Endgame - Chapter 101

   Merry quickly adjusted to things being so quiet for a change. During the winter months, most work on the camp itself stopped. Merry enjoyed walking back and forth to town and hiking around the area.

   "So, Merry. How much exercise do you think walking can be now?"

   "Well. With the ankle weights, and the wrist weights? It took a little while to get used to it. I'm still trying to get used to the weight belt you use."

   "It's not really made for exercising, like the ankles and wrists. It's actually a diving belt."

   "And your weight vest?"

   "That's made just for exercising."

   "How much does it weigh?"

   "Up to 100 pounds. And no, I don't use it that high for very long. So Merry. What would you think of seeing how the other half lives?"

   "Depends. The other half of what?"

   "I was thinking of attending one of those society functions. You know, people with money and connections, spend a lot of money on a plate of catered food. You get to spend time with a famous person for your money."

   "And why would you want to do that, I wonder."

   "Oh, just trying to fit in with the other business owners. Did you ever notice people that think they're important, like to have photographs of them sitting and having dinner with politicians? You'll see the photos on the walls of their offices or businesses."

   "Yes. I've noticed how hard you try to do whatever everyone else does. You're just a slave to whatever is fashionable. How hard is it going to be to pry it out of you, what the real reason is?"

   "Not too hard. We have some time before we hit town, though."

   "Okay. Twenty questions, then."

   "Well, I wasn't going to limit you to just 20. No keeping score."

   "So. It's a politician."

   "It is."

   "Do… you support this politician?"

   "No. Not in the slightest. I hate him, what he stands for, and even his political party."

   "And you intend to donate money to his… campaign fundraiser dinner, so a guy you hate has your support to get elected."

   "Not elected, dear. RE-elected."

   "I'm trying to figure out your angle."

   "Well. What reasons do I ever have, for wanting to be close to someone."

   "You like being physically close to me, but… I don't think that's the motivation here, is it."

   "Not at all."

   "Are you trying to get something? Some kind of… influence. Maybe being in the picture with someone else does something for you."

   "No."

   "I'm running out of ideas, for your angle."

   "You're thinking too much in the box. Normal reasons, that a normal person would donate money and go to a fundraiser dinner. Start thinking outside the box."

   "If you don't like someone, there's less reasons to want to get close to them."

   "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."

   "You don't just dislike him politically."

   "He made it personal."

   "Did… he insult you, I don't know, online or something?"

   "Nope. Real life."

   You're either trying to get something out of him, that he doesn't even realize what it is, or…"

   He flashed her his wry half grin.

   "And now? The pretty lass is cooking with gas."

   "You want to hurt him."

   "I do. But it's not time yet."

   "You're not thinking of…"

   "Oh, no. His crimes aren't that bad. He's not a bad billionaire, he's just a naughty little multi millionaire."

   "You wouldn't lay a finger on him publicly. You must mean hurt him, in another way."

   "Smacking a man like him around? Wouldn't accomplish anything. I decided to play his game."

   "You're going to try to hurt him politically."

   "Yes."

   "And are you going to lay this hurt on him, at the dinner?"

   "No. I just wanted to deliver the saffron warning sheet. That his time is coming."

   "Saffron?"

   "In the ancient times. Think early bible time period. If a person, say… killed a family member. A Goel Hadam would be appointed. The family was allowed to legally seek revenge. A secret Goel Hadam was picked out. That person, was allowed to seek the revenge. The criminal would receive a saffron warning sheet. Written on paper made out of saffron. Very expensive paper. It served to put the criminal on notice, that a Goel Hadam had been appointed. It was thought to be a form of torture, that they knew revenge was coming for them. That they had no way of knowing exactly who it was."

   "Someone has appointed themselves a Goel Hadam, I assume."

   "You assume correctly. You would now only have to guess what this person did, that I intend to try to ruin them."

   "You said family member."

   "Yes. Someone very close to me."

   Merry went through a random list of people she thought Panic would consider close enough to be family, and he finally chuckled.

   "And now? You're thinking too far outside the box. When I said someone very close me, I might have meant it literally."

   He had stopped walking temporarily.

   "What… did any politician ever do, to threaten me?"

   Panic went over the the events surrounding the night out behind the bar, and what transpired afterwards. How the Governor had been calling every State Police barracks, trying to get a SWAT team sent to the bar, even though Uncle Mike had consistently said no, that the situation didn't call for that.

   "Merry. What do you think SWAT would be best at doing, in that situation. Piles of dead out of state cops, shooter barricaded inside a biker bar. He wanted to put an end to the standoff, quickly."

   "How could he? Mike had federal authority over the situation."

   "Everyone heard Uncle Mikey, tell the Governor to go fuck himself, when he tried to push Mike to… end the situation. Quickly. As a matter of fact, the Governor was calling around State Police barracks. Trying to throw his weight around. Trying to get you killed quick, to take it out of the news."

   "What are you leaving out, I wonder."

   "A little bird told me, that calls to State Police barracks, are monitored."

   "Monitored? Or… recorded."

   "Both. In fact, he might have even said some very unsavory things during some of those phone calls. Maybe even, something along the lines of… I don't care who the fuck is in charge. I'm the Governor, and I want that bitch dead, to put a stop to this."

   "Won't he know where the recording came from?"

   "Well. That's just it. If a person runs around saying things to many people? Kinda hard to pin down exactly who spilled the beans."

   "You're going to release the recording. Timed for when it will hurt him the most."

   "Near the end of the election. Close enough to the voting, that there won't be any time to do any kind of damage control. But, leaving enough time to prove it's his voice. Printing it in the papers, playing it on the TV. It'll be… like a puff of smoke from the grassy knoll."

   "You really hate the guy."

   "I do. First of all, he made it very personal, even if he doesn't know it. He's a lifelong democrat, and half his campaign bullshit is directed at gun control. Not to mention, he hasn't made any friends in law enforcement."

   "How's that."

   "He likes to get on TV, and grandstand every time the police had to shoot a criminal. Calling for investigations, talking about police brutality, police racism, all that made up bullshit. Anyone with a badge in this state, hates him too. And when a man has that many enemies…"

   "It makes it impossible to figure out who got him."

   "Bingo."

   "I understand the personal part. Do you really take that much interest in politics?"

   "Not really, but… he's a lying, two faced weasel. As far as I'm concerned, he's an embarrassment to my state. And he obviously thinks that rich, important people should be able to just pick up the phone, and have people killed. To help his career."

   "I know just who he reminds you a little bit of."

   "You probably do. I hate little Caesars, and I can think of at least one big Caesar, that I wish someone had yanked the rug out from under him when he was still small enough to take down."

   Merry tried to get what the warning would be like out of him, but he just grinned and told her she'd figure it out for herself. They walked around their little town, and stopped in their shops they liked. They finally came down to deciding where to eat.

   "Have I been walking and exercising my cat enough lately?"

   "You have."

   "I could go for hoagies. You?"

   "Sure."

   After sitting and eating and deciding on takeout for later, Panic suddenly looked at Merry when he was just about to pay their bill.

   "Hun? I think I left my wallet at home. You might have to bankroll this little feast."

   "I'm not sure that---"

   He whispered in her ear.

   "Right front jacket pocket. Pretty sure I saw you slip some money in it."

   Merry found a little wad of cash, and paid. She was sure that wasn't her doing, but she didn't say anything. When they were walking home, talking and carrying their "kitty bags" back with them, Merry took out the little wad of paper money. What she had thought was a receipt, wasn't. It was a note. It read…

   'Men like you, think you can't be touched.'

   "I suppose you think you're slick."

   "You like the saffron warning sheet?"

   "It's not too shabby. When he finds it, he'll know someone was close enough to touch him. A little spooky."

   "Not too spooky though. Just enough, he'll remember it. But, not enough it'll make him lose a lot of sleep thinking about it. What do you think."

   "Why does he have to remember it?"

   "Because. After the shot from the grassy knoll… he'll get a message. Telling him… you've been touched."

   "Ooh. Now, that's very spooky."

   "Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment."

   "Hmm. I just realized something."

   "What's that."

   "I… finally get to see you… in a suit. Don't I?"

   "I guess you will. I'm kinda looking forward, to seeing you all dressed up, too. I like seeing you in a black dress, with heels on."

   "Hmm. Are you just saying that?"

   "No. Allow me to rephrase, then. I just love seeing you in your black dress, in the heels. I can't take my eyes off you."

   "Really. This still sounds like it could be a snow job. What do you like about seeing me all dolled up. Be specific."

   "Honestly? It's the legs. Now, normally. When you're in jeans? You look fine, trust me, but… if a person never saw your legs, they might think you're a little soft. But… the heels. Those leg muscles all start popping out. Ooh."

   "I honestly thought this was going to be another… ankle thing. But that? Was oddly specific. Do you even own a suit?"

   "Yeah. I only wear double breasted, and even then, only for special occasions."

   "You're really looking forward to this."

   "I am. I like to think of the occasion, as a political funeral."

   "Mommy's little INTJ."

   "Mommy's what?"

   "It's a personality type."

   "I thought I was a Sigma male."

   "You are. That's on the Alpha Beta scale. There's other ways to categorize personalities."

   "Such as."

   "Ever read about MBTIs at all?"

   "No."

   "It's another way to categorize personalities."

   "Oh. Is that the one, where you answer hundreds of questions?"

   "You're probably thinking of the older personality assessment, that the MBTI replaced. That was the MMPI. The Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory. Lot's of weird questions…"

   Panic chuckled.

   "I like mannish women. True or false."

   "That's it. This replaces it. How did you answer that one, by the way?"

   "That one always bugged me. Pops up several times, out of the question pool. I never knew how to answer it. What's a mannish woman? Am I supposed to admit I'm gay, that I want my girl to look like a man? Or, did it just mean tall, strong women. Which I like, by the way. Or… did it mean, do you like or hate women being in charge. I hate that shit. No right answer. So… I ask the person giving the test. What does that mean, and they? Just smile and say I don't know. And I ask how the fuck I'm supposed to answer a question multiple times, when I don't know exactly what they're asking."

   "Right. This system replaced it."

   "So. What am I now. I'm just dying to know."

   "You, are an INTJ. It stands for… introverted, intuitive, thinking, and judging. It's a lot easier to just talk to someone once or twice, to get a feel for which terms apply to them."

   "And, you're sure of your diagnosis."

   "Oh yeah. An INTJ carries nicknames. We call that one, the Architect, the Planner. And yes, INTJs are known for making Sigmas."

   "Am I a good personality?"

   "It's from what's called the Meyer-Briggs system. And every personality type, has a good side and a dark side. If an INTJ goes bad? They show some characteristics."

   "Ooh. What should I watch out for."

   "When they go bad, INTJs get… aloof. Arrogant. They criticize everyone and everything. They ignore everything except what lines up with their own thing."

   "I don't think that's me."

   "It's not. You're a good INTJ."

   "What are we looking for. In a woman. I mean, what if you're not the right type for me."

   "INTJ's sometimes hook up with a partner INTJ. They understand each other, they respect each other's ways and means. They sometimes pair up with an ENTJ partner. Same thing, but extroverted instead of introverted. So they compliment each other."

   "Hmm."

   "Every personality type, has a love language. How they show they care."

   "I'm pretty sure we do it by snuggling, and licking."

   "I'm sure some of them do. But, INTJs show they care, with actions instead of words. It's called acts of service. They're far more likely to… do something they know you like or need, instead of just telling you how much they love you all day long. They tend to look for these service acts back. It's their language."

   "Anything else I need to know about myself?"

   "You have a fiercely independent personality. You hate people trying to control or dominate you."

   "Do I hate authority?"

   "Not per se. But you want there to be a good reason. You want it to make sense. You want it to be logical. You'd be surprised how many people, just take things as they are, deal with it, and move on."

   "I don't know. This could just be some of that pseudo-scientific, psycho mumbo jumbo. I need some evidence, this all means something."

   "Spoken just like an INTJ. Wanna know what pretty much all INTJs fear?"

   "Ha. We fear nothing. We're tough guys, I'll have you know."

   "INTJ fears. Right off the top of the list? Insanity. Stupidity. They hate social interactions, particularly ones that they think mean nothing except posturing. They hate amateurism. They can't stand people that go off half cocked, and even more when the amateur thinks they're special, without a good reason for thinking it. You're terrified of growing old and fear getting Alzheimers. Or being stuck in a wheelchair, or paralyzed. One of your deepest fears? Failing to live up to your own potential."

   That shut him up. He just looked at her.

   "Yeah. You probably like the color black, and darker earth tones. If you had to pick a real color? You'd probably say dark blue, or cobalt blue."

   "What kind of clothes do we like?"

   "Comfort and utility over all else. Clothes a little loose fitting."

   "Now you're just making shit up."

   "Hardly. I can show you all this in books."

   "Are we smart?"

   "INTJ's score the highest on standard IQ assessments. They're born smart, and they work on it, too. You don't care what other people think, and you're driven. You strive for perfection. You crave intellectual stimulation. Put an INTJ alone in a room, with nothing but a newspaper? You'll walk in and find them doing the crossword puzzle, every single time. If there's another person doing a crossword? They wanna help."

   "What kind of music do we like?"

   "Anything complex or complicated. You don't care if it's old or new. Classical or progressive, doesn't matter. You hate simple, easy music. Remember, you hate amateurism. You only respect things, that shows intellect and hard work. Punk music, country, pop tunes? Absolute shit to you."

   "I swear, you could just be telling me what you already know about me, and feeding it back to me. This could be a complete scam, to see how gullible I am."

   "Wanna test it?"

   "How."

   "What are you wearing. What do you wear every day, usually."

   "Jeans. T shirt. My work boots."

   "Take your phone out. Type in… what would an INTJ wear. See what pops up."

   He did.

   "Holy shit."

   "Told you."

   "You just play me like a goddamn fiddle, don't you?"

   "Not like you might think, honey. Let's say I wanted you to do something, that I wanted. I don't have a lot of options."

   "What do you mean? Why wouldn't you just ask me."

   "Hmm. Better example. Let's say… I was a totally different kind of girl. An extrovert. A doer, not a thinker. A person that values everyone elses opinions. Maybe… I'd want you to start wearing dress clothes all the time. How exactly am I going to tune your fiddle, to play that song. I really don't have any options."

   "Good example, by the way. This? Has been tried before."

   "Hmm. An ex girlfriend, tried to dress you up and change your hair to be fashionable, huh?"

   He nodded.

   "So. A partner will first simply present you with the demand. Even a mild one, they still have to present you with it. Here… Honey? I was thinking. Would you mind dressing up a little more when we go out? You see how our friends dress when we go out for dinner and drinks. We should try to fit in more."

   "Yeah. That wouldn't work. First off? I'm not spending every spare day and spare hour… just going out for no reason. And then the chance of getting me to buy nice clothes and wear them, when I don't like to do it? Just so people like seeing me in them more? Fat chance."

   "Exactly. But, maybe my girlfriends at work, start giving me ideas."

   "Like what?"

   "I'm sure one girl will claim I should just be more assertive. I should demand you wear nicer clothes. You'd probably pretty much just ignore me."

   "Probably."

   "Next thing? When I report failure to the girls, I'm sure bribing you and complimenting you will be the next tactic suggested."

   "Pay me money, to wear the clothes you want?"

   "No, silly. Be extra sweet all week. Lots of your favorite sex. Buying you little things to butter you up, doing all kinds of extra things to be a real sweetie. Then… I can try to get you into dress clothes for the weekend. If I manage to get you to try some on? Oh, tell you how cute your butt looks in the clothes. Or, how macho it makes you look. Maybe have one of my girlfriends help me, tell you how swell you look like that. You know. Bribe and compliment you into it."

   "I'm not seeing that working. As soon as anyone starts acting out of character? What's this motherfucker up to. Doesn't take long to figure it out usually, either."

   "Next strategy? I could try to challenge you. Hey, Panic? Don't worry about it. You're not really assertive enough to dress like that, anyways. You're just not the power suit, power tie kinda guy, I don't think. The idea is, you take it as a challenge, that a real man could pull it off. Think you'd fall for that one?"

   Panic made a show of a big, dramatic yawn.

   "Uh huh. About all I have left, is to threaten you. Sweet or mean, all I have left is threats."

   "What's a sweet threat?"

   "What's wrong, honey. Oh… nothing. No, I just don't feel like going out. No, I'm not in the mood. I just don't feel like it."

   He looked over at her, and the look on his face Bluetooth-ed that he had heard that routine before. Merry smiled and continued.

   "Not tonight dear, I have a headache. For two weeks, then I try again."

   Merry explained that was typical sweet or nice threats.

   "Or, I could try to argue and browbeat you. Threaten you with no sex. Tell you to cook and clean for yourself. Start saying things like… I just can't see staying with a guy that won't change one, little thing to make me happy. Now. How well do you respond to threats?"

   "I ignore it, or I dare them to follow through."

   "Exactly. You? Probably would just ignore me. Politely, of course. Go do some kind of studying or work. If I start hinting around at you might not be the right kind of man for me… I don't think you'd just beg me to stay, and ask what I wanted to stay. Whereupon, I hit you with the simple, easy demand… that you dress a little better when we go out."

   "Wow. I really am a complete pain in the ass to deal with, ain't I."

   "See the personality incompatibility? The gross mismatch? I'd have limited options, trying to get you to do that."

   "From everything you said, sounds like you have zero options."

   "But… knowing that you, are an INTJ, I know you only value one thing."

   "Cats."

   "Okay. Cats… and cold logical reasoning. My only chance for success? Would be first off, not to try any of those other normal tactics most girls try to use. They only work on more typical male personalities. You? My one chance of success, would be to present you with a list. A list made up of clear, well thought out, logical reasons."

   "Sounds like a tough sale, even for science girl. How would you even go about that."

   "My only chance, and it's a slim one even at that? Try to match up what I wanted, with some way it would help you in your career. Our friends, would have to be people in your field. I would have to convince you, that somehow the way you presented yourself, had something to do with getting ahead in business."

   "Short of being some kind of salesman or something, I don't see it."

   "Right. Not to mention, an INTJ would almost never take a salesman career on. Salesmen? Are extroverts. They value what other people think. You, are an INTJ. Through and through. No matter what you do, it's a specialty. You like careers that require planning, work, and expertise and experience. You don't do things because that's where money gets made, you do things that allow you to show off intelligence, planning, and creativity. I couldn't even imagine being the kind of girl that picks a man out because he makes money, then tries to make you do whatever she wants. Least of all, because the other girls are showing off how well they have their man under their thumb."

   "There's a lot of mismatches in America, ain't there."

   "Sure are."

   "But, don't opposites attract?"

   "Oh. The old timer's wisdom. Opposites attract. They also said, that birds of a feather, flock together."

   "Which one is correct?"

   "Opposites attract, when the strengths and weaknesses mesh together well. But, birds of a feather? See the world the same way. Look at it this way. Can you picture an honest, hardworking cop… married to a lazy, criminal con man girlfriend?"

   "No. Sex might be great, but… that'd be about it."

   "Right. Now, picture two honest, hardworking cops together. Or… two con men hooking up."

   "They would finish each other's sentences, after the first three dates."

   "Exactly. That's what personality types in the workplace is all about. You don't want someone from another world, coming into your company."

   "Makes sense. Question."

   "Shoot."

   "What's Little Robbie, then."

   "Based on what I've experienced with him? Rob's an ENTJ. Basically, he's you, but… with an extroverted view, instead of an introverted one. A person like you? You come up with your own ideas, and test them and figure out what will work. Someone like Rob? They do that too, but… they tend to sort of poll those around them, then make decisions with what seems like it will work best. And before you ask? ENTJ's, tend to be alphas. They tend to attract, INTJs to them, and direct them. If you two had been in the business world? Little Robbie would probably have his own company and be the big CEO. You? Would be the right hand man, that he couldn't do without."

   "Okay, now the big one. Are we opposites attract? Or… are we birds of a feather."

   "We're birds of a feather, honey. Remember. INTJs are where Sigmas come from."

   "What's Uncle Mikey? I'm curious."

   "You know how Little Robbie, was your ENTJ?"

   "Yeah."

   "Uncle Mikey, is my own ENTJ. He's my Little Robbie."

   "So. If you were my relationship therapist, and I couldn't find another… bird of my feather to flock with, what kind of opposites attract would you pick for me?"

   "Hmm. Looking for options?"

   "Nope. Just curious."

   "Well. Work relationships, and romantic relationships… carry some parallels. You already know what an INTJ is, and you already know that ENTJs work with them really well, so. That would be one. Others, would be… ENFP, and ENTP."

   "All extroverts. To cover for my introverted worldview. The N is intuition, you said. What's the FP and TP stand for, then."

   "FP is Feeling and Perception. Every personality type, has a famous person everyone already knows about, as a perfect example. You? Are Isaac Newton. ENFP? Think… Mark Twain. In a relationship, a typical female ENFP? Outgoing, positive personality. Open to new ideas and new ways of life. Really creative. A lot of emotions. They're fun and playful, where you would tend to be serious. They tend to be impulsive, where you plan things carefully. They get jealous easy, but they get over it easily, too. They tend to have big ideas, but don't bother with exactly how. They think in terms of the big picture, they don't worry about details."

   "The odd couple. What about the TP."

   "Same thing, just thinking instead of feeling. But, with lots of strong emotions."

   "Well, the other one? Sounded like… some hippie girlfriend, all emotions and big ideas, with no substance. What's this one."

   "Benjamin Franklin. Think… intelligent dreamer. Logical. But outgoing, too. They tend to be musicians. They like to travel. They're also pretty rare in women. They're 3 percent of the general population. But, 4 percent are men, and 2 percent are women. They tend to be outgoing, confident, and can read people well. When they go bad? Think… the likable criminal, who has charisma."

   "Great. A smart, analytical, hippie."

   "Remember you were Isaac Newton? Spending time alone, inventing calculus and physics. Instead, lighten up a little bit on the IQ, and have them be a capable people person. Think Thomas Edison."

   "Ugh."

   "What's wrong with Edison? Thought you'd like him. Famous inventor and scientist."

   "Edison was a hack. More businessman and salesman, than scientist. Isaac newton, Tesla… now there's a couple of honest to goodness real scientists."

   "Hmm. They spent their lives alone, too."

   "Learning… maketh a man fit company for himself."

   "Wouldn't you have been happier, if Tesla had gotten married and had kids? Imagine if he would have had a son, just like him. Who he could have mentored, and carried on his legacy."

   "Tesla didn't have time for dating and marriage. His work was too important. And Ben Franklin? He was a well known dirty old man. A little more self control, and he could have been even greater. Thomas Jefferson was twice the man he was."

   "Well. See how important personality types are? We share something, by the way."

   "What's that?"

   "It's probably not an accident that we were both single, and had problems in the past. INTJs, which is what we are? Are known to be… they call it… problematic, in relationships and marriage."

   "Why?"

   "We're considered too rigid and not open minded enough, and it causes problems in relationships."

   "You know, I noticed something. With all this stuff."

   "What's that?"

   "In America, the ideal person seems to be this… easy going, try anything, believe anything, people person. Anyone who's intelligent and logical and predictable? Is a problem. I get sick and tired of all this touchy feel-y shit. You have to be… open to new ideas, and you have to be spontaneous. If you can't be easily made to do whatever the other person wants that day? You're problematic."

   "That's a fair assessment. A good bit of that comes, from your J. You're judgmental. That means, you study something. Logically. And after careful examination? You decide if it's a good or a bad thing. That's the polar opposite of the P people, the perception type. You're an I, so you're introverted. You come up with your own ideas, and ways of figuring things out. You don't just listen to what others have to say, and decide based on that."

   "And define what spontaneous means. I remember people in college. They'll just stand up in a restaurant, and start dancing around. Sure, that's spontaneous. It's also ridiculous. Yeah, it's… spontaneous, to go to a party instead of studying for your final exam. It's also fucking retarded. I expect little children to be spontaneous. Get up and start dancing. Would rather play than do their homework. But they're little children. I don't think we should be validating that, in full grown adults. And I get tired of this… big picture nonsense, too. I see the big picture, I see the big picture. Well guess what, lots of people can see the big picture, and think of wonderful ideas too. But details matter. Without worrying about the details? Bridges fall down. People get electrocuted. Oh! I have the vision… but fuck details, someone else can worry about that bullshit. Oh, I'm so creative! I just can't stand to be tied down. Honestly? Sounds like a little kid who wants to finger paint all day, instead of learning their times tables."

   Merry laughed, and Panic caught her giggles as well.

   "You sound like an INTJ. I agree with pretty much everything you just said. The problem is, we're only about 2 percent, give or take, of the world's population. And that's a raw average. Female INTJs are rare as fuck. Maybe 1 percent of INTJs are female. On top of that? It takes an IQ to make use of being an INTJ in the first place, so, there's even less of us with enough brains to make any kind of impact. Then? If we don't breed, there's obviously going to be less and less of us. And yes, today's society expects everyone to be a people please-r, and tell everyone what they want to hear, and just sort of feel what everyone else needs and wants."

   "I'm rare? We're both rare?"

   Merry smiled.

   "Very. You like numbers. Run them. An INTJ is 2 to 3 percent of the population. You need a high IQ to go with it, and if I had to guess there? Higher math. Abstract concepts. Complicated theories and strategies. Really strong verbal skills. Vocabulary. You read fast and accurate, with high retention. You don't skim, you read every word. And you still speed read. You have an impressive memory, too. No… your IQ is probably… I'd ballpark it all in… top 1/10th of one percent? Maybe 1/20th of one percent. Now. Take the American population. Find 1/20th of one percent. Then, take 2 and a half percent of that… and that's just the main pool of applicants. You have to take out anyone that wasn't raised right, taught or allowed to value education and intelligence. Encouraged and allowed to read all day as a kid. Men over 6 foot tall, are rare. Ten percent of what's left. A lot of them are really skinny, too. Another statistical anomaly. No… there's very precious few of you in this country. And that's just your numbers."

   "Great. You just mathematically proved? I'm a complete weirdo. I'm touched."

   "Now. You really want a female bird of a feather, and female INTJs are rarer than hen's teeth to begin with. Let alone one that happens to have an IQ that's any more than lukewarm. And female INTJs? Tend to express things differently than men. But I'm a tomboy. I was raised around all boys, and I think and act like one because of the boys and the sports. Add in my height and my body? I'm even more rare. Then, factor in we meet. We're the right ages. Factor in that we both think the other meets baseline attraction levels. Hell's bells, it's even rare that a man likes tall, strong women in the first place, and then you even prefer it. No… statistically speaking? What we call us, simply never happens. I'd never let you get away, because I'd never find another one."

   "Merry?"

   "Yes."

   "Do you… find me to be… problematic?"

   "No dear. I like routine. I value logic and reason. I don't see a problem, with judging whether things are good or bad, and making decisions on it. I wish more people were capable of thinking for themselves, instead of just believing whatever new bullshit comes down the road. I think of people like us? As being the adults in a world full of little children."

   "I'm wondering what your articles, if you ever get that far, are going to be like."

   Merry giggled.

   "Well. The world has enough of the… how to get your man to dress the way you want, articles. And… too many of those… how to tell a woman what she wants to hear to make her fall for you, programs out there."

   "What's the alternative?"

   "I'd like to see a regular column in women's magazines. Say… every month? You go over a different personality type. What personality types are a match for you, which personality types are a bad match. And why. Not… which personality types of men make the most cash, and how to land one. I don't know why people don't understand, that if money was all it took to be happy? Rich people would almost never seek therapy. And the numbers there? Definitely show otherwise."

   Panic laughed.

   "What?"

   "Everyone is just going to misuse your articles, as best they can. Look what people did to the Alpha Beta situation. All these programs out there. How to pretend to be an alpha, to get what you want. Not a damn thing out there, to show people the other side of actually being an alpha. Taking all the responsibility. Getting things, and handing them out to your betas. Being responsible for protecting your group. No one's interested in the other half a loaf of bread. They just see… oh. I say this, I do that… I get to get things for myself. Cool."

   "Hmm. You're picturing articles, like… how to get your INTJ to do whatever you want. I'm not doing that."

   "Human nature, hun. Someone else will."

   "And somewhere in this state? There's a rich, well connected politician. Has no idea, that he's about to get struck by Sigma lightning."

   He went from holding her hand, to pausing to hug her.

   "What was that for?"

   "The female Meowsaurus. Almost extinct. That asshole thought he could try to poach a female Meowsaurus and get away with it. It's a protected species, and he's lucky he's even going to live through this. If I had my way, I'd just put his head on a stick. The other assholes he runs with? Would benefit from the example."

   "You think? The joke is, if you hang a politician for being a complete asshole, they just don't get it. They think they can just make rope illegal."

   "Well? That's what the warning is for. After he gets struck down, all the people around him he shared his warning with, and laughed it off? Will understand, and get the message loud and clear. You assholes can be touched."

   "Hmm. You sure know how to sweet talk a girl, don't you."

   "What?"

   "That's INTJ love language. Deeds, not words or presents. I know you like me. It's why I leave mating marks on you."

   "Mating marks?"

   "When I leave little bite marks where your neck meets your shoulder. If any other girl tried to hug and kiss you? She'll see my mark. I dare any other woman to cross it. Since you show love language through actions? That's the language you read coming in. Do you think the other women in town, got my message?"

   "Loud and clear."

   Merry smiled.

   "I don't know. I would of thought the mating marks on your neck? Made it pretty clear. I claim you as my private property. I might have to figure out some other way to leave some marks on you. Just in case."

   "Well, your kitty claws sure leave scratches. Doesn't that count?"

   "I would of thought so, but, now I gotta wonder."

   "I guess you'll wait until we have… something to celebrate. Our big night hasn't happened yet."

   "Funny you should mention that."

   "Why."

   "Uncle Mikey texted me. I forgot to tell you. The witches took the 10 to 15 deal."

   "Sounds like a reason to celebrate to me."

   "Might be. But… now we need just the right place. You know, where Holly can cut loose, and really have some fun with you. Somewhere… really private. Somewhere guaranteed to be safe, and secure. Some place, where no one can hear your… pitiful little cries for help."

   "Yes. It would be fun if we had a place like that. I wish we knew someone who owned a bank vault. Now, that would be a place for some privacy."

   "Yes. It would. You should ask around."

   "Let me network around town. Sure I'll turn something up."

   "Honey?"

   "Yes little one."

   "You seem to be in good mood."

   "I am."

   "Can we sit down?"

   They looked around, and there was a large tree that had gone over just off the road. They headed over and sat down next to each other.

   "Is this going to be a long talk, Science Girl?"

   "You never know. We'll see."

   "What is it."

   "We talked about childhood trauma before."

   "Well. You did, anyways. I don't consider it trauma. In a way? It's like it happened to some other person. I like it that way. I don't like to dwell on that shit."

   "I know. That's what I want to talk about. Is that alright?"

   He nodded.

   "I'm sure you remember, how I told you to check your phone. About what clothes you like to wear."

   "Yeah."

   "You've gotten pretty good at keeping your light switch on, dear."

   "I can get used to anything."

   "I know. Before we start, I want you to check something. On your phone."

   "Is this going to be like the clothes?"

   "Sort of, yeah."

   He got his phone out.

   "What."

   "Do a search for… what happens to childhood trauma when left untreated? Read it to me."

   "With no specific treatment, repeatedly being exposed as a child to trauma, can affect the brain and nervous system. It strongly tends to increase risky health behaviors. Such as but not limited to…smoking, eating disorders, substance use, and high-risk activities. With smoking and high risk behaviors, being nearly universal."

   "Things that make you go… hmm."

   "Merry. Just because I didn't enjoy my childhood? It doesn't mean that just because I smoke and had a high risk job, this is automatic. Hell. Even you yourself, said you can't just check things off of a list, and make a diagnosis. Besides, Science Girl. Where's my substance use and my eating disorder, huh?"

   "I've watched you carefully, for a while now. You don't drink all the time, and when you do? You either have a drink or two and quit, or… you watch how much you drink. I've tried to get you drunk, and you just stop. The only people that do that behavior? Are people that used to drink a lot, and had a problem with it. You'd rather suffer in bad pain, than take a pain pill. It's obvious."

   "Yeah. I watch how much I drink."

   "Why?"

   He paused before he continued.

   "Because I black out. With no warning. Honestly, I'm really not that drunk, not like I'm falling over or anything, like you'd think. Right around the time I start to actually feel good? That's when it can happen. So, as soon as I start to actually feel good, yeah. I stop or really slow down and take a break. You see me switch to coffee or cold drinks. Two, three good drinks? That's about all I can enjoy."

   "Well, I wondered for a while. Why I can't get you drunk, then take you home and have fun with you. What… do you do, when you black out?"

   "Usually? Nothing out of the ordinary. I asked the guys I was drinking with. They just said I got real quiet."

   "That's usually. What's… not usually."

   "What do you think."

   "You… get violent."

   "Not like you think. Someone has to be fucking with me. They deserve it, but…"

   "You don't like violence. Not really, do you?"

   He shrugged.

   "What kind of intellectual, would think violence was a good thing? Besides. Violence, and conflict? Is a normal part of life. There's enough of it, without trying to make more of it."

   "You like smoking."

   "I do. It's fun. It feels good. There's no hangover. No blackouts. No addiction. No waking up with someone elses blood all over me, even if they made me do it."

   "Does… it just make you feel good while you're doing it?"

   "I don't think so. For the next couple days? I feel… I don't know. Calmer."

   "That's the dopamine system. I've noticed. You really like caffeine."

   "So?"

   "Caffeine regulates the dopamine system. Dopamine? Makes people feel… good. Calm. Well adjusted. People with low dopamine, get a little boost from caffeine. It's very, very predictable. They can find the level they need, and keep it there pretty easily. I'm guessing that's why you like to stay up all night, drinking coffee, doing things."

   "So? Is that such a big deal. I'd rather stay up late, and drink coffee. Rather than get drunk all the time."

   "I didn't say it was bad. You found the best way to regulate your dopamine system, and you use it to make yourself feel better."

   "We're not replacing coffee, with a pill."

   "No. We're not. Natural is better than medical."

   "Are we done now?"

   "Almost. Look something else up for me."

   "Sure."

   "What are the symptoms of trauma in adults."

   "I don't have PTSD. We went over this."

   "Just do it, and read it to me."

   "Reactions to trauma can include any of: exhaustion, insomnia, confusion, sadness, anxiety, agitation, numbness, dissociation, confusion, physical arousal, and blunted affect. Most responses are normal in that they affect most survivors and are socially acceptable, psychologically effective, and self-limited."

   "Any of that sound familiar to you?"

   "Insomnia. I don't always sleep good."

   "Exhaustion. I watch you just drive yourself sometimes. You exercise, until you collapse. That's if you're not… chasing some devil. Insomnia? If you're not chasing the devil, you'll do it to yourself. Sadness? You just flick your switch off, so you don't have to feel it. Anxiety? You told me yourself, you use it as fuel, to do something else good with it. Like… stay up all night working or studying."

   "Physical arousal, sounds good…"

   "Not sexual arousal. Acting up, acting out. You have self control, you wouldn't do that."

   "What's… dissociation, and blunted affect?"

   "Blunted affect, you already know what it is. You just don't call it that. It's the robot."

   "Now wait a minute. Science Girl is contradicting herself. The robot? That's Panic Syndrome."

   "It is. No one would know if you were doing it, because you did it all the time anyways. Before you learned to make faces."

   "What's… dissociation?"

   "Look up… what is trauma dissociation."

   "This is called Trauma-Related Dissociation. Trauma-Related Dissociation is sometimes described as a 'mental escape' when physical escape is not possible, or when a person is so emotionally overwhelmed that they cannot cope any longer. Sometimes dissociation is like 'switching off'."

   "I'm pretty sure, that sounds familiar."

   He sat quietly.

   "My light switch."

   "Yeah. I've known what your… light switch was, from the moment I heard it."

   "But… my parents. They took me to meet doctors. Why wouldn't they j---"

   "How would they. You were a child. You hadn't learned to make faces yet, you didn't… start making a personality up yet. A child, that didn't show any emotions anyways? How would they possibly pick that up."

   "First, you're talking about adult trauma. From…"

   "Yeah. Down there. Honey, none of that was even remotely normal to go through. Surely you know that."

   "Okay, but… now you move on to childhood trauma. Yeah, I didn't like my childhood. Which is it? Childhood trauma, or adult trauma? Science Girl should make up her mind."

   "It's both. It was a perfect storm. You were born with Panic Syndrome. Which made for constant childhood trauma. You got over it, you learned to cope. You dissociated. You found the light switch. By the time you were a full grown adult, and you found yourself down there? You were primed and ready to deal with trauma. You just flicked the switch off, and went to work. And thank god, you've always been around good people."

   "What do you mean? I worked around the most horrible people in the world."

   "I mean, your parents. They sound like good people. They gave you morals. And the people you were in the service with? Military police. Again, people trying to do the right thing. Then down there? You were with the good monsters. Not the bad ones. You… could have turned out… I don't even like to think about that. You really dodged a bullet."

   "Hun? Why are we always talking about this. What's the point."

   "I told you before. I'm your therapist. You let me talk to you about stuff. You've gotten better at… leaving the light switch on, talking about it. Like right now. You've learned to trust me, and the light switch is on more often. Just because your emotions wouldn't show on your face, doesn't mean you have to go through life with your… light switch taped off. I know when the real you is there."

   "When's that?"

   "When you stay up late on the computer. When I see you talking baby talk to the cats. When you make me laugh and act silly. When we're alone, and nothing's going on, and we just talk. I like being around that person. He's very sweet and innocent. Do you know when it happens?"

   "Maybe. I wouldn't say I was sure."

   "Try."

   "When I was really young, I remember… feeling bad. A lot of the time. I guess that's depression. Or feeling nervous. Even when there was no real reason to be nervous. I guess I'd describe it as… either being down, or up. And the up? Wasn't in a good way. Nervous. Jumpy."

   "You're describing depression and anxiety. Very common for someone with Panic Syndrome. That came from problems with the other children, and other people."

   "Well. Sometimes? Yeah. I'd feel… okay. Good, I guess. Not down, not nervous. Just… maybe I'm calling it good, when I should just say I didn't feel bad."

   "When would that happen? When you felt good."

   "Oh. When school was out. For a long holiday, or… off in the summer. Usually when I was by myself for a couple days, and didn't have to be around the other kids. I… found out I liked it when it rained. Or when it snowed. And late at night, I found out I like that, too."

   "You learned to like being alone."

   "Yeah. The family dog used to go out on a schedule. He knew it was 10:00 pm. That's when he would go out and water the electric pole. He liked to get taken for a walk, he liked that even better. I used to get yelled at, for taking him for too long of a walk. I learned to love the night. No one out, really."

   You felt comfortable with your family dog. And the family cat. Do you know why that is?"

   "They were my friends."

   "Because you could just be yourself with them. How did being around the dog or the cat make you feel?"

   "Oh. Good, I guess. And if I wasn't feeling good? Being with them made me feel better."

   "You like being with me, don't you?"

   "Not really. Uncle Mikey pays me to hang out with you, you know."

   They both laughed easily.

   "Yes. Obviously, I like being around you. What would the whole point be, otherwise."

   "How do you feel when you're around me? And I don't mean… romantically."

   "Now that you mention it? I guess… I wasn't just kidding, when I said you were my cat. You… make me feel good, like my dog and my cat did. When, we watch a movie or a documentary, and eat on the bed? It reminds me of… watching movies late at night with my dog, on the weekend. If you don't take it the wrong way? Technically, Mr. Fuzzy is above you in my hierarchy of things in my world. Because he was there first. But… you're right up there, with my cat. I'd rather lose my house, lose my job, lose anything really… before I'd want to do without Mr. Fuzzy. And you're up there with him. Try not to take it the wrong way."

   "No. I'm flattered. Let me ask you something. Why do you think it is, that you feel good around me?"

   "I don't really know. I know what love is, and I'd say I loved my dog growing up. Loved the family cat, too. I definitely love Mr. Fuzzy. So I'd say I loved you too."

   "You loved your parents."

   "Duh. Obviously. Family doesn't really count that way, of course you love your immediate family. That's the only people in your corner, when you're little."

   "In your corner. Do you realize, you characterize a lot of things, in terms of fight and conflict? Even your chess analogies, chess is a strategy game. In fact, the only time you don't use some kind of strategy or fighting analogy, is when you use math or science to explain something."

   "My view of life? One big conflict. Even when things are going good, you have to keep an eye on things. Someone or something, is usually plotting on you. You can't take things for granted. I don't."

   "And that? Is called… hyper-vigilance."

   "So. I'm paranoid, too?"

   "No. Paranoid, is when you suspect something constantly, for no reason. Hyper-vigilance, is just watching out carefully. Non stop. It's a byproduct of trauma."

   "Uh. We call that… situational awareness. Don't they teach you glow-niggers anything useful at the academy these days? Geez."

   Merry chuckled.

   "Yes. We call it that too. But when I'm not… working, we'll call it. There's no need. When you're not on the battlefield, you don't need to be hyper-vigilant. And hyper-vigilant, is more than just situational awareness. It's a constant slight nervousness. A slight anxiety, that never goes away."

   "It keeps a man alive, it keeps a man from getting hurt."

   "So, back to how I make you feel. Why do you think that is."

   "I really don't question things. It just is."

   "Try. What do you think makes you feel comfortable with me. The way you felt with your family dog, growing up."

   "I don't know. I just take it for what it is."

   "Well. Do you think maybe it's because you could just be yourself, around the dog? Around your cat. You didn't have to try to make them like you. Unconditional love. Unconditional acceptance. Just the way you are. They liked the real you."

   "Like I said, I just take things as they are. But yeah, I guess that would be it."

   "Don't you think that might be the reason why you're comfortable around me?"

   "If there has to be a reason for everything, then I guess so."

   Sitting there on the big log, she studied his face some.

   "You still have your light switch on, don't you?"

   "Yeah."

   "You, are getting better at keeping the lights on."

   "Yeah. When we're alone. When I get around people, the lights go off kinda automatically. I've been doing faces and body language most of my adult life, so that's automatic too."

   Talk drifted to other topics, and easier subjects. They were far enough off the road that they really didn't have to pay any attention to traffic at all. Even a car wreck likely wouldn't go this far off the road. Panic started looking around, slowly and silently. Merry quizzed him.

   "What is it, hun?"

   "Car. It didn't go by. It stopped."

   Panic stood up and looked around, and saw a car pulled off on their side of the road. Panic handed Merry the cell phone he was still holding, and took a few steps towards the road. It was a cop car. He waved, and waited to get waved at back. Instead, he heard a curt voice.

   "Come over here."

   Panic started to walk over, then stopped. He was still inside the brush line.

   "Why. I don't know you."

   "Get over here."

   "No."

   He didn't know the cop, and it was obviously a new one. He was kinda young, but it was his manner of speaking that was putting Panic off.

   "Excuse me?"

   "I said… no. Are you lost? Do you need something? I'd be happy to help you find it."

   "I'll ask the questions here."

   "Free country."

   "Gimme some ID."

   "No."

   "Where you coming from."

   "I was sitting here."

   "Well, where are you going."

   "That's none of your business, really."

   "Get the ID out. Now."

   "No. I'm on private property."

   The cop got out the car, and made a show of walking over to the edge of the road.

   "What's your name…"

   Merry started walking over now.

   "You. Get your ID out too. Both of you. Let's go."

   "Don't show him anything honey. He was just leaving."

   "No, I'm not. I'm working. Now, I need to see your ID. Both of you."

   "Why would you need my ID? I already got a girlfriend. I'm not really looking for a date, cute as you are, so…"

   "You need to quit with the attitude. I need to know who I'm talking to."

   "Really? Why's that."

   "Look. I'm on duty. You, are on private property, all right. And it's not your property, so. Try again."

   Panic held up one finger, then another as he counted off.

   "There's the property owner. Then? There's the property owner's agent. That's me. When the property owner isn't here? I'm in charge. And I want you, off the property. Now."

   "I don't believe this shit. Are you trying to get me to run you in? What's your fucking problem."

   Panic grinned.

   "We really didn't have a problem. Well, not until you showed up. Are you going to leave the private property? Or do I have to call one of the other cops, to get rid of you."

   "You need to keep your hands where I can see them. You! Stay where I can see you, too."

   "Listen to me carefully. No one called you. You're on private property. You're refusing to leave. That's all shits and giggles, but… you can just deal with me. And don't even think about putting your hands on her."

   "Don't threaten me."

   "That's not a threat. That? Is a promise."

   In the course of the ongoing back and forth, the cop made the mistake of poking Panic in the chest with his fingers a couple times.

   "Listen, buddy. You really need to stop assaulting me on my own property."

   "Why's that. Look. You show me some ID, you tell me what you're doing? You can probably go back to it. Why are you trying to start problems. I got other stuff to do. Let's get this over with."

   "This ends? Whenever you get bored and leave."

   "Yeah, right. Right now? I'm conducting an investigation. And I need to see your ID."

   "Hey honey? He's conducting an investigation."

   "Really? I wonder what he's investigating."

   "Trespassing on private property. Suspicious behavior."

   "Sitting and talking quietly, is suspicious to you? You really need your medication adjusted. Get off my property. Now."

   "Not until I get some ID. How am I supposed t---"

   "Listen, buddy. Maybe we c---"

   "My name is officer. Officer Staley. And I'm not your buddy, and I'm not your pal. And I'm getting sick and tired of the---"

   "Hey. B-u-d-d-y. I'm going to give you a chance to start over. You tell me your name? Then I'll tell you mine."

   "I already told you. My name, is Officer Staley. Now. Tell me your name. Or better yet, show me some ID, and I can read it for myself."

   "Really? Your mother named you Officer. Hey… Officer! Come home, it's dinner time! Really, that's a weird name. Did your parents do a lot of drugs or something?"

   "I've had it. Come over to the car. Let's go."

   "No. I already told you, to leave private property several times. No one called you out here. And you're acting like an asshole. I think it's about time you called your supervisor."

   "Yeah. We call my supervisor? When I say so."

   Merry chuckled.

   "I'm calling your supervisor. You gonna shoot me?"

   Panic quit the easy grin he had been wearing, and dropped his face for the man's benefit. He clearly didn't like it one bit. He wasn't the world's biggest guy, either. He started to get fidgety and nervous. Merry walked over and stood just back and to the side of Panic, and he suddenly realized that the girl was taller and heavier than he was as well. He didn't altogether like the look on her face, either. He put his hand on his gun, and curtly told Panic to stop "eyeballing" him. Panic just winked at him, and blew a silent kiss.

   "Honey? Are you calling someone, to come get this kid?"

   "I'm on it…"

   Merry had his phone up, and it was on speaker. They could all three hear it ringing.

   "Hey. What's up. Haven't heard from you in a while."

   "It's me. Merry. You busy?"

   "No, no. Just having lunch. Anything wrong?"

   "Not really. You got a new guy out in a car, right?"

   "Yeah. That'd be Marvin. The boys wanted to take turns going hunting, so… I get a part timer every year for hunting season. Another one of the boys is talking about going to school, so… the idea's kinda that he goes part time when school's in, and Marvin can pick up some part time off of that. Why do you ask?"

   "Me and Panic are out here, on the edge of George's property. And… Marvin pulled over and started giving us the business. Him and Panic really ain't getting along too well."

   The chief sighed audibly on the speaker.

   "I see. Is Marvin there right now?"

   "He is."

   "Could I talk to him?"

   "Sure. Marvin? It's for you. I think it's your supervisor."

   "Take me off of speaker."

   "You talk on our phone? You can talk on speaker. You want me to hang up on the chief, and you can call him yourself, fine."

   Marvin took the phone and held it.

   "Hey chief. I'm---"

   "Where are you?"

   "I'm… south end of town. Right after where the pavement turns into gravel."

   "Right. I'd ask you what side of the road you're on, but… both sides are actually private property there, in case you didn't know. What's your story, Marvin."

   "You told me to watch private property. I saw two people hiding in the underbrush, just off the road, on private property. I'm trying to investigate it, but they won't show me ID, and they're acting suspicious."

   The chief sighed again.

   "Marvin?"

   "Yes, chief."

   "This is a hunting camp town. What do you find suspicious, about two people sitting on private property, hmm? Tell me."

   "Well… they won't show me any ID, and they tried to throw me off the property, when all I needed was ID."

   "Marvin?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Are you on a call?"

   "No. I'm on routine patrol."

   "Right. You telling me, that you saw someone on private property, and you stopped and got out, and demanded ID?"

   "Well. I need to establish who they are, and what they're doing, so I c---"

   "Marvin. You're not on a call. I highly doubt you witnessed a crime. You got out, and you're trying to stop and ID people? Then, are you telling me they asked you to leave the private property, and you're still there?"

   Marvin didn't answer.

   Panic couldn't help piping up.

   "Marvin? The chief asked you a question."

   "Marvin. I thought I explained to you. This is a really small hunting town. If there's not a call, if you don't see an obvious crime, what are you supposed to be doing? Being polite. Helping people. I want the police to be polite and friendly here. So people come and talk to us. This isn't the inner city, we don't have that kind of relationship with the general public here. When you're not on a call? You're to be polite and helpful. You get out of your cruiser? It should be to help someone change a tire, help an old lady carry her groceries. We went over this. I can see we have to go over it again."

   "Chief… I need an ID, so I can establish who I'm deal---"

   "Marvin! Do you live around here?"

   "No."

   "No, you don't. How long have you been here, Marvin?"

   "Maybe two weeks, but---"

   "Marvin? You don't know anybody really. You can't go around stopping everyone you see, and demanding ID. Now listen to me carefully. You're not in any trouble, but… beam your ass down here to the diner, so we can have a little time out chat, okay? As luck would have it, I'm sitting down here, with the property owner and the property owner's wife as we speak. Having lunch. If you're nice? You can get a free sandwich outta this. Now… give the phone back to one of those people, would you?"

   Marvin handed the phone back to Panic.

   "Hey chief. It's me."

   "I'm sorry about this, Panic. He's new. It takes a little while to get them on board with the plan around here. Would you do me a favor?"

   "Sure."

   "Do you have your necklace on you?"

   "Yeah."

   "Would you mind showing it to him, before he leaves? I want him to see how silly he's being right now."

   "Okay, chief."

   Panic handed the phone back to Merry, and he unzipped his field jacket. He leaned in, and held out his FBI neck ID. Then reached inside, and pulled out his badge case. One half was his FBI consultant's ID, and the other had his federal carry permit. Another little case came out with the other hand, and he opened it up and held it in front of Marvin as well. It was his driver's license on one side, and his state carry permit on the other half. He clapped them all shut and put them back into his inner pocket, and took out a signed card.

   "Until I get my permanent ID, this one's valid too."

   "What is that?"

   "It's my class III FFL with endorsements, Marvin."

   The chief's voice cut back onto the phone.

   "Marvin?"

   "Yeah, chief."

   "Why are you still there? Come over here, enjoy a sandwich, and let those nice people go back to whatever the hell they were doing, before you stopped and started bothering them for no reason. No harm, no foul. Okay? We're going to have a nice talk about what private property means, because people take that seriously around here. I'll see you soon. Bye."

   Marvin walked back to the car, and now it was Merry who couldn't help herself. She twinkled her fingers at him, and sweetly said.

   "Bye, Marvin!"

   Marvin slammed the cruiser door shut, and peeled out into a 180. Some car honked that was coming the other way, and he squealed tires punching it and revving back towards town, quite pissed. Merry bopped her head against Panic's shoulder.

   "I guess we'd have known there was a new one in town, if we stopped down the donut shop more often."

   "Yeah. Did you get all that?"

   "Oh yeah."

   "I saw you were recording, even during the phone call."

   "Yep. I figured I'd take a page from JG's book. I flapped, right?"

   "Yes, dear. You flapped. Pigeon woman strikes. My god, is he a pain in the ass, or what."

   "Ah. He's new. The Chief said he'll explain it to him. I bet next time he sees you, he either apologizes, or just ignores you."

   "I'd rather be ignored. You wanna walk back now, Merry?"

   "Sure. You gonna save the video?"

   "Might as well, in case I have to have any more dealings like this with the new kid. Why?"

   "Oh. I was just thinking. Why don't you just send the video to the Chief? I mean, there's no telling what kind of a story he'll try to tell the Chief. What does JG say? If a picture's worth a thousand words…"

   "… a video is worth a million."

   He sent the chief the video, so he could see it before Marvin even showed up at the diner.

   They started walking back towards a deer trail that they knew quite well would lead them more or less directly to their own area of the camp.

   "Panic?"

   "Yeah."

   "Could you go for a sandwich?"

   "Honey, we just ate."

   "That's not what I meant. If we hustle, we could probably make it back to the diner."

   "We could, but… that would be gloating."

   "So? Let's gloat a little."

   "We'd have to really double time it to get the truck and make it."

   Merry smiled and sounded like a young tomboy, before she took off.

   "Last one to camp's a faggot…"

   Panic barely realized he felt half his age, racing her back to camp. They even started pushing and pulling each other, to determine who "won".