively understood that it would be twice as bad, for the normal person. Mike? Was a normal person. He wasn't a part sociopath. She knew Mike felt normal human emotions, more or less fully. Panic was terrifying people around him, and he didn't even realize he was doing it.

   Merry started studying Mike more closely. He wanted to be anywhere else in the world right now? But here. She was sure of it. She studied her pet now. He had casually dropped his face to talk about such things. Probably without realizing it. He was sitting there, quite calm. Too calm. No emotions in his voice. No body language whatsoever. The robot was there. The robotic voice and mannerisms that made her "friends" that met him in her motel room for a minor drug deal? Speak politely to him, when they didn't normally speak politely to most citizens. Her pet probably didn't even fully realize he was able to drop the temperature in the air by 20 degrees and put a chill in it. Little Robbie? Liked this ability. Merry wasn't actually afraid of him, but Mike? Looked at her, and flashed her with his eyes. Can you help me?

   Normal human emotional signals and emotions were at times beyond her pet. He didn't know what he was doing. It wasn't his fault. She had heard a bunch of times in their conversations, how he had problems in the past? And hadn't known what the problem was. She could see it now. He was scaring people, and he didn't even know. It was why some teachers, and most of the other children? Had intuitively avoided him. When they didn't avoid him? They had fucked with him. Because that's what the human pack did to… different. They banded together to deal with what was scary.

   The human herd? Put numbers on their side, to intuitively protect themselves. From something that wasn't quite man. Humans understood man when they see it. From something that wasn't an animal. Humans understand animal when they see it. No. This? Was something else. It's rare. It's scary. It's downright terrifying when you get right down to it. What does the pack, the herd do? You ostracize it. You drive it away. You can't drive it away? You're trapped in school with it? At work with it? You band together, and you protect yourself from it. On instinct.

   Merry suddenly felt sorry for Uncle Mike. She also felt more sorry for her pet. She flashed Mike a quick smile, when he flashed his eyes at her. None of this registered on Panic. He had to watch body language to understand his human pack he was around at the moment.

   "Panic? Honey?"

   He looked at her. With his completely dropped face, that she loved and treasured.

   "Hmm?"

   "Will you do me a favor?"

   "Anything."

   "I want you to come over here. Please."

   "Okay…"

   He walked right over to her chair.

   Merry reached up, and put her hand gently behind his head. Slowly drew his head down to hers. Put her face in his neck.

   "Will you do something for me? With no questions. Trust me."

   She felt the scrape on her neck, of his head bobbing yes.

   "I want you to go to our room. I want you to get the two liter. Will you do that for me? With no questions."

   "Yours or mine…"

   She gently grabbed him by the chin, and looked into his eyes. Smiled.

   "Mine, honey. Please?"

   He studied her face.

   "What's---"

   "Nothing is wrong. You're not in the slightest bit of trouble. Okay? Just please. Will you go get my two liter? I want you to walk slow, and walk slow back. Just do it. All right?"

   He stood up. Nodded.

   "Mike? I'll be back shortly…"

   Then he walked off.

   When he was gone, Mike smiled. Nervously. Merry shrugged. Smiled.

   "Is it just me? Or…"

   "No, Mike. He doesn't know when he's doing that. What's the problem, Mikey… I thought you were used to dealing with spooks."

   "Well. I'm used to dealing with them on paper. I didn't meet them that often, face to face. When I did? They were… putting their best foot forward."

   "Mike? I'm going to tell you this… only one time. You listening?"

   "I'm all ears."

   "Don't."

   "Don't what…"

   "Don't make fun. It's not funny. He doesn't know what he just did."

   Mike sighed.

   "What the fuck…"

   "Mike! How often do I ever bark at you? Tell you what to do? Hmm?"

   "Never…"

   "Right. Take it for what it's worth. I think I know what you're fishing for. Tell me what you want. Explicitly. I'll get it for you. You have a couple minutes. Make use of it."

   "Merry… don't take this the wrong way, but… you feel comfortable? Sleeping with that…"

   Merry dropped her own face. Stared Mike right in his eyes. Like a man would. She hissed her words.

   "Mike. We're best friends. You're my boss. I respect you. You know that. You? Take that back. Not now? Right now…"

   Mike raised his hands up, and showed his palms.

   "Hey. Honey. I apologize. I take it back. Are we good?"

   "Yeah. Don't ever do that again. Do I ever make any rules? I'm doing it now. You like what we have together? Deal with it. This? Is non negotiable. You can't deal with it? I'll retire."

   "You can't be---"

   "Serious? Fucking try me."

   Palms still up.

   "Hey. Okay. I apologize. I forgot… that's your home life. That's what you want."

   "That's right. And don't forget it. Are we clear on that?"

   "It's fine."

   "It better be. I'm not kidding about this."

   Mike sighed.

   "I'm having… difficulties…"

   "You are. I don't have any. You tell me what you want? I'll see to it. Sorry about the new chain of command. Not my call. For whatever reason? He reports to me."

   Mike was incredibly adaptable.

   "Okay. What am I fishing for here. You tell me."

   "You don't mind a thing. You just want him to quit leaving his… signature. Every time he takes a shit. Am I right?"

   "That's what I like about you, honey. You put things so delicately. And yes."

   "He's coming back. You have about thirty seconds. Anything else you need?"

   "Well, now that you mention it… I kinda wanted him to decide on…"

   "Done."

   "You mean he---"

   "I said done. I'll show you. Anything else you need?"

   Mike watched Panic walking back over.

   "No. You have an attack dog, and it reports to you, instead of me. That makes you… responsible for it. Are we understood."

   "We are. Conditions accepted."

   "Just like that?"

   "Yep. Just like that. Are we done?"

   "We're done."

   "Act nice. Like nothing happened. Because as far as he's concerned? Nothing happened."

   "Hey. Panic. You're back."

   "Yep. Honey? Here…"

   "Thank you dear. Come here…"

   He leaned down, to hug her. It gave her a chance to have their faces in each other's neck, and in each other's ears.

   "Mommy is very happy with you right now. Did you know that?"

   "Great. And no. I didn't know that. Kinda thought I was in some kinda trouble."

   "Not… at… all. As a matter of fact? You, have been a very good boy. I'll demonstrate that later."

   After he stood back up, she joked to Mike with a wink.

   "Sit."

   He smiled and sat down. He had brought plastic cups with the two liter Merry asked for.

   He passed one over to Mike, one to Merry, and kept one to himself.

   "Thank you honey. You? Are wonderful…"

   Panic just sat back and lit a smoke, and concerned himself with it. While Merry busied herself with pouring out three soft drinks. Which was, after all, the entire point of having sent Panic up to get the two liter.

   Panic hit his smoke, and idly sipped his cup.

   "So. Where were we?"

   "Oh. Merry. You were up, weren't you?"

   "Yes. Thank you, Michael. Honey?"

   "Yes dear…"

   "Didn't you just tell me recently, that… you intend to accept Mike's offer. The debit cards."

   "Oh. Yes. With conditions. I figured, I'd run those conditions past Mike."

   "Dear? Shouldn't you look at Mike, when you want to discuss that?"

   "Oh. Sorry. Mike…"

   "Yes. What are your conditions?"

   "My job, is to protect M--- your asset. Correct?"

   "Yes."

   "Okay. You might pay me, but… I work for her. She's the one I'm protecting."

   "I'm thinking… all right. But that means…"

   "It means? I'm not your asset. I'm not a spook. I'm not a butcher. If something threatens Merry? I remove it. That's my job. Period. To wit? I report to her."

   "Panic. Buddy. Old pal. What do you think I'm going to ask you to do?"

   "Uncle Mike? Permission to speak freely."

   "Fucking granted."

   "Thank you. You have been… let's say, bugging me about it. Accepting the debit cards. Merry? Has been bugging me about it. I keep hearing about it. This tells me, logically? You really want this. So bad? You can taste it. I talked about it with Merry. She wants it. That's why I'm going to do it. If it's really about seeing to Merry's safety. Your… insurance policy, on your asset? Then that's what it's for. I'm not for… anything else. Am I being direct and clear enough about that?"

   "Crystal."

   "Do you accept my terms? I'm not some snitch, I'm not your… asset. That you can just send out. Sorry to be blunt about that. I apologize in advance for how it must sound."

   "No. I understand what you mean. I understand where you're coming from."

   "Okay. I've been aggressively recruited in the past. I wanted to make that clear."

   "No. You wanna report to Merry? Done."

   Panic held his hand out politely enough.

   "Shake on it."

   Mike shook hands.

   "I'll hold you to it."

   "We're good. Right, Panic?"

   "Yes."

   "If you need something. Just ask me. Or ask Merry. Asking Merry is the same thing as asking me. And thanks. I can sleep better now."

   "Fine. Again? Sorry to be so blunt about our… arrangement."

   "I'm fine with it. Now. In other news… do you have a problem with me making Merry more… comfortable?"

   "It's your employee. I have no say on that…"

   "No. What I mean by that, is… I want to send up a… FEMA trailer. 40 footer. Six years old. All the tip outs. It's pretty comfortable. I was given to understand, that you have electric at the cabins. It's fitted out with electric heat, electric hot water. If you had wanted to buy such a thing at the auction? Merry tells me you could have. So. You did."

   "Oh. Fine. It comes out of my---"

   "No. It doesn't come out of anything. It's a little… perk for Merry. While Merry can afford something like that, Merry's cover… can't. Yours? Can. I didn't anticipate you'd have a problem with it."

   "None."

   "Great. Enjoy. Keep my asset safe. Merry's not just my asset, Panic. We've worked together a long time. She's a lot like my real niece. Thank you. Merry?"

   "Yes, Mike."

   "We were talking abut something else, a little earlier?"

   "Oh. Honey?"

   "Yes…?"

   "Hun. Me and Mikey. We understand your calling card. Now, can I ask you something?"

   "Anything."

   "Your card. It doesn't really matter what you leave. To create psychological fear. Does it?"

   "What do you mean?"

   "Well. Let's use behind the bar, as an example. You could have drawn a kitty cat, and left that on every one of them, right? Then… you drop the kitty cat card in the police cruiser, of the one you missed. It creates the same psychological fear, right? I mean… it doesn't really matter what you leave behind as a card, am I correct?"

   "The ace of spades? It's… traditional."

   "Yes. It is. If I asked you to, though… would you consider… picking another calling card? Remember. Mike took calls about that particular card being found at the scene, honey. Me and my Uncle Mikey? We would appreciate it, if in the future? You were to pick a different… calling card."

   "Oh."

   He smiled. Like a little kid.

   "Pick a card. Any card…"

   Merry looked at Mike. Smiled. Sort of a shit eating grin. Mike smiled politely back.

   "It's your card. You pick…"

   "Hmm…"

   He looked over at Merry. Winked. Smiled.

   "Four of clubs."

   Merry raised her eyebrows at Panic. Questioning him.

   "There were four of us. We did… everything together. Me, Little Robbie, Sky… there was another guy, too. He's… no longer with us. We had our own little… club. There were four of us… like that."

   Merry now raised her eyebrows at Mike.

   "I can live with it. I doubt I take calls on the four of clubs. All I care about."

   Mike and Merry shared the occasional stolen glance. Eventually Panic caught her and her quick smile. She Bluetoothed him a little "no no, later". So? He stopped and smiled at her. Smiled at Mike.

   Mike got his call back from the 911 operator, and she told him the phone number he had asked for, and she did it twice. Uncle Mike saved it on the first iteration. Then read it back and she did it again, to make sure. Mike glanced at Panic, glanced at Merry. Merry took the talking stick.

   "Panic, honey?"

   "Hmm?"

   "It's your buddy. The burned out local. Cold call him. Get him here? But do it gently. You got your card."

   "And if he asks how I'm supposed to have gotten his private cell? Which is I'm supposing, a fairly obvious question that I'm planning on, you know."

   Merry shrugged.

   "Mike?"

   "Oh. Well… let's try to be logical. What's the big deal. Panic? You have a consultant's ID badge. You? Are allowed to consult so to speak, with anyone willing. LEO included with everyone."

   "Merry? Have you told Uncle Mike about your little side project the other day?"

   "Not yet. It's on my shelf…"

   Mike wanted to know what was on the shelf. Apparently? Mike was familiar with the shelf as an explanation. Merry glossed over a quickie explanation of her chance meeting with he who looked like Digger, yet was not. She casually mentioned that their favor included moving two kilograms of what was most likely either cocaine or crystal meth. Mike nodded along with her like she was commenting on the weather.

   "Remind your Uncle one more time, because your Uncle is suspecting he's going senile. How exactly do you run across some of your boys down here?"

   "This? Is a no colors state for us. National's orders. No one knows exactly why for sure. Me? I'm guessing it's because of the fairly regular presence of a fair number of Hell's Angels clubs and turfs. But, that's my opinion, not a fact."

   Mike was quiet and deep in thought. Merry could easily read that his mannerisms were back to normal. Mike was no longer nervous or jumpy around Panic. He had forgotten about it, and the moment passed by.

   "If we're keeping score… you randomly came across two of your boys, out of state. Help them out with a ride, to get someone to fetch a broken down bike. They met a third friend."

   "Yep."

   "It wouldn't mean half as much as coincidence, but… you mentioned the favor."

   "Yes. I did."

   Mike sweetly grilled her on her celebrity status, and she went through it with him. They all couldn't wait to get their picture taken with her. She showed him the kind of pictures she got. Plates, vehicle descriptions, location.

   "You intend to come down for a little while, later on."

   "I do."

   "What do you think we should do about the two keys. I'm not inclined to go right to the DEA. No way."

   "No. You taught me? They'll send some bumbling fool. Trying to buy and being too friendly. That if the locals and states aren't being successful with new faces looking to make buys, there was no magical reason to think anyone else was going to have better results doing the same thing."

   "And at that point? I'd rather not have them here at all. Their time comes at the end. A mass take-down, with supplied addresses and warrants one day? That's what they're good at. As an asset right now? No."

   "How do I answer the question, of how I know his private cell…"

   Merry and Mike Bluetoothed, then started breaking it down and deciding.

   "Mike, I showed up in a federal interceptor unmarked. Everyone knows I have national permission to testify against the DC dirty dozen. That I'm a witness, that I'm around cops, 24 7. It's not like I didn't tell the boys at my new turf bar, that Panic is a consultant with the Feebs. It raises an eyebrow or two, but when I explain it's unpaid, for one case only? I explain it's not a motorcycle case anyways. It flies."

   Mike laughed.

   "It flies? Because he shot a dirty agent 14 times. People know it, the rumor is verifiable."

   "What I'm saying, is that there's no reason he has to not use his ID badge. He can tell the local cop about it if he wants to."

   "Give me the phone, please."

   Panic typed in the phone number, and stored it under "burnout" in his phone list.

   "Yes, hello sir. I'm… remember you stopped and talked to a man and a woman at the pool."

   "I remember that, but, I don't remember giving you my phone number…"

   "Actually, I have your card here. You dropped it on the picnic table by the pool."

   "Okay, but, this is my private cell. I definitely remember I didn't give that out."

   "I understand. Would you like me to explain that? It's a perfectly rational explanation."

   "Please."

   "I was thinking about our little talk yesterday…"

   "Go on."

   "Anyways. I just happen to have a friend. That works for the FBI. He's able to get your number like he did. So, that explains that, right?"

   "Yes. Did… you want something specific? Or, you know something more. Anything."

   "Actually? I was wondering if it would hurt any. If me, you, and my friend that works at the FBI? All sat down and if nothing more, enjoyed a bite to eat somewhere. We can't lose. If you like the topic of conversation? That's great. If you don't? It's no great loss. What do you say. You have potentially something to gain for nothing, and no down side if you don't hit the lottery."

   "I don't have to be at work for over an hour. You have a place to grab a bite in mind?"

   "I'm not a local. Whatever you recommend."

   They agreed on a place to meet for food. Mike and Merry and Panic went there. The cop was friendly, but tired looking. Mike smiled quiet and friendly, and handed the man his card without being asked. Panic introduced them all, then sat there. Mike and the local cop had a quick rapport, and Mike asked him if he would mind, if a team from the FBI came in, and just wanted to try to help. With the weird appearing cell phones that Mike's friend Panic had told him about. He related, that his friend had explained the situation to him, and how haggard he described the poor cop trying to deal with it all.

   "Does this, have something to do with your case? Your interest."

   "Nothing at all. I just happen to be in town for a while? On a totally different thing. My interest, my motivation? Is that I like to do… let's call it public relations. For my employer. For example. Everyone has the misconception that the feds swoop in, and take charge of some case, and have everyone fetching them donuts and coffee. I know it's happened in the past? We actually try not to do that. Instead… why not let's talk about your mysterious case. I just happen to have a nice little team with me, standing around doing nothing. It's your case. You're in charge. Let us just look at it. What can it hurt. Worst that happens, is nothing. There's no downside."

   The man agreed. Not as if he were accusing in tone or anything, but in the course of killing time in conversation, he did ask innocently about Panic and Merry. Why were two civilians in on the little pow wow. And accompanying them both to the station to look at the case.

   Panic pulled out his ID badge and handed it to him.

   "Oh. You're not an electrician."

   "Actually? I am. But… I'm here as a consultant, with them. After we met? I mentioned it to him. He got curious. She's not a cop. She's a witness, so she has to have a cop or somebody else around her 24 7. She doesn't have to be present at the station when we just stand around and gab a little. You can stash her in a spare room somewhere or whatever, but, in general she stays with us."

   "I mean, she's not hurting anything, if a witness for something unrelated out of state, happens to hear us talking about some kind of weird local tweaker case. I don't wanna be rude and lock her in an interview room."

   Merry smiled.

   "I swear, you won't hear a peep out of me, officer."

   "Hell, I don't care."

   The man drove himself in his own cruiser, and took Mike, Merry and Panic with him. Mike sat up front with him, and Merry and Panic rode in the cage rear seat. Merry complained.

   "Real comfortable, guys. Thanks."

   Panic couldn't help it.

   "Mike? You're a dick. I'm gonna get the piles, or hemorrhoids, sitting on this metal thing."

   They hit the station, and no one questioned their supervisor for the shift bringing in three people. They all went and sat down in an interview room, and the cop brought in a manila envelope. Mike texted Speedy and JG to come and meet him here, and to leave Senior there, to keep an eye on the property through binoculars like they were taking turns doing.

   Those two arrived, and were introduced to the local burnout cop.

   "Quite a team you've got, Mike. State police homicide, another agent, a consultant, and you oversee long term investigations for the bureau."

   "Think of it as a brain trust. What do you got?"

   "Okay. Power goes out. Place goes ape-shit. Among everything else and trust me, the tweakers are going off like it's a full moon or something, you know?"

   "Sure. We have waves of crackheads in DC, sounds familiar."

   "Yeah. First up, is a stolen car. This was right before the lights went out, for time-frame. I got grainy video, of three local tweakers got records longer than I am tall, hopping in a car at a gas station. Then? An hour break. Then, there's a robbery at a local motel. Not yours? The other cheap motel around here. First, there's the matter of the multiple person disturbance there, but when it was sorted out, it turned out to be everyone accused everyone else staying there? Of robbing them when their room was open and their back was turned."

   "I'm following. I'm curious where the mystery comes from."

   "I'm getting there. These are all separate incidents, as they happened. We answer a bunch of unrelated monkey business calls all night, plus our normal case load, so… it's hectic. Then later at night? Cases start… intersecting. The stolen car? It's found, abandoned in the middle of an intersection. Not far from here, to be precise. Block and a half over."

   "Weird? But okay. It's a fact."

   "Abandoned. Engine running. Keys in the ignition. Radio all the way up. The officers? Find, after a while… three tweakers in the trunk of the stolen car. I have no proof these are the three tweakers on the stolen car video? But… call it a hunch. It's the same stolen car, so, it's likely in my book."

   "Weird."

   "Oh don't worry? It gets a lot weirder. There's a box of goods in the front seat? Turns out to be the missing wallet left in the stolen car. And the remains of the box? Are every single stolen item, remember the brawl back at the motel. It's now a robbery, it's now part of this case. See all my cases intersecting. That's weird too."

   "That is a lot weirder."

   "Now, that's not all. That's nothing. Watch me top that. The three tweakers, in the trunk? Are all naked."

   "Tweakers. Naked. I can kind of picture that one? Just not the in the trunk part. So… why are they naked in the trunk? This has to be a good one."

   "That's just it. They tell me they go to the other motel. Yours, you know. To room 19. And there? They seem to run into the man we nicknamed down here, the man with the flashlight."

   "Okay. But, there being a blackout and all? A guy having a flashlight is kinda…"

   "Oh. I know. Now, according to the suspects? This guy is agitated. He smacks one of them around, and they say he makes them all write down a certain address, which of course they know nothing about why. They're three little angels, don't you know."

   "I'm following… how do they all get naked and in the trunk?"

   "That's what the tweakers can't tell me."

   "Right. You go to room 19, you bring the man with the flashlight down here, and you have a talk with him. A straight civilian, in my book, is more trustworthy giving an account of an incident."

   "We go to 19. I send what is arguably, my best man. And his partner. Wanna know what's in room 19?"

   "This sounds like who's buried in Grant's tomb. Minor crime scene."

   "That's just it. Room 19, is… an elderly couple. No flashlight man. This man? My officer describes him as polite, friendly, and about as dangerous looking? As a friendly hamster. His exact words. Old man wiggles back and forth on bad feet, in and out of bed. Knows nothing. It's his room. He's got nothing missing."

   "But signs of a struggle…"

   "Supposedly, this giant pissed off flashlight man, dribbled the head and face of one of these local tweakers off of a wooden table, that as it turns out, all the rooms have. Then tossed the dribbled tweaker on the bed, where he bled and wiped his tweaker blood, god how sterile that must be… wipes the tweaker blood on the sheets."

   "You get the bed-sheet. That shit's not coming out with a little spit and tissue paper."

   "Nothing on the bed-sheet. Nothing on the table. My man's half bright, he said he can't smell cleaning products on the table, to make him the least little bit suspicious."

   "Now, I'm seeing the mysterious you describe."

   "Yeah. Then? It gets even weirder."

   "Seriously? Keep going then."

   "Okay. The only thing I didn't mention, is that when I said the front seat of the recovered stolen car, had a box…"

   "You said it contained… was it each and every stolen item that was burglarized back at the not my motel. Plus the stolen car's rightful owner's wallet."

   "And? A message addressed to the cops. In the box. It's a folded up piece of paper. A page out of a phone book. The tweakers? All describe the flashlight man, tearing out pages of the phone book, and using it for writing paper. Making them write the address down. So? My officer gets to check the phone book in room 19. Guess how that goes?"

   "You're in possession of pages torn out of a book with page numbers on it."

   "I am. But the phone-book in room 19? Looks like new. Not one missing page."

   "All right. Can we recap? Before we get lost. My head's swimming. Did the man with the flashlight… put these three guys naked into the trunk?"

   "You would think. But… the tweakers? All have this ridiculous testimony."

   "They are… entertaining, I'll call it… to deal with, professionally. What shared story do they tell you?"

   "I'm sitting on the bed. My buddy, or me, depending on which one you're talking to. My buddy or me, was bleeding on the bed. Then bang. They wake up naked, can't explain how they got packed into the trunk of an old sedan like naked sardines."

   "Three tweakers all blacked out, like college kids on a drinking binge, all at the exact same moment?"

   "One told me, it was like, and I quote his eloquence here… it was like a fucking science fiction movie, man. I just blinked, and I wake up naked and buried alive I don't know where, until the cops drag me out the trunk and taser my ass twice."

   Mike started covering his mouth, trying not to laugh.

   The cop? Started giggling too.

   "Right. All three? Have the exact same story. Science fiction warp shit, into the trunk of that car. All at the exact same moment. I ask them how, I grill them how. I promised them everything but a fucking blowjob? That's all three stories. What the hell?"

   "You said notes, written on pages out of the phone book. Tell me about the notes."

   "All slightly different? But three idiots guessing at the same address. Get this, it's all three notes, in their handwriting. With? Their three address papers, are folded up neat and wrapped up with yet another piece of paper, a note to the cops. Also a bag of… oh… about the contents reported stolen in the missing wallet? Just about that much of crystal meth in a baggie."

   "They steal the car. Car has wallet. Wallet has cash. Cash does not long last in a stolen car, in possession of three tweakers. They went and obviously scored, the contents of that wallet's cash equivalent of… crystal meth."

   "Yes. The letter is addressed to the cops. Hey, here's three assholes in the trunk of the car, having gay sex. They have drugs in their assholes. Here's the drugs, here's the stolen shit. Have fun. I made all three tell the cops where they get their drugs from and write it down. Bye bye. My name is A. Spades. I'm paraphrasing, but, that's about it."

   "A. Spades."

   "Doesn't seem to be a name. I can't find an A. Spades. I end up booking these three loser tweakers in frustration. I mean, I got the stolen car I just know it's them in the video."

   "Okay. Let's be logical. If I had a stolen car, and I located that stolen car? We got a happy citizen, he gets his car back."

   "Yeah. That part's actually pretty cool. Here's where it gets weirder."

   "Okay…"

   "Everyone at the motel we talk to? Describes that someone suddenly finds, out of nowhere, a cardboard box. And it's got cell phones and other items. Missing from people's rooms that were unlocked. From there."

   "Okay. That's a good part, sounds like."

   "Oh, it is. But this mystery of how room 19, suddenly turns into, what the hell? I'm stumped."

   "Well. Let's recap. We got a stolen car back. We got the box of shit stolen from the other motel? In the box. We even got, we strongly suspect, the same three tweakers that stole the car? Naked in the trunk."

   "And they all claim? It was like a UFO beamed their asses naked, through time and space, and they woke up buried alive. I can't make this shit up."

   "All three are sure they were in 19?"

   "Yes."

   "But… they weren't in 19. You checked thoroughly."

   "I did. It's like… they all claim they were there, they're lucid and frank about it."

   "But they weren't there, were they?"

   "No. I'm stumped."

   "Okay. Can I make my observations?"

   "Please."

   "My best guess? Is that three tweaked out tweakers. Have no goddamned clue where the hell they even where. I don't know why? But… sounds like they were at some different motel. It's the only explanation that flies."

   "That makes sense. Want to hear the surprise finish to this case?"

   "I'm all ears."

   "They go to county. Two of the three? They find a playing card in their rectums. Folded and rolled up. The third one? Pooped almost on one of the arresting officers, when they tasered him naked coming out of the trunk. It's a turd in a dry mud puddle. Found a playing card in the poop. So, that's three playing cards up three asses. Then county finds on the bottom of their feet? Felt tip marker. Letter A on one foot, and a Spade card marking, on the other foot. All three. Can't tell you when that happened to them. None can explain how a playing card got up their ass either."

   "Wow. That's… oddly specific."

   "Ain't it? It's just fucking precious. Up at county? You can't keep that under wraps. Everyone's laughing at the Spades Gang, they're calling them. Words out, that there's a meth drug gang, called the Spades. They tattoo a letter A and a spade on the bottoms of their feet, and they carry ace of spades playing cards up their asses. It's an internet joke, I'm embarrassed to be from here now."

   "Well, any suspects emerging?"

   "I mean, the three tweakers? Obviously, but… if you mean who did it to them? Yeah. The suspect? A man with a flashlight. I got nothing. They can't tell me anything. And the last thing?"

   "Sure…"

   "Remember they all wrote down an address? In their own handwriting."

   "Okay."

   "That address? It burned down."

   "So, they burned it down, and that's why they had the address on them."

   "No. They were here, getting interviewed actually, when it burned."

   "You… can't tell me they aren't somehow connected to it burning down."

   "I know that. You know that. But they were here when it burned."

   "But… they knew about it, they all had the address."

   "It all makes a little more sense to me, without the note to the cops. Now, because of that note? I have to assume its the man with the flashlight did it."

   "How does that make three naked tweakers crammed into the trunk and don't know how they got there make sense?"

   "Okay, that doesn't ever make sense, but… I'd blame them for the fire, if it wasn't for the note."

   Mike sat and thought.

   "Do you want my thoughts?"

   "Oh, please. Be my guest."

   "Can we have the papers and stuff?"

   The addresses in their own handwriting were laid out, and the note above them. Then the bag of crystal meth.

   "You said this tests out?"

   "Positive for methamphetamine."

   "What do they know about what you have here…"

   "Oh. I tell suspects nothing I don't have to, learned that years ago. Otherwise, they just adapt their story around what you have."

   "But, they know you have the addresses."

   "It's in their handwriting. I couldn't keep that from them if I tried. But they don't know about the note."

   "If you ignore the note, we now have three people that all had the address beforehand of the building that burned down. That's conspiracy to commit arson. You could have a theory that some delayed device started the fire. That would get you into a state charge."

   "If I ignore the note."

   "Technically, who's to say that the note didn't just blow in off the street through the open car window, and just happen to land in the box. Or, the note could have just blown out the window instead of staying in the box."

   "I know I'm not supposed to do that."

   "You have to admit though. If you were to accidentally lose one particular piece of paper, everything else looks better. Way better, even."

   "How do I accidentally lose evidence."

   "Did you… copy it down yet? Take pictures? File paperwork?"

   "The paperwork just says that notes were found in the box."

   "Be a pity if one scrap of paper were lost, but it would be manageable as long as you didn't lose the other three. Do you have any thoughts about how you might want to proceed on this, otherwise?"

   "What do you mean?"

   "You got county nicknaming them the Spades Gang?"

   "I do."

   "That's free internet publicity, because of the playing cards up the asses. I would call a press conference, to use the recent popularity of the comedy aspect of it. Hammer it home on TV cameras, that the notorious Spades Gang had the three principal members rounded up and off the street. They are implicated in the arson of a drug property as well."

   "What does that accomplish?"

   "Everyone knows they're guilty as sin of a bunch of things, before you even go to court. When you land state charges for arson, with conspiracy to arson as a backup plan… it doesn't cost you anything to file those charges. They can't afford anything but free legal aid, and they'll just plead them out. To state time. I mean, imagine the legal aid lawyer that lands the case, hears about the UFO beams them naked into a trunk. The lawyer? Will forge their signature to get them to cop a deal, before going to court with that story and getting made fun of."

   "What about the man with the flashlight."

   "What about him? We know they were at the other motel, because we have the stolen shit in a box in the stolen vehicle. We don't know they were at my motel, because you went to the room they claimed, and found nothing."

   "The box of stuff found there, though."

   "I admit that story is weird. But… did you see this box of cell phones and other stuff? Or did you just hear about it."

   "People talked about it."

   "Drunk people, said some of their cellphones were found in a box. Before they even knew they were missing, right?"

   "Correct."

   "So, we have physical proof they're at the other motel, and nothing but drunken hearsay that no one is missing anything, and their phones were misplaced. At my motel. Where they weren't in the room."

   "So… where were they. And what about the rumors of the phones appearing in some box? If smart phones could actually talk, I bet I know what those phones would say. I was just a sitting there, on the night stand… when bloop, I wake up in this box. What the hell."

   "You said there's no way they were at room 19."

   "No way in hell."

   "Then? I'm going to suggest that they were at some other motel, in that room 19. I'm going to suggest? That three tweakers who get UFO beamed from a bed wearing clothes to a trunk naked… are obviously whacked out of their gourd so bad, they can't tell you what motel when they ran afoul of the mysterious man with a flashlight. If indeed, he even exists at all."

   "He seems real…"

   "Does he really? Do we have anything to suggest the man with the flashlight is real, other than the word of three tweakers, who get abducted by UFO beams, that have playing cards up their asses, and draw the playing cards on their feet…"

   "So, you're saying… to go by the physical evidence. That nothing these tweakers say is worth a fart in a windstorm."

   "I'm considering that line of reasoning, yes. They were at a different motel, but they can't or won't say where. They invent the man with the flashlight, to have someone to blame for the time delayed arson they committed. With handwritten addresses to prove they knew about the place beforehand. When you go strictly with the physical evidence, and nothing else? The story is way less… of a mess. I go by physical evidence? I get a neat little timeline, and shit makes sense. I listen to the tweakers? I get a big mystery."

   "But their defense is going to be the man with the flashlight did it."

   "Don't forget their defense is also going to be that a UFO must have beamed them naked into the trunk. After that little gem, their story about a mythical man with a flashlight must have committed their arson for them, is going to be thin."

   "Hmm. What were you saying about a press conference. This isn't real news, just some silly stuff people will laugh at."

   "How about, we had a joint task force, consisting of a special team on loan from the federal bureau of investigation and state police working alongside the local force. Working together, the various local, state and federal authorities managed to crack the notorious Spades methamphetamine gang. The three principal members of this notorious local drug gang are now behind bars, pending local and state charges on a range of serious allegations, including a stolen vehicle, numerous burglaries, stolen property, public nudity, arson, and conspiracy to commit arson… and drug charges."

   "Hey, that sounds pretty good…"

   Mike smiled and continued. Making silly faces while using his radio announcer voice to just roll out what he had done a hundred times before.

   "I'd like to point out that only working together brought about the conclusion of the case. The local police force is being exposed to the latest techniques from the federal and state authorities to better aid them in their valiant efforts to try to put a dent in the serious methamphetamine problem. The federal authorities would like to thank the locals, for having the on the ground knowledge of the case, that the federal agents depend on."

   "There seems to be some misconception, that the FBI comes in, steals cases, and sends the locals out for donuts and coffee. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The FBI was invited by the local authorities to try to help, and the FBI worked with them, side by side. The credit all goes to the locals, for tapping the right help at the right time, and coming out on top of a dangerous situation."

   "Wow. Sounds great. Then what…"

   "Then? Everyone claps, and dances around and cheers. Then the reporters ask a bunch of questions, and we answer them. I'm used to handling the reporters, like a lion tamer. You can let me get in between them and you. I'll ask you things, and you answer them, then it'll come back to me. You just stand there, look handsome, and we'll look like gravy. If you want a prepared statement? Go for it. Free country."

   "Is it rude to ask why you're helping me out like this?"

   "Not at all. What do you owe? Not a dime. Here's what I get out of it. Positive PR. Among other things? I'm in charge of promoting a positive mental image of my agency. The working together with the local police spiel? Gets other locals calling us, to come help when they need it most. The FBI is tired of that old, adversarial stereotype. Where it's a butting heads situation. Between the federal boys and the state boys and the local boys. That pissing match? Lets criminals run wild. Now. Do you feel I helped out?"

   "Sure do."

   "Well, after you see me run a press conference? You'll know how to do it, too. See, I'm guessing about your relationship to the press around here. Let me guess. They never come, and they just show up when they feel like it, and it's chaotic and annoying."

   "Bingo."

   "That's because you don't call them and schedule it. Bring them out regular, and conduct them like a lion tamer with a whip and a chair. Use the publicity when you can, to get a leg up on it all if you can."

   "They're not really a gang…"

   "They all do drugs? They all commit crimes for it? They all have the same markings and playing cards? Sounds like a drug gang to me. You said county, was already calling them the Spades gang. So? Now they exist as a gang."

   "It creates the impression there's more."

   "There are more, just like them. It's useful. It's all in how you say what you say, to imply what you want."

   "When do we have to do this?"

   "No rush. I can do it with a couple hours lead time."

   "Wow. Great."

   While this happy horseshit was all going on, Speedy just smiled and sat and looked handsome. So did JG. They were there more for looks, than any actual reason. They were the fake entourage, to make everyone feel special. JG and Panic got up and started wandering around. JG had his FBI badge flapping, and Panic was rocking his consultant's neck ID. When JG got his federal carry permit out, and stuck it in his belt for a flapping badge look and feel. What the hell, he was carrying his gun anyways. Two of them, the truth be told.

   JG smiled when Panic grinned back at him, fussing over his appearance to try to fool everyone.

   "Social engineering. Never hurts. No one has heard your real name, and they'll remember you as some federal agent. We're invisible."

   These two were a little bored, and wandered around. The local police were just past shift change happening. Guys coming in, guys going out, and everyone was buzzing with the true rumor that the FBI had a team in a meeting with the 4 to 12 shift supervisor. Panic and JG went out for a smoke, and then back in. They buzzed around and found coffee. No one said anything to them. They were just two more federal agents walking around, and no one would do anything other than smile and nod.

   Panic leaned in and said to JG on the sly and out of nowhere.

   "Hey JG… wanna flap?"

   "Right now?"

   "Yeah. Follow me, and act like we're discussing something."

   Panic and JG walked around, following the cables to the cameras that recorded the interviews and such. They were looking at cables, and traced one around. Everyone ignored them. Everyone was way more interested in hearing the FBI meeting, no one could care less what they were doing.

   JG got browbeat into leaning over, and lacing his fingers together, to boost Panic up a foot and a half more, so he could unplug a cable. JG did it. Then JG watched Panic wander over, and pretend he was getting his cigarette lighter… and he grabbed the paper evidence and stuck it in his pocket. Then he walked back over, and JG boosted him back up with laced fingers again, and the plug plopped back in. The installer(s) had used generic quick plug in extension cables, instead of the preferred hard wiring. To prevent exactly what they were now doing.

   They both knew that any review of the meeting? Would show everything fine. The paper on the pile of papers. Some static for about 30 seconds or less, then the picture would return. JG and Panic were off camera when the video glitch happened. Panic had his paper he wanted.

   JG was already looking at Panic sideways, because of all the horseshit he was walking around brazenly doing, and no one would say anything. Left alone by the coffee machines? Panic rifled desk drawers just for shits and giggles.

   JG didn't see him palm a real badge and case, with empty information card and place for photo. He simply put it in his pocket and no one was the wiser. There were several blank badges in there, and they might not even miss one for quite a while, if even ever if no one counted. Hey Bobby, time to buy new badges, we're getting low.

   For the sheer fun of it, he put two different packs of cigarettes from desks into two of JG's unzipped hoodie pockets. He picked up about three disposable lighters. JG wouldn't know he had stolen two packs of free smokes for the two of them? Until Panic performed a "magic trick" later, if they weren't discovered before he could spring the trick on him.

   They were done about the time the meeting wrapped up. The shift supervisor was coming to lunch with everyone. JG and Panic went outside together as everyone lollygagged talking and doing their thing. Outside, Panic told JG he had a magic trick to show him. Then he found a pack of cigarettes in both hoodie sweatshirt pockets.

   "I can't believe you, but…"

   "We flapped, right?"

   "We fucking flapped."

   "It feels good…"

   "It does."

   On the way out, Merry had been quietly waiting in the now appropriately labeled waiting room. She joined them for lunch. After lunch ended, Mike ended up with Merry and Panic, again sitting by the pool. Panic waited a while before he smiled and handed Mike the note everyone at the meeting wished didn't exist, or what a pity it wouldn't be, if it got lost? It sometimes happens. Mike laughed and smiled.

   "We were on video, you know. That's a problem."

   "Are we?"

   "You and JG. You didn't…"

   "I got the paper. But me and JG disabled the camera, from out of view of that camera. Thirty seconds later, we plugged the extension back in. The tape shows a glitch, and I'm in the glitch. Idiots installed that security system. They used plug in extension cabling, instead of running solid wire end to end. You can be off camera? Unplugging a cable. They used different colored wire, to keep track of which camera cable was which. Too easy. They should all be one color. You work with little tags, and take them off when you're done testing. Or, you hide the tags. To make it hard to trace lines."

   "Oh well. I'm impressed."

   "JG helped."

   "That's nice. Remind me to have a talk with him."

   "He's not in trouble?"

   "No. But, I want in on it. Was this you or JG's idea?"

   "Both. I wanted the paper. He came up with following the line around until we were off camera and could unplug it."

   "The AV tech. Now, it makes sense. Okay."

   "You wanna know what the hip way to say we pulled off a black ops move is?"

   "What."

   "We call it flapping. We just flapped."

   "Do I wanna know?"

   "I? Am pigeon man. I am… the terror, that flaps in the night. So… we flapped. Internet humor."

   "Okay. JG is code named… The Pigeon."

   "Consult him first, on his new nickname."

   Mike left. Merry walked him hand in hand back to the room. They didn't do anything but lay near each other and while not napping, they were dozing awake.

   Panic casually brought up what a stolen police badge would be useful for. Merry started listing off. It was a game of hot potato. Whoever was found with it? Was charged heavy. Before that point though? They were worth big money on the black market. Idiots would steal drug buys until something happened and they were caught. When Merry asked him why this sudden interest in a stolen police badge, he simply produced it.

   "Hmm. It would be interesting to plant this thing somewhere, sometime. In an emergency."

   "Oh. Then you'll love this…"

   Panic dropped a tiny .25 automatic with a cute, thick, leather case.

   "That's very interesting to have, again in an emergency. It could be left in the damnedest spot."

   "Either thing could. So we stash them, until needed?"

   Merry smiled and nodded. He let her have them. If she wanted to, she could use the prestige and reputation of selling a real but hot badge that was blank, and a random cop's gun. Knowing where it went, would be linked up when it popped up somewhere later on down the line.

   Panic had been out of the camera view on another line, that he could reach by himself without requiring the laced fingers boost technique with JG. Consequently, JG did not know he killed the one camera keeping an eye on the desks. So, when rifling desks? He was in a glitch in the recording. He knew he was safe for now not only from the paper, but the gun and blank badge as well. He told Merry the funny story.

   "Are you showing off?"

   "A little. JG is as ornery as I am."

   "You didn't let JG know about the gun and badge, did you?"

   "No way. He didn't even notice I disabled that room's camera line. It's got no signal for like a minute, minute and a half. I'm counting on a not noticed for a while situation concerning the gun and badge. That make's it more buried."

   "Is it any good… blank?"

   "I figure better. A not real badge number can now be stamped into it, that means nothing. Same for the empty information. You print it out, and laminate a photo, you got something."

   "Fictitious credentials?"

   "One could."

   The eventually ended up taking a nap.

   Later on, they hit a convenience store and returned. They had a cheap disposable ice chest of pure, thin Styrofoam. This gave them ice. They chilled a few partial glasses of wine in it. Then among other things, Merry had a ream of cheap Popsicle's on a long strip, with little, tiny round handles sticking out. She amused him by eating them in a fun manner for his benefit. There were a bunch of the damn things.

   Much later on, Panic grabbed at his midsection. Painful gas cramps. Merry smiled weakly, and said "peppers moving", and rolled her eyes. She related the nicknames people used describing a person's first ultra hot pepper experience. The flaming shits, or the screaming shits. Panic accused her of trying to make the most out of it for fun, but she shrugged and clammed up.

   When the flaming shits hit much later, it was after a long series of stomach grabbing painful jabs of boiling hell. When he finally ran for the bathroom, breaking out in yet another "fever" and cold sweat. The flaming shits were, however, nicknamed accurately. The fire part was what turned out to be accurate.

   After considerable discomfort to say the least, Merry tried to offer him a Popsicle. He tried not to be rude and failed, trying to get her away from him in his misery. When he decided a cold bath might help, Merry surprised him by sneaking in and joining the shower after he had it going for a bit. He finally got her hint about the Popsicle.

   "No."

   "Didn't you say your ass was on fire?"

   "I'm about to cry."

   "Well? Ice…"

   They didn't talk much. Merry's facial expressions and Bluetooth connection sufficed.

   After the shower was long over, Panic asked her if she planned this.

   "I didn't plan it. I knew it was a possible, even likely, outcome. I tried to get you to not eat too many extras after you were numb to the two weaker ones. If I was really mean, I would have shoveled as many of them as I could into you. Now, I ask you, was I mean?"

   "No. Not technically."

   "I kept telling you to stop on the extra ones you were numb to? You crunched a few extra. I tried to be nice."

   "Then you took advantage of me."

   "I did. Shamelessly. I wonder how bad you're gonna blush every time we buy Popsicle's now."

   "The hot peppers was cheating."

   She shrugged.

   He whispered into her ear, what he suggested the next time. Then, they took a short nap. Mike did the press conference about 24 hours after the meeting had happened the day prior. Just before the press conference started, Mike and the shift supervisor got the chief in on the TV cameras. JG and Speedy both got short little prepared speeches. JG was savvy enough to have a copy of the raw footage. As a tech? He asked the tech running it afterwards, why couldn't he have a copy of the SD card of the raw footage. They shrugged, and a tech did what a tech did for about any other tech. Copy what you want. Whatever is helpful.

   Mike and Speedy teased JG about getting his camera cherry popped. JG admitted he was TV cherry popped for the first time in New York city, and once again explained the convoluted story of the case of the school and the swastikas. He had flapped. He had been held back from the prepared doom flight of pigeon man.

   Mike noted that he in reality had a wonderful case, but that ignore-it politics went into overdrive. He should have had a great, early, public win. A god-sent thing to a young agent and his fledgling career.

   JG laughed easily.

   "Alas, that was not to be."

   "Is that Shakespeare?"

   "I don't know. It could be. But I just made it up."

   "JG?"

   "Yes, Mike."

   "You did very well for a field agent. Even if I can't put the camera thing in a report, I'll find another way to promote you somehow. If you can get away with something underhanded in an investigation? It might be a good idea, as long as it's carefully planned and executed. And next time? Just inform me you're going to pull a stunt. I probably won't stop you, I just wanna know. Not to mention, the oversight of the camera traps? It's impressive, it's documented, it's coordinated. You allow me to give you a little morality pep talk right about now?"

   "Sure."

   "Do criminals worry if they're breaking rules? As long as they get away with it, no one cares or is the wiser, is this not so?"

   "It is."

   "Fighting fire with fire, necessarily means that if you have a chance to do something quick and easy, for a good purpose? And think you can get away with it quietly? Be careful. It was fair, because the criminals were doing it."

   JG asked quietly but confidently.

   "Do most agents tolerate any sort of mischief?"

   "If it's to get action against criminals? 99 percent will smile and you get a wink and a nod. We almost all understand this basic principle. Problem. The occasional pain in the ass who tells on everyone. Never be that pain in the ass? And 99 percent of good things will come your way."

   "I just want to do stuff to help a case."

   "Avoid the one percent who will tattle tale like hall monitors in grade school. Experience with people will eventually tell you who you can trust and who you're not sure about. Our little team seems trustworthy, right?"

   "It does."

   "Right. All for one, and one for all. That's the best motto. JG? Just wanted you to know, I'm going to recommend you get more supervisory roles in the field. Particularly overseeing AV and AV techs. Anything else I should know about that makes you special?"

   "The computer guys? They're behind me 100 percent. I was a tech. I still spend idle time in the computer pit in the basement with them. I do the weekend gaming and stuff. I can get the private servers, 100 percent up-time. I can whip up a network out of several random laptops, and we can all share and coordinate."

   "AV and the IT and equipment…"

   "Yeah. Tech."

   "And you think little side jobs like today is fun? Oh, I see a bright career for you. If you can manage all the tech for a group? That's valuable. How about… programming in specific frequencies to scanners and walkie talkies for field communications…"

   "Yeah. Easy. I can maintain a list of frequencies, all named and everything. I can plop them in at once on my personal laptop, not my FBI laptop. That's why I carry two of the damn things."

   "See? You're just plain useful. I eat lunch and dinner all the time with my assistant director. If I brag about a young bright agent and how impressed I was, it goes a long way towards a promotion."

   That night, Panic and Merry were lounging in bed, not doing anything in particular. Idly playing with the little .25 automatic he had boosted, he noticed something he hadn't noticed before.

   "Merry?"

   "Yes."

   "Do you notice anything weird about this little automatic?"

   "I think little mouse guns are weird…"

   "Not just the tiny caliber."

   "Looks like a miniature version of a .45 auto. Cheap and little, and I admit it's a little cute."

   "It is made to resemble a full size pistol, and be small and concealable. It's an off brand. It's older. What I find weird?"

   "And that is…"

   "Would you read the serial number off to me? I want to do the internet trace where they tell me what year and month and what run this gun comes from. All factories have lists you can go through."

   "Okay. Well… where's it at then…"

   "Where's what?"

   "Duh. The serial number. You just asked me to read it off to you, to help you do your internet search, so you'll know the name of the gunsmith that installed the trigger."

   "You tell me…"

   "I keep telling you. I'm not a gun expert. They make us qualify with the damn things. You tell me where to look."

   "I have. I can't find it."

   "That doesn't make sense."

   "Do you think anyone's going to report a .25 caliber automatic that's got no serial numbers?"

   "Probably not. Pooh."

   "Why pooh…"

   "Now it's useless. It's a wimpy gun, and without the cops serial number on it, I can't drop it and get someone in big trouble, to fix an emergency situation."

   "It doesn't bug you that the gun has no serial numbers?"

   "Oh. I see your point. This is a piece to drop next to someone that wasn't armed if you make a boo boo."

   "Well, I feel better about having it then. The blank badge is just going to be too much fun to do something with. I just don't know what yet."

   Merry smiled.

   "I thought the fictitious police force was good. Funny? Creative. Hmm. I could put Rob, Sky… you… on hand radios. In the field? That town had a fictitious force out. A phone number and a web-page? It would almost seem real, for a minute. What's the town name, though?"

   "Whereversville, Pennsylvania."

   "Whereville?"

   "Exactly. You know something? It's not pronounced Where-ville, you know. Old German farming and mom and pop miners town, back in the hey day. They had a spur off the railroad then. Bring anything in or out by rail. Anything you can bring in with a 40 foot flatbed or boxcar. Today? Big rigs bring you forty foot shit for construction. The railroad used to do it back then. It's actually pronounced Vair-ville… it's German. Only a rube from out of town says "Where". Or? One of us that lives there, making a joke."

   "What does it mean in German? Foreign names always mean something, some motto."

   "Vhere, in German means surprise. Literally named, the surprise town. They didn't expect to find mining there. That was money back in the day. A farming town had mines, too? They were prosperous big wigs lived in that little town. People in just a farming only town? Were jealous."

   "How do you do that?"

   "What…"

   "You tell the whole story. I know you, so I know from the tone of your voice, that you're making one of your jokes. But no one else would know. Population?

   "Hovers around one thousand. I think it's like… 891 residents if you count every one of them, at the moment."

   "Town theme?"

   "Bed and breakfasts. Antique shops. Coffee house. Second hand shops, like used books and second time clothes. Place caters to nice people coming in to get away from it all, and shop. Wine and cheese getaway weekend for that crowd."

   "I wish it existed. It sounds nice. Do you ever dream about going back?"

   "Oh, sure. My early retirement plans? If you're curious."

   Merry sat up and drew her knees up and in, wrapped her arms in a loose hug around the legs bunched up and dropped her chin on her knees.

   "Very…"

   "See, all those nice yuppies. Like 900 people making money off them. They have money for the wine and cheese weekend. You give em something they want, something they need? They hand you twenty dollar bills all day. I say? They need a phone shop, they need a tablet shop, a laptop shop. Then? I'd clean up. I'd be the only repair and sales shop, used and new, in the town. Cause I'm smart."

   "I wish my husband was smart enough to fix computers and cell phones. And took me there with him. So… what's the cell phone coverage like there? Pretty good, huh?"

   "See? That's just the thing. It blows goats. You have to climb this little fucking mountain nearby to the tip top? And you get, like… one wimpy ass bar, on a good day? It's winking in and out, like a fucking Christmas light blinking. You're lucky to get a fucking text out to the real world. Calls? Iffy, and that's only if you go on the climbing expedition."

   "What good is your phone shop going to be then?"

   "Well. That's the one thing then, isn't it? I have a plan. To make me rich in my retirement shop. Fuck off."

   "Please tell me your plan. I want a big, strong man to take me to live in this little town."

   "I'm gonna build? A big, temporary working antenna. On top of that little mountain? I can amplify that one wimpy, blinking bar signal… get one steady bar out of it. Amplify and beam that little signal out digitally. Boom. Local phone service. You pay me a dollar a day? I'll give you phone service that works, on a little phone SIM card."

   "What's the connection like."

   "Oh. You see a four, five bar connection on your phone. You think you got service out the ass. But… that's just my local amplifier stomping out the town's big signal. That connection? Is just a one bar, slow connection. 5G speeds possible, but not likely or guaranteed. If you were… a geek tech-y, like me? You'd call this a repeater setup."

   "5G speeds possible, from an in and out one bar signal…"

   "No. What's technically possible? Someone makes that signal stronger. Then? The antenna would have a faster signal to amplify and beam around town. But, it doesn't hurt business, not to explain the 4 and 5 bars give slow service."

   "Will you take me to your town, when you go there, mister?"

   "Not mister, little lady. Officer."

   "Mmm. Well, will the nice officer take me back to his home town to be the wife of the… one town phone baron."

   "If such a thing made you wet? Maybe. A firm maybe."

   "Maybe sounds okay. Officer. What's the maybe part about anyways. You don't like me, or something. Look at me. See if you'd wanna take me with you."

   "I don't know about, the wife of the phone baron. I mean, the baron? Has options. Now… the plaything? That spot's open. And trust me, the baron's plaything? Gets treated a whole lot better than the wife spot."

   "Spoiled? I read somewhere, that women are just grown up little girls. And that little girls like to get spoiled. It makes them feel… special. A spoiled plaything, of the local phone baron? That's not a bad spot at all."

   "Before I even think, about taking a new plaything in? She would have to understand that she was my property. My plaything. A little Tchotchka."

   "I see. What kind of… allowance, would this baron's plaything get. I'm shallow that way."

   "A town of 900 some people, all benefiting in one way or the other, financially, from mining the yuppies coming in for the bed and breakfast getaways. It's negotiable."

   "Let me guess. You need a… taste test? To see if you could offer this… position."

   "I do."

   "You see? That's funny. I need a taste test too. I need to gauge how bored I'm going get, when I get ignored being the plaything of the phone baron. If I'm not getting used like a hole? I'm not interested. Impress me. I also need an IQ test. Something that demonstrates… real genius. It makes me… wet…"

   "Really?"

   "Yeah. Smart guys turn me on. Can you impress me? Or are you some lame ass normie, I think you call it where you're from."

   "How could I impress you and convince you I wasn't a normie."

   "Imagine the whole town. Where do you find it?"

   "Me and JG. We go hiking, targeting areas on the map known to be outside of coverage. Nothing there. We hike around, until we find the one bar hill to climb somewhere on the edge. That? Well… X marks the spot. Any and all log cabins you build in the general vicinity? Will be rented out. That makes the shops. You need some bed and breakfast, log cabin motels. A couple. A bar, a restaurant. The shops? Make it."

   "Is the land cheap?"

   "It's unused low lying mountainous terrain. You need some kind of logging trail, or gas line to follow, to have a dirt trail to get to some back-road somewhere. You get the dirt road drive-able when it's dry out? Land that no one wants, is cheap to lease. Or buy. I once made the joke about the thousand acres. Remote? Meaning they don't even know you got a trail cut. That kind of remote. You lease it for 99 years, you can't buy it. Usually part of the vast state game-lands in my state. Which is Latin for, the king sucks up all unused land. The king won't sell, he'll only lease. 1000 dollars an acre, for remote useless land… figure a one time, one million dollar payout. After that? You would own for the next 99 years? Long after you're dead. Your whole life, you own this remote thousand acres."

   "Can you make a log cabin?"

   "I can. I'm not great at it. But, if I could get a team together. Several hired guys doing my bidding? You'd be surprised what the log cabin team could get to thinking an eight hour day was normal to get done."

   "That's more money. Where did that million up front payment come from, to purchase the… barony for the Baron and his Baroness?"

   "The baron's plaything, dear. Remember your place."

   "I can try out for the Baroness spot, too."

   "I know I could go half on the one million? And I'd still have something smaller left over for my egg. Insurance policy. What about the Baroness position you so brazenly want to try out for. You'd have to have breeding."

   "And a half a million seems to be what buys royal title these days, huh? I could do that. Now tell me about these log cabins. You rent them out?"

   "A couple hundred bucks a month, minimum. Cabins, for for a romantic month long getaway, for the right couples."

   "You need shops. Log cabins. I get it. I see the log cabin gang now, in my head. Every cabin. Every shop. Generates lifetime monthly rent. We really would be the Baron and the…"

   "You like Baroness or Baron's plaything better. You have to pick one."

   "These positions have been recently combined, to better eliminate waste from the town. The plaything Baroness? Has a nice ring to it. White trash royalty. If my mom and dad could just see me now. Question."

   "Yeah."

   "You're serious about providing that dim phone signal, and you can sell it to locals?"

   "Dollar a day. After a one time twenty dollar initiation fee. After that? Dollar a day for the only shitty phone service in town. Now, a dollar a day? Also rents you a little walkie talkie. It's the town's official free phone system. Party line. Numbered channels, everyone can find their own channel to gab on."

   "Another 20 dollar initiation fee."

   "For yuppies getting mined? Sure. For locals? Just buy the equipment, and use the free service for free, forever. Yuppies pay. A dollar or two dollars a day. That's an additional 30 to 60 a month. Each. The cabin? Just shit another 30 to 60 bucks. Wine? Beer? Flavored liquor? Surely available somewhere."

   "Bar. Restaurant. Snack shacks."

   "Little food vendors. Hot dog vendor. Ice cream man. Steak sandwich guy. Pizza guy."

   "Cheap cabin rent, to live near your rented business."

   "Free phone, internet, and local radio channels we use. We have a used and new shop to make the one time purchase of equipment that works forever."

   "Internet?"

   "You said smart guys make you a little wet. Internet is satellite internet service. Fast download, medium upload. I could stomp out a signal for my own WiFi. I'm the internet Baron, too. And it's legal… I just happen to know of a shop? Used and new laptops and home PCs. Internet cafe, too."

   "Gun store?"

   "Why not. Second location, a guy that had among other things, gunsmith certification on his license? Easy."

   "Where's the shooting range… I'm just sure there is one…"

   "On the exact opposite side of the thousand acres, other side of the hills."

   "You need some way to attract and operate, this log cabin crew."

   "I rake in one hundred percent of all rentals. A percentage of those rentals? Could provide a profit incentive. I'll buy vending machines, and make a killing collecting quarters. The chainsaw crew, that made this possible? Would become part owners. Their up front substantial fee? Purchases a lifetime one percent interest in the continued, monthly, profits. Entry fees of the naturally limited supply of one percent interests? Buys and maintains the chainsaws, the plank saws, the tiny sawmill."

   "You lose that percentage, every month, for the rest of your life."

   "Sure. I make sixty percent, for nothing. Those junior partners? Run day to day things. If I'm not overseeing things? I'm probably spending time with my Baroness. Once we were rolling, I'd have a lot of free time."

   "What's the Baroness get again?"

   "Half of that sixty. One question?"

   "Yeah…"

   "I'm assuming the Baroness could be trusted with all beer, wine, and liquor sales. As well as all cigarette sales. All under the table.

   "We're not selling? Weed. Coke. Prostitutes. Pity. There's a lot of money to be made there, even casually."

   "You're kidding."

   "I am, but… those three things? Are the number one, long term, money generators. Wine, beer and cigarettes? Are just cake icing."

   "I know you know where to buy drugs already. But you can't just… buy… a prostitute."

   "Who says you can't? I know more or less what a good looking one costs, and I know how to buy one."

   "So now I gotta run whores? I don't know about this."

   "Oh. You? Are not getting within 20 feet of one. When I bring that bitch here? I'm gonna personally smack the taste right out of her nasty little mouth, right from day one. I'll be the madam."

   "Sounds kinda hot. I feel an non-explainable urge, to watch you smacking a new hooker around."

   "I understand that. But, make sure you do it from twenty feet away. I catch you any closer than that? You'll get it worse than her. That little apology? Would probably take all weekend, and involve several repeats."

   "Like I said, it sounds kinda hot."

   "Science girl? Is suitably impressed. You can pick up your taste test, whenever is convenient for you."

   "I've learned to poke you with a stick. See what's cooking before I jump in. Checking the menu."

   "You can do… anything you want, to try the girl out for the plaything Baroness spot. You should make a thoroughly, well rounded, decision."

   Further banter had Merry smiling, and she hopped into a segue aside the conversation.

   "Do you want some kind of primer on rough sex?"

   "I've fooled around with naughty girls before. I'm… primed. There's a science girl article on it?"

   "Human sexuality? Never. Not a one. Of course there is. Generic and typical science girl letter example?"

   "Sure."

   "Dear science girl. My and my husband have always had a normal, healthy sex life. Lately, he's been having me tie him up, and do things like that. He's an important guy that runs a bank by day, and he's like this only when he's alone with me. Is this okay? Signed, Concerned. PS. My husband eats out of my hand, if I ask him to. He seems to like it. Are we weird? There's not anything wrong with us, is there?"

   "Dear Concerned. You can quit being Concerned? And just be Happy. Men and women have tittered for centuries over this subject. They make jokes about it, they depict it for comedy in movies. It's normal. In fact, it would probably surprise you to know the percentage of couples that have tried naughty sex before. Have fun. There's a trend of people that normally are powerful and in control all day, enjoying turning the tables and having someone else in charge. Most couples that engage in naughty play fun? Surprisingly almost all at one time or another, switch roles when they get bored. So have fun with your husband, and let him have fun with you, when you two get bored next year. And remember Science Girl's motto… if the cops aren't getting called on the domestic disturbance at least once a year to your house? You aren't doing it right."

   "You, are as good as Mike is with his press conference bullshit. You got this letter writing style down perfect."

   "The letter, and the answer? Are surprisingly common letter articles that I've read."

   "I still feel like it's some kind of snow job."

   "That's because it is. And for the record, wasn't it technically, an ice job?"

   "Funny."

   "So. I wonder, what it would be like. If a sigma female, and a sigma male, hooked up."

   "I wouldn't even be able to guess."

   "Uncle Mike calls you my partner."

   "What do you call me?"

   "Honey. And partner."

   "That's sweet."

   "Ain't it? So… we're glossing over this whole… sexual tryout of the Baroness position."

   "Yes, antsy pants. We'll get there. Why are you so…"

   "What? I've never been the plaything Baroness of the phone Baron before. Something different, dear."

   "Yes. Vastly different. I call you a different name while we're…"

   "While we're what…"

   "While we're… whatever we're doing. Do you have a… Baroness worksheet? A checklist or something…"

   "Nope. Don't need one. Aren't you trying out a new plaything? I would have thought, that you were trying to make sure, that the girl was… flexible enough? To fill your… position you had in mind."

   "Naturally."

   Merry surprised him by coming out of the bathroom with some of her jewelry on. She held a wrist out, and asked for help getting into her leather Indian jewelry. Well, that settled that question at least. What the Baroness wanted was no longer up in the air. Later on, when everything was at rest and tryouts were concluded… they were laying there quietly.

   "Now. Was that so bad? I told you, you were a very good boy lately, and I wanted to show you."

   "What was that business with Mike at the pool? Something went on. Am I allowed to know what it was?"

   "Of course. Why would I keep it from you."

   "Well?"

   "Well what."

   "What was really going on. Everything got… weird, somehow. Then you sent me to get the ice and refreshments. And everything went back to normal."

   "You scared Uncle Mike, that's all."

   "How did I… I mean, it isn't like I was trying---"

   "I know, silly. I told you, you're not in any trouble, didn't I? I know you didn't do it on purpose."

   "I was being quiet, I was being polite. I wasn't challenging his authority, I don't think…"

   "You just made him nervous, that's all."

   "How?"

   "Everything was fine, you weren't imagining that part. Then, you and Mike were talking… and I saw him getting nervous."

   "About what, though. It was just… work talk. Uncle Mike's line of work, too."

   "Well. If I had to guess? Uncle Mike isn't used to talking to…"

   "Isn't used to talking to… what? Your boyfriend?"

   "I don't have a better word right now, so… I'll just say he's not used to talking to a spook. Sorry to use the word, I know you don't like it."

   "Mike ran military intelligence. He talked to plenty of spooks before. I know he's used to it, the whole going swimming thing."

   "Turns out? Mike was mainly used to talking to them on paper. Not in person."

   "What did I say to him, that---"

   "Nothing. When you start to talk about certain subjects? You drop your face. I'm used to seeing it, but Mike isn't. You surprised him, and it made him nervous. Then he got over it. Don't worry about it, it's fine."

   "Oh."

   "It's perfectly all right, dear."

   "He's not miffed in any way, is he? I don't want the guy thinking that---"

   "I said don't worry about it."

   "Maybe I shouldn't have told him I wanna report to you, not to him…"

   "That part's fine."

   Merry smiled and poked him gently.

   "So… you're okay whether the information comes from Mike's lips, or mine?"

   "Sure."

   "And you trust me to talk to him for you?"

   "Why not. If I can't trust you, I got bigger problems to deal with. Do you think I should try to watch my face when I'm talking about---"

   "You know? I thought about that. I'm not sure if it would be better, for you to be smiling and smirking while you're talking about certain subjects… it might make it worse."

   "You don't think maybe I should…"

   "No. You're fine. Do you want me to lie to you? Or, tell you the truth."

   "Go on…"

   "I already got over the first time seeing you talk like that. It doesn't bother me, at all. If people who don't know you well enough, get nervous when they first meet you, until they get to know you? Well… I don't have a problem with that. You call it… being useful to me, right? I don't mind it at all."

   "Being useful…"

   "The boys I work around? It's… useful. You never noticed how polite everyone you meet is to you? I've noticed."

   "I figured that was on account of being hooked up with their biker princess and all."

   "I'm sure that doesn't hurt any, but… the only way I can explain it? Is by being slightly rude. I don't mean to be."

   "Rude how…"

   "I noticed you try to avoid talking about your ex. I try to avoid it too. It's polite. But, the word I have for what you're seeing…"

   "Well? With that build up, you gotta say it now…"

   "I always called it? The Pound effect."

   "What…"

   "I'd be in the room, the boys aren't up to anything, just being themselves. Boisterous. Pound would walk in? Everyone would be polite all of a sudden. I called it… the Pound effect. Yes, he noticed it too."

   "Well… that's because he was some big, scary guy. And his job, too. Everyone knew about him already, so naturally they…"

   "That's just it. People didn't have to know who he was, for him to have that effect on everyone around him. And I keep forgetting to mention it, but… he's not the biggest guy in the room. He's no bigger than you are, really. The biggest guys there though, always ended up being the most polite to him."

   "You're telling me I do this?"

   "You do. He did it all the time though, and you only do it once in a while. It's when you drop your face, to talk quietly about certain subjects. Like I said, given my unique position in the world? I find it… useful. I felt very… let's say… comfortable? Walking around parties with him. I get the same vibe from you."

   "As long as you like it, and you don't think it'll lead to anything---"

   "I feel like it prevents little problems. If the guys were going to start fucking with you? They would have started by now. Friction usually happens quick with them, or it doesn't happen at all. Unless something happens to change it."

   Then they were silent and barely moved for a while, until Merry broke the silence.

   "You're just kidding when you talk about your… usefulness to me, right?"

   "Yeah."

   "All right, good. And just for the record? Did I or did I not, pick you out and start putting my stamp on you… long before any of the other stuff got started."

   "You did."

   "Your real usefulness to me? The top of my list. You're a nice guy. Everything else came later or down the list. DC really shouldn't have happened… which made behind the bar happen. Which put me in the sticks in Pennsylvania, and the witch happened."

   "Where would we be, if that chain of events didn't unfold like it did?"

   Merry hugged herself gently to her spot laying on his chest.

   "Right now? I'd be at work, at the steakhouse. This would have still happened. You'd be here on the road, and I'd be talking about how my guy was out of town. Eventually? I'd see you come into work, and I'd be happy about it. I'd be worried, that when your job was over? You'd leave. I would probably be planning and putting off, trying to talk you into staying in the city somehow. You would probably be trying to talk me into leaving the city, not knowing I couldn't."

   "Yeah. I guess that's where we would've been."

   "If you wanna make a joke, fine. But I don't want you thinking that your… usefulness? Is why things are going the way they are right now."

   "Wouldn't you have stayed in DC? Wouldn't I have went back home?"

   "No. You and your boyfriends would still have the range. Just probably not a gun shop."

   "Rob was already talking about that."

   "Well, you probably would have ended up with a gun shop then. It would have taken you longer to get it, but… what would have stopped you. Mike isn't giving you anything that way, he's just seeing it happens quicker than normal. But you? You don't ask what the price is, you just glue your eye to the prize. Three months… eighteen months… and it's not like that empty bank was going anywhere either."

   "But everything did happen. Things are the way they are now."

   "I just don't want you to start believing your little joke about your… usefulness."

   "You and Mike? You do find me… useful, though."

   "How could I lie about it. It's obvious. We do. Now… is Mike trying to court you, to follow through and help? Sure he is. I'm sure you wonder how much of Mike stage-coaching your case was me, and how much was just him? It'd be a normal question to ask."

   "It would."

   "Mike checked you out after I told him about you buying your… stuff. For your case. He went from teasing his coworker about having a new boyfriend, to wondering how he could keep you around, pretty quick. You and little Robbie and Sky? Guys like you don't exactly grow on trees, you know. He just wanted you around me after that."

   "And you?"

   "I just wanted my boyfriend around me. But once things started happening? One thing led to another. And here we are. At some point? Mike's right. It would be incredibly stupid not to try to… make use of the situation."

   "So I am useful to both of you. It's not a bad thing, I don't mean it like an accusation."

   Merry was quiet for a short time.

   "I just wanted you for my home life, that's all. At some point… yeah. Mike wanted to try to… you know."

   "Use me."

   "I don't like the way that sounds, when you say it like that… but yeah. So put yourself in Mike's shoes. He gets what he wants. Me? I get more of what I wanted anyways. The operation gets… well… it gets better than ever. Doesn't everyone win this way? What's wrong with that…"

   "There's nothing really wrong."

   "Okay then. Honey?"

   "Yes…"

   "I wanted to keep you out of my work life. If I could have anything I ever wanted? I would have wanted things to stay the same. Merry worked at the steakhouse, you came and stayed with Merry every night. I know, it wouldn't have lasted forever like that, but if I could? That's what I'd have wanted. Christ, I need my head examined. I've been Merry for so long now? That whatever makes Merry happy, is what makes me happy."

   "You really are Merry then."

   "There's Holly, then there's Merry."

   "What made Holly tick…"

   "Holly liked sports, no doubts about that one. Then… she developed an interest in boys. Boys didn't come easy, like sports did. I know that much. And when it turned out she couldn't make a baby like he wanted? He ran. Holly went back to get her Masters, because that's all she knew, that she was good at. Then? Chased down another one. He ran too."

   "Why did he run…"

   "You already know this, really. Grad students? Get a little apartment for themselves. All those years sharing a shower. Well, I'm just about singing to myself in my own little shower, in my own little bathroom now. Found a senior undergraduate I liked. Kept him like my pet. I'm enjoying my own private shower. He's at the sink. I'm all happy. I get out the shower… I'm checking out his butt… I didn't know right away he was running too? But he was."

   Merry got quiet for a few seconds.

   "The mirror. If he's at the sink? He saw you in the mirror."

   "Yeah. You watch scary movies as a kid?"

   "Sure."

   "I always wondered about Bram Stoker. He's the guy that wrote the first scary vampire novel."

   "What do you wonder about him?"

   "The vampire. The mirror. The vampire looks fine to normal people, but… don't let them see you in the mirror. Or they know something's wrong. They'll run. I always wondered, where he got that idea from."

   "The vampire legends were already well established and existed in his day, he just had an imagination. The mirror? It was just a plot device."

   Merry's voice seemed like it came from far away, even though he could feel the warm, moist air on his chest while she talked.

   "I don't have to worry about my face in the shower, growing up. I don't have to worry about my face in the shower, when I'm with the other girls on the team. It's just my game face, right? I was just all happy with finally having my own private shower, that I could use whenever I felt like it. There's my pet, right out there brushing his teeth. Just for a goddamned second? I was checking him out, and I forgot my face. Just for an instant, and that's all it took. He was already running, I just didn't see his feet moving. Last time I ever saw him, though."

   He waited, but her quiet explanation fell to silence.

   He poked her gently.

   "Hey. You still there?"

   "Yes."

   "I know you're still there, I was trying to get you to keep telling the story."

   "Oh. Not one of my favorite stories."

   "I thought all you psych students studied fairy tales. The fairy tale doesn't end until the happy ending."

   "Well… you finish it, then."

   "Then the handsome woodcutter, kissed the frog. And she turned into a smoking hot tomboy. With sweat? That tastes just like ginger ale."

   Neither one of them were prepared for the laughing fit that ensued. Merry ended up the more she tried not to laugh, the more she did. It did break the cold mood if even on accident.

   "I left the door open. You're not going to walk through? Shrink my head about… showers, and mirrors…"

   "I'm not sure I'm qualified. Figured I'd leave that to the experts."

   "Well… me and the mirror, we didn't get along so well after that. The mirror, shows the monster for what it is. I'm a girl, you know. All those four years, learning to do my hair, and my makeup, and seeing how my butt looked in my clothes… all gone. First semester as a graduate student. I changed my masters to male female relationships."

   "What was it up till then?"

   "If you don't go all the way through, and get the word doctor attached to your name… human resources is the biggest game in town. Workplace relations was the original thing. Switching to male female relationships? Puts you into the therapist cubicle."

   "Science girl was born."

   "Slowly, but yes. You're vaguely aware that women are slightly more concerned with their image in the mirror, than most guys are, right?"

   "Women? Clothes, makeup, hair… never would have crossed my mind, not once in a million years, no."

   "Up until that moment. I thought I was really getting somewhere, you know? Not trying to toot my own horn or anything, but… you said you were a… how did you put it? A groupie for the girls volleyball team at your college, right?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Well, what did you like about watching them work out? Hmm?"

   "Oh. Their personality, first off. Hard work and sacrifice. Strong sense of team. What else would I be looking at, you know?"

   "Uh huh. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the leg show, or the tight stomach when our shirt rides up, when we come up to spike the ball when we're on net."

   "Now that you mention it? Those girls did look like they jogged a little and did some aerobics, you know? I never noticed."

   "Uh huh. I had the body of a professional athlete. You can call college athletes amateurs all day long, but… my body was paying for a very expensive set of degrees from a big, expensive school. If that's not a professional athlete? I don't know what else is."

   "So you liked looking in the mirror again."

   "Not like you think. The mirror wasn't my friend anymore. I can have the body that lazy girls dreamed of, but… with the monster face on top of my neck? It wasn't doing me any good. Some… girly girl with big thighs can steal my boyfriend and throw him away, and go get another."

   He didn't have an answer for her, but her silence was mercifully short lived.

   "The four year girly girl experiment ended. The mirror and me? We had a little… accident. I didn't get it replaced right away, either. Hair and makeup wasn't doing me any good. Makes people notice your face. I wanted the emphasis on my body."

   "Slutty clothes period?"

   Merry laughed.

   "Not really. If it was above freezing? Shorts and a cut off T shirt. A tan shows the muscles better. No makeup and hair. Shake my hair off coming outta the shower? Ponytail and go."

   "Six pack, huh?"

   "More like an eight pack. I keep forgetting, you went to a small college, huh?"

   "Yep."

   "Well. The girl's volleyball team you were checking out? Those were the ones that didn't win a scholarship to a big school. Bigger school. Bigger games. Bigger tournaments. Bigger money. Bigger competition. So… bigger girls, too."

   "You… weren't the tallest girl there, were you."

   "No, I wasn't. We had a couple girls, that played basketball and volleyball. Had to be 6'3" or 6'4", if they were an inch."

   "How did you ever keep up with the Jones's…"

   "Girls that work out? There's basically two kinds. The more they work out, they either get skinnier and skinnier, or… they put muscle on. Being five inches taller? Is fine and all, but if the girl's as skinny as a twig? I can bump them."

   "Just bump…"

   "It's a euphemism. I'm actually bigger and stronger. We both go up for a rebound in a basketball game? I can knock her out of the way. With accidental contact, of course. Soccer? I can run right through her. Even works in volleyball. I just have to hit the ball first, to be allowed to hit her with it. You knock a few taller girls out with a good spike? They're not quite as eager to rush the net when you're up on it."

   "When did you ever kiss and make up with the mirror…"

   "Some psych major you'd have made. Who says I ever really did."

   "I've seen you in the mirror before."

   "After a while? Yes. You did. I even started playing with my face and my hair a little bit. The girls at work? Teased me. How I was… primping for my new guy. The racquetball girls? Same thing."

   "Why?"

   "I have to get my crayons out, I guess. Most guys mention it. You know, during sex? Other than playing sports, it's about the only other time you can have a game face on, and it doesn't arouse any suspicions."

   "Okay. Now… color inside the lines, would you?"

   "Duh. I saw you drop your face. Talking to the boys that time in my room. I'm sure you thought I just secretly liked tough guys? Uh uh… it was seeing you lose your face that did it for me. I'd only read about people that could drop their face. I got to see it. Wow. I already like this guy, and he already likes me. Maybe? I can finally get away with being myself."

   "Really."

   "Yeah. I started dropping my face around you. Just a little bit. Now and then. You never jumped out of your skin. You just told me I had pretty eyes. I finally got the nerve up, to start coming up and hugging you in the mirror. A little less of my face on, each time. You never ran. You just smiled back at me."

   "This was a big deal for you…"

   "Yeah. I started doing something other than a ponytail for you. You even got my version of the full Monty. Lipstick and eyeliner some days. I wasn't self conscious having you look at my face anymore. That's why I got dressed up for you the night we all went out for dinner and a movie and drinks."

   "Now that you mention it, you never asked to have a mirror and dresser at the cabin…"

   "Yeah. For all I use one? Not really much point to it."

   "Any other deep, dark secrets you've been keeping from me?"

   "The whole… shower thing."

   "You said your first kiss was in water, you got more action in water…"

   "That's true. But… that first night. Did you notice, I tried to throw you in the shower, as soon as I got you back into my room for the night?"

   "And every time since…"

   "Sports, and when you're fooling around? That's when it's okay to have a game face on. It's a strong signal too, to throw out. Hey, wanna take a bath with me? Most guys won't say no to that."

   "You can have your face on. Or off, actually."

   "Yeah. Not to mention… if we always shower together? That means one of us isn't at the mirror. I can get caught when the guy's coming out of the shower, if I'm in the mirror, not paying attention."

   "You had me shower with you… we brush our teeth together…"

   "Yeah. We do things together, and I don't have to worry about getting caught, if one of us is coming and the other one's going. I quit worrying about it a while ago, though."

   "Question?"

   "Sure, why not."

   "Why tell me now? There's no way it's fun to talk about stuff that bugs you, things you're insecure about. You could of just let it all go, and been happy."

   "I know."

   "So… why?"

   "There's no way that you… outlive your usefulness to me, as you put it. What I'm describing? That's your true value, and trust me here, it's priceless. I can't replace you."

   "I always thought you were really confident. And science girl? She's a relationship expert."

   "I am a confident person. About everything else, I guess. And I'm confident enough to tell you this. What, do you want me to be like most of the other girls? Don't really know what they even want in the first place. Then? Even if they think they do, you're supposed to guess. You're expected to just know, or just feel it. We both know that's a crock of bullshit."

   "I thought science girl… was the relationship expert. The love expert."

   "What do you think love is? I know it starts with two people, who're at least baseline attracted to each other. You know how you size people up. We all do it. That one? Too fat. That one? Too skinny. That one, there? I'd fuck that one. That? Is baseline attraction. There's personality types, and you'd be amazed what can work that you wouldn't dream would ever work."

   "Baseline… attraction?"

   "Baseline or better. Both ways too, or someone's using someone. Then? There's the pair bonding experience. Writers and movie-makers would have us believing it's just magic, but… like a lot of magic really is, it turns out there's science underneath it. Experiencing and sharing a series of chemical bonds. Being near the person you bond with? Is to basically be an addict, getting their daily dose. You get your fix? All smiles. You don't? Irritable."

   "You make love sound like… using drugs."

   "What are drugs? Chemicals. Don't believe me? A person using drugs is on a schedule. Every Friday night? Cocaine and booze night. What happens when they can't make the Friday night party they're used to? They turn into cranky-pants. Now… imagine you're in love with someone. You both work apart all week, and you only see them every weekend. Now, what happens to your mood when something comes between you, and your weekend? It's no different. The serotonin and the pleasure circuits? Work the same for both drug use and being around the person you love. Your lover? Is the drug you crave. You? Are the addict."

   "I think I liked it better when science girl was talking to me in articles. This is sounding more like how sausage is made. Not sure I wanna know, now that I'm finding out."

   "Don't let the science throw you around, like a bucking bronco. This is just the stuff we're now beginning to know about. There's plenty we don't know why it is. Why is it, that sometimes a neat freak, is drawn to a slob? Or… other times… a neat freak can only be happy with another neat freak. The old timers were right about a lot of stuff. Are bodies are telling us, we're just not listening these days."

   "That's very… human sounding."

   "I know, right? I read all these so called experts, explaining how you have to find a person you're economically compatible with. That's marvelous, if the woman just happens to naturally have good provider at the top of her chemical list. And the man just happens to be wired to provide. Now… that show? Millions of people followed it, it was very popular. She had a book, she was on all the talk shows, then they had to let her have her own show, the demand was so great. You don't hear about her anymore, do you?"

   "No…"

   "That's because, out of those millions of people that bought into it? Only a couple hundred thousand, at best, would it ever work for them. All these experts? They take one study, they pick one thing out… and present it like they found the miracle answer. It all has to work together. You think people can just start licking sweat off of each other, and they fall happy ever after in love? It's absurd. It all has to be there."

   "Science girl is just putting on a good talk show?"

   "No. It's all real. But, there's no faking initial attraction. There's no faking personality types mesh. Science girl's chemical pair bonding? It's very real. I couldn't make anything happen, but once it started to? I know the time-frame on that chemical bonding period, and I wanted as much of it as I could get. Men and women will talk about what they like and dislike, what they love and what they hate. Just not to each other, only to strangers. I had access to that. What good is a male female relationship therapist, that can't tell men and women what to do, and what not to do."

   "Is it mean, that you sound like one of those flash cards mommies, that insist on playing classical music all the time?"

   "I'm guilty, of doing everything I could, to try to give this the best possible chance. I meant every word I said. I definitely feel like I can't replace you. You're… priceless to me. You wanna know what this… phase… is called?"

   "This phase? Right now… this conversation."

   "Yeah. It has a name."

   "Well… what note on the violin is it then."

   "The declarative stage. Declaration. You met, you hit it off. You spent time, and you feel like you're hooked and there's nothing else now. So… you feel compelled to declare it. You tell them. So they know. You know this, by other names. Every lifelong couple that's happy, that it works? They can tell you about the time they had to declare it. I'm a lot of things? Shy ain't one of them. I played sports. You have to pull the trigger. Too early? Too late? Timing."

   "Now, is the right time?"

   Merry laughed.

   "Who the hell can tell anyone that? I'd like to read that paper."

   "You're probably pretty sure of things."

   "It's probably why I sound confident about it."

   "Are you asking me what I think?"

   "Oh, no. The declarative phase? One person declares their intentions and feelings to the other person. The best thing? Would be to make yourself emotionally unavailable, keep your mate guessing and wondering. That'd be ideal."

   "You already know. It's why you're so confident about it."

   "You… could humor me."

   "I'm the guy that admitted, he was everything but a groupie, for the college girls that played sports. Tall, strong women? Fascinating. Watching you girls play full contact racquetball for keeps? My version of going to a strip club. Which by the way? I really don't do. I also like smart women. Actually smart, thank you very much, not just someone that quotes definitions. And yeah. I like the tall, strong personality that goes along with it. All through college? I'd take breaks working out, and watch the girls playing basketball or volleyball. Hell, all us guys lifting weights in college did it for our breaks. How in the hell, do I get one of those things. How? Just look at them."

   "That was then. This is now."

   "Now? I have one of my own. I can't tell you how, or why… but I do. What does it feel like? I have one of those Faberge eggs, normally reserved only for royalty to own and gawk at and show off. I used to watch the women's Olympics. Wow. Look at her… it's like looking at some Greek goddess statue, except she's very real. I always figured they just date other Olympic athletes, and marry rich CEOs right before their first gray hair shows. Same thing when I'm bored late at night, and I find myself watching women's volleyball or whatever. Wow. That's not for regular guys like me. Now I got one, and I can't believe she seems to be as into me, and I'm into her. I feel like I can walk around somewhere where the rich guys go? Pffft. All that money, and that's all the trophy you came home with? Sorry for your luck."

   "That went well. Better than I even hoped."

   "So… you're happy."

   "Very. You know something I find fascinating, even with all the shit I studied?"

   "What."

   "Everything you tell me you like about me? Are most of the things a guy is taught to watch out for. Or things I didn't like about myself for one reason or another."

   "I must have missed that seminar."

   Merry imitated a guy's voice, babbling in a bar somewhere, to make her point.

   "I'm not dating an amazon. That's weird. I want a girl, not a football player… I refuse to date a girl over this height. Don't date smart girls. Don't date strong girls. Honestly? There's full grown men out there, that size their hands and feet up to mine, and make a face. It's silly. But… everything that guys tell each other they don't like? Then… there's you. You like it."

   "Well. Since we're sharing like two ten year old girls at a sleepover…"

   "Yeah."

   "I have my own… sharing and bonding experience. I'm an alumni, of a very… exclusive pro sports team, when you look at it that way. We risked our lives together. We saved each other's lives. We lost friends together. It's not just a phrase… we really are blood brothers. We took blood together, and we shed our own blood. Together. If that isn't some sort of… primal, blood bonding ritual… then nothing is."

   "And?"

   "I bet not one of my brothers? Can brag about their own trophy being in the club. We got our hands dirty together. You took that unholy communion with me. That's trust. That's for life. We call each other blood brothers. I don't know what to call you now. Blood sister, I guess. If I made a mistake? I can't undo it."

   "I don't know whether to say how sweet that is? Or… how horrifying it sounds."

   "We're both monsters roaming the countryside, for how regular people think of it. I said it before, and I'll say it again. We've both done very wrong things, but for very right reasons. We deserve each other."

   "Can I ask about… when you came home?"

   "Sure. What is it you wanna know about."

   "When you were young, you… went through a period where… you didn't like yourself, right?"

   "Young? Sure."

   "When did you… start to like yourself…"

   "I eventually came to realize. Slowly. That… I was definitely different somehow, and there was simply nothing I could do about it. I had to work with what I was given. It didn't happen overnight, believe me. It came on slowly, over many years, but… the day it dawned on me? Was when it started getting better. But, what's this got to do with me coming home."

   "You said you… changed. Moved a little bit away and set up shop again. Remade your whole life from scratch. That doesn't sound like you were happy."

   "When I was young? I hated myself. I pitied myself."

   "Periods of depression."

   "Yeah, but… I had a reason."

   "When you came back, you got depressed again."

   "Not like before. Not like when I was young. I was a different person, as an adult coming back. I had made a zillion little changes over time, that all added up to one huge change. I literally, wasn't the same person that left when I graduated high school. This… new guy in the mirror? He took things in stride. He had a sense of humor about everything. He looked around, he saw things were wrong… and he just went a couple miles away and set up shop, and simply made things to be the way he wanted them. Within reason, of course."

   "No… dreams?"

   "No childish ones. None of this I'm gonna become a rock star, I'm going to become rich and powerful shit… none of that childish stuff. I knew what I was when I was young, and I realized that I had all the tools now at my disposal? To simply tune almost everything out, and do what I wanted. The days where… random people would make my life hell? Long gone. First off, that shit didn't even bother me like when I was little. Then, on top of it? I had a way to deal with it, if it got out of hand. I'm no great chess-master, believe me, but… my best part of the game? Is when I haven't screwed up royally yet, I'm still in the game… and now there's less pieces in play. I made a small, quiet life for myself. With limited pieces on the board. So I could figure out and control the end game better."

   "No more self hate. No more self pity."

   "No. Serves no purpose. Nothing good comes from it. Why do you ask about all this. I'm wondering…"

   Merry shrugged, then loosened and rearranged her hug she had placed on her drawn up legs, and re-positioned her chin on her knees again.

   "When I hear about everything you've ever been through? I feel silly admitting I had problems."

   "You got over it all, right?"

   She shrugged.

   "I got over it, I learned to deal with it… whatever."

   "If you got over it, when did you become okay with it all."

   "Hmm. When you chucked it all one day, and went away to join the service? I guess for me, that was when I followed the football players to the recruiters from the bureau on campus."

   "Why?"

   "Took stock of my situation. My 2 year and my 4 year degree? Were with the idea I was going into human resources. Lots of jobs in it. Good pay and benefits. Rude to say, but… the field loves to hire women. Then, I stayed and did my masters in male female relationships. Had a therapist license and everything. I played for one extra semester for my therapist's license. But…"

   "But what? That was your plan."

   "How goddamned silly would it be, to be counseling couples on their relationships, when I can't keep a boyfriend any longer than he sees the monster in the mirror, and takes off running. Helping people, trying to make them happy… and I wouldn't even be able to help myself, or make myself happy."

   "What was the original life plan, the first four years?"

   "Pffft. You want me to tell you the girls at college, aren't having fun, then the last year looking to lock down a half decent guy for their first marriage? I know enough that's what's happening. Thought I learned enough about being a girly girl, that… well… then I can't make a baby, the guy ran. The monster in the mirror wasn't going anywhere either. That's two strikes. I figured I had a nice body, I had three nice degrees and a license in my field, human resources as a backup… all this knowledge about love and relationships and how it actually works… and… all for nothing."

   "Crisis."

   "Yeah. I can't play sports forever. I could go and get my doctorate, but… that's just playing sports another couple years, and putting off the inevitable anyways. Okay… I like sports. I'm good at it. I get along with guys easier than girls, socially. What were the jocks doing. Any jocks who had trouble deciding? The FBI was recruiting the stragglers. I went with them once, just for the hell of it. Good with sports… good with guys if it doesn't involve any romance… they liked the psych degrees… got recruited into the academy, I guess like you got recruited into the service, right?"

   "More or less."

   "Base pay and benefits as a new agent, wasn't any worse than human resources or a therapist starting out would have been. If I'm not going to be swept off my feet and asked to make babies, I need a career anyways. Any time I have because I don't have a husband and a family… science girl wanted to write articles. There we go. Career… hobby… that's life."

   "Didn't last long, the way you figured it would be, did it?"

   "No, it did not… Uncle Mikey found me at the academy… and what you see before you? Is the end result of… this whole unplanned thing I call my life."

   "I know what drove me, to do what I did, to end up where I did… what was it for you?"

   "Part of it was being realistic. I got this, this and this… and Uncle Mikey wanted it. Part of it? Joining was running away. Uncle Mikey finding me though… I won't lie. There was a certain thrill to get to become someone else. People who run away? Then they want to hide. I'm running away from myself. The only way to stay hidden? Hey… sort of becoming another person? Hmm."

   "Mike didn't wave the American flag at you, and have the band play America the beautiful? Works wonders on us young, idealistic kids. To get us into the service, then to get us to do more. Your country needs you, you can make a difference…"

   Merry smiled.

   "Little of that, yeah. You wanna know how it went?"

   "Sure."

   "Hmm. The longer the pool academy training went on, the more time I was spending with Mike. Long… really frank talks. About me and my… psychological framework. Now, let's just face it. Most women getting degrees? Are just doing it to land a better husband. To be a better catch. The FBI is just a big company in the end of all things. Women? have a tendency to go about ten years, and find a husband… and poof. They put in for office work only, or, they retire. No company likes that shit. Well? My clock isn't really ticking, you know. I ain't gonna quit or go desk bitch because I finally found a guy willing to take me in. Mikey slowly came around, to wondering… if I wasn't going to be a mommy, and wasn't going to find a husband and leave… what was the whole point of my life going to be, anyways?"

   "He gave you the why don't you make a difference speech."

   "Yeah. He did. You fell for that one too, didn't you?"

   "Sure did. If you have any inherent talent, and you don't have a clear vision of what you're going to try to do with your life? Someone else will come along, and figure out a use for you, I can tell you that."

   "You were trying to make a difference before, right?"

   "I was trying. I thought I was."

   "You took a break, and now you're at it again. Trying to make a difference. Again."

   "Yeah. If Uncle Mike's damn locksmith would ever show up."

   "He'll be here. So… you don't mind I'm still on the… I'm making a difference phase?"

   "Mind? I like it."

   "So… you're on board. With what I'm doing."

   "We plan on spending the next five to ten years, letting you do it, right? Yeah, I'd say I'm on board. I get my case over with. You, get your trials over. We? Spend our time together while you're pretending you're a microphone."

   "What am I hearing in your voice?"

   "What. The master fiddle player, doesn't know what sound her own instrument is making? For shame."

   "Oh, will you just tell me…"

   Panic sighed before beginning.

   "You wanna know the thing, about making a difference?"

   "Sure."

   "I've been there. Believing in it. Sure I was making a difference. You put in a lot of time and work and effort on it, you're sure that you're doing your part to make the world a better place. But in the end? Nothing… really… changes. Take what I was doing. Now, later down the road? The same problems just crop up somewhere else. The ultra rich? Fucking shit up, making a big mess for someone else to clean up later on. They're just doing something different, somewhere else, but… it doesn't end. You kill those rich people? Others just rise up and take their place. You put an end to the knock down, drag out, no holds barred fight in the jungle over coal and gas rights? Another one just pops up in some other spot in the world. The same, or even worse. There's no end to it. It's pointless."

   "You were younger. This time around? It's getting taken care of, the way things look."

   "Because I picked a fight that if I really got into it? I thought it could be won."

   "But… I can win my fight, hun. Me and Mike, we tunnel around under the house of cards, and it falls in at the end. I'll win."

   "Did the FBI ever win against organized crime? I noticed, it's still there. You take one crime family out? Another just absorbs their turf and their operations. You create a vacuum? Something will fill it."

   "What are you saying?"

   "I'm just saying, that this is no different. You take one gang out? One or more others, just come in and take up the slack. You don't really win, you don't put a final stop to anything. You're doing, what I was doing, down there. Putting a bad fire out. But another one blazes up somewhere else."

   "So, no one should ever try? Imagine how bad it would all be, if no one ever did."

   Panic just shrugged. Merry un-hugged her legs and leaned over and put her hand on his shoulder, and kneaded it softly.

   "Here's how I look at it. Organized gangs? Are like termites. You know you're never going to eradicate the last remaining termite from the face of the earth, but… you do take out any nests in the area you find, right? That's what I'm doing. I'm an exterminator, I'm doing my part to make sure they don't overrun the place. When you look at it like that? Someone has to do it, and right now it's me. Well… me and Mike."

   "I just don't want you to wake up five, ten years down the road… and feel like you didn't really get anywhere."

   "Panic… in sports. Yeah, you try like hell to win every game. But, the reality might be you find a playoff tournament game on your schedule? You just know you're not going to win. Now, you can go into that game, prepared to lose, basically. Put second stringers in, to get experience. To help get set for next year. To protect your best players from getting hurt for nothing. Or? You can all decide that you're pissed off, and you're just going to go in there and give them absolute hell, because you have nothing to lose."

   "I know, the underdog speech. That's where big upsets come from."

   "It is, but… even if you don't win? You can get close. You can make a name for yourself. If your season's about up anyways, why not go for broke and at least beat the top rated team up bad enough, that you put a chink in their armor."

   "So, you know you're fighting city hall, and you just want to give 'em hell as best you can."

   "The bureau might not have eradicated organized crime? We did put a hell of a dent in it, though. We gutted several crime families. It forced several others to fight each other over the turf, and we used that momentum to keep after them. A few others? Went partially legit, to offset the losses we inflicted on them. You could say we got it down to a dull roar, and we're trying to hold the line."

   "So that's what's intended for this operation, and others afterwards."

   "Yeah. The FBI spent so many years chasing the crime families? Outlaw MC gangs grew out of control. All over the United States. There were some big busts here and there, by various agencies. ATF… DEA… and the FBI, too… now? It's like the heat's off, and they think they're running smooth again. The microphone? Has been plastered under the wall. What we did to organized crime? Now it's their turn. Remember. In FBI terms? This is a cheap operation. It costs basically nothing, in the bigger scheme of the budget. The director is impressed with the intelligence gathered already, and he ain't seen nothing yet."

   "You believe in it. You're a true believer."

   "Yeah. I gotta do something with my life anyways."

   "Just try not to get yourself killed trying to fight city hall, okay? I'm willing to try almost anything in the sack, but, I'm just not into necrophilia. Call me a prude."

   "You know, you'd think that my life was mainly in danger from what I'm doing for work, right?"

   "Yeah…"

   "There's a big irony there. Dirty agents… then dirty cops… then a pissed off little witch? That's where it all came from. Not from my work. I have a practically unimpeachable cover, going for almost ten years now. You can't get a better cover. I don't wear a wire. There's no recording devices to be found. No one ever gets arrested. It's just a long term eavesdropping operation."

   "And… the more victimless crimes we commit, the safer you are for work."

   "Yeah. Weird, isn't it?"

   "It is a rather… unique position to find myself in, yes."

   "I see your damn cogs turning…"

   "No reason for us not to retire well, right?"

   Merry shrugged, and idly glanced over at the blank badge and numberless .25 automatic laying off to the side of the bed.

   "I've created a monster, haven't I?"

   Panic gently tugged on her, and got her within arms reach of sitting up against the headboard, sitting up in bed. He put his arm around her. Merry idly grabbed at the pipe for them. It was already packed, for whenever they got bored.

   "So… crime doesn't pay, huh? We'll see about that."