PART ONE – the Big Case

   He got up and met the man, and ushered him in. How was the drive. Meh.

   "You know Wiz, I don't think I'll ever get used to living and driving around in these flat states. I can't navigate without stuff to look at. If GPS ever fucks up? I'm gonna end up in Timbuktu."

   "How you been, Target."

   "Eh. Its a living. You?"

   "I try not to complain much."

   "Aw. You know God lets you live longer, if you complain."

   "Target? The world we live in, that's not that much incentive."

   He looked around at his surroundings.

   "The hell, Wiz."

   "What?"

   "Last time you told me, you said you were living in a dirt hole."

   "Oh, right. I moved."

   "I see. I thought you told me your GI bill barely covered shit, and…"

   "I found a better deal."

   "All right. You said you found a girlfriend that can put up with you."

   "That… would be Hurry."

   I waved as Wiz pointed at me.

   "The one with the ostrich legs? That's Light. This is Right."

   "Nice to meet you ladies. Everyone calls me Target."

   He shook all our hands.

   "You want anything? Heat you some food up. Coffee, pop… beer, something stronger…"

   "One coffee."

   I went to go make it and bring it to him. He took a seat on the couch as everyone adjusted their seating to make room for him.

   "So. Wiz. Catching up with you? Should be fun. Your call and the follow up email? Interesting."

   "You wanna go talk now…"

   "Ah. Its late. You still do morning PT?"

   "Yeah."

   "Get me up when you go for a run. We'll gab after."

   "Works for me."

   I got him his coffee.

   "You want milk, sugar…"

   "As long as it ain't decaffeinated, that shit will keep you alive longer. So… Wiz tells me you ladies all play soccer. Quite well, as a matter of fact."

   "We try to."

   Right asked why his nickname was Target.

   "Well, actually its French. Its supposed to be pronounced… Tar-GAY… but, everyone's illiterate, so that's how that goes."

   "Oh. So, you're French."

   "No. I'm kidding."

   "Oh… okay. So, why do they call you Target?"

   "Long, boring story. So… why do they call you Right?"

   She held out her right foot.

   "This one works better than the other one."

   "I see."

   Light raised her hand.

   "Light, is short for Little Lightning."

   Wiz pointed at me.

   "And that? Is the Hurricane. So, Hurry."

   "Does everyone go by an AKA? Wiz."

   "Yeah. All criminals need a street name. Target."

   "I'm gonna go get my bag…"

   He went out and came back with a dark green sleeping bag. It looked identical to my boyfriend's. Well, so did his giant military gear bag.

   Right looked at him and his stuff.

   "You were in the Army with Wizzy…"

   "Air Force. But yeah. We lived together."

   "Oh. You were a computer guy too?"

   "He's better on a computer than I am."

   I grinned. He was fairly slick at not answering questions. If you pressed him, I supposed he would. But… he politely deflected things when he could.

   "So… what do you do now that you're out?"

   "Mostly paperwork. Wiz?"

   "Yeah, Tar."

   "Where should I stow my gear."

   "Anywhere. Here. Our room. I can put you up in the basement if you need privacy, but…"

   "Got a few things I wanna keep locked up, that's all."

   "I got a footlocker for your personal stuff. Its in my room."

   "Well, let me hit that."

   "Come on. You need a shower, wash clothes…"

   "Nah. Did all that before I left."

   He led him upstairs, then he brought his duffel back down. I kinda knew what he was probably stowing in the footlocker. He was politely wanting somewhere to keep his gun and badge, I guessed. After some more idle chit chat, he asked if it was all right to use the couch. I ushered the other girls off to bed, so he could relax. They stayed up a little while, and I naturally stayed and sat with them.

   Well, I didn't sit with them. I sat apart. I was apart from him physically, as I sat in the easy chair while they sat together on the couch. I was apart from him emotionally, too. I didn't catch nearly any of their vibe. A lot of times when they laughed, reminiscing? Sure, I caught the easy humor that was spelled out as they remembered good times. Not many times, though.

   They had their own language. Took me a minute to figure out one funny moment was during morning PT. I could easily have figured it was during some training hike, because the conversation jumped around. Go-faster, I figured eventually, were jogging shoes. I was imagining lasers blinking like warning flashers on school buses, protecting the formation of men on their early morning PT jog around their area of the base. Because they had "Lackland Lasers" with them. Turned out that was flashlights, I was pretty sure. Made sense, I've seen ROTC at the university doing the super early morning jog, and they all have a weird little flashlight in their hands. Safety cones on the flashlight heads.

   "Target, its weird. I wake up sometimes, and just for a minute? I'm still in. Going to college? Just a dream."

   "When does that happen?"

   "I used to crash at my one buddy's dorm room? ROTC goes jogging at 5 am. Those cadences, the flashlights on the window… just for a second when I wake up? I missed PT, I'm in trouble. Then I remember… my heart jumps, then I can relax."

   This all told me, and I was barely putting it together, mind you… this funny story had happened during morning PT, and not on one of the weekend hikes he would accompany the MPs on. For fun. So I’m sitting there smiling. Nodding periodically and politely. Scrambling to figure out new vocabulary words from context. It made me feel not unlike a little kid trying to follow an adult conversation. All the words make sense, individually. Taken together? The way they use those familiar words to mean other things the adults all "get", is maddening.

   He tried to include me, and so did Target. Glancing my way, smiling to let me know the mean phrase was a joke. Nodding to let me know a punch line was on the way. Is this what its like to be "the little lady" a lot of women used to be like back in the day? A masculine man visits your own masculine man. You sit apart, and politely. Nodding and smiling a lot. Seen but not heard from much. An adult female, but like a child really. You can't barely follow the conversation. You know if you stop and restart them enough times, you'll ruin the flow and fun for them, so you sit back. Smile a lot.

   These men were close, very close. The warm handshake everyone saw was nothing. They hugged and clapped backs and clung for a brief tight embrace as one whispered something to the other, and he whispered something back. More back clapping, and they parted. Looked each other in the eyes. I was jealous. This was nothing homosexual, this was the bond between men that had done things together. It was probably nearly as deep as the bond I had with him. As deep, or possibly even deeper in some ways. Would I have that with him after 4 years? I could only hope. Christ. I'm jealous of another man, and my boyfriend is straight as an arrow. How silly am I.

   He had more time in with this man. He was 4 years older than I was, and this man was a couple years older than him. This man was the senior partner in their relationship, when wet towel snaps on a naked boy's butt in a dirty cement room, traded for a virgin make out session was the biggest thing on my mind. At the same moment in time, the same sun over my head was shining over their heads. He was training to throw "jacked up gorillas" around that would one day charge him. This man was above him in station and helping him learn to do it.

   This was what it was like to be a female. An actual female, the way nature intended us to be. Their combined protective male aura extended and permeated. It enveloped and surrounded the townhouse. I knew what it was like to feel comfortable around him, and that if anything threatening came near, he would be wary of it. See it approaching. Already prepared to deal with it. Reason with it, bargain with it. Threaten it if necessary, and even as a last resort? Use violence. I wasn't scared of his masculinity, I was comforted by it. A big, scary guard dog. I scratched his ears and tummy. I gave him treats. He loved his mommy. Anyone breaking in or running up to do me harm? Would see a very different "cute little puppy".

   This was another of the same type of man he was. Hyper masculine, but polite and gentle around women. Probably safe around small children and pets, just like he was. Lightning would probably report after a day or two? Aw. Another little Wizzy around the house. He's so cute and sweet, too. Lightning would love walking around with these two. One protective daddy figure on each arm. Let's see the next Mister Big and Little Asshole come for me now, huh. Light loves my big friendly guard dog. Here's his big brother from the previous litter.

   I keep forgetting, that as impressive as Wiz is and can be, he "ran with" the MPs. He wasn't actually one. This was the real deal. What Wiz did as a hobby? This man lived every day for his four years. I was no silly "girl power" dippy girl. Fed made up slogans and bumper stickers that meant nothing. As sweet and nice as Wiz was? You would suddenly see him fight coaching. You realized that your oversize house cat was no pet, that he was actually a predator. What most of the girls on campus thought of as a tough guy? He went through them like tissues, and he had to let them gang up on him, two and three to one. So he could get a workout, and not just be feeding his own ego, the ego he didn't even want. His ego, if he allowed it and courted it? Would take his edge away he had been granted.

   Now there were two of them in the room, and you could just taste it in the air. Some tang of testosterone. They exuded an easy confidence. Young local cops, could sometimes be snotty and filled with false confidence. Reminded you of a teacher's pet placed in charge when she left the room for a few moments. To write the names of those who talked on the chalk board. Smiling, cocky, too young or maybe even all wrong for a position of authority. Not these two. These were the quiet, confident state policemen that approached a carload of malcontents, and were still easygoing and confident.

   This was the FBI agent, I caught something he said that indicated it. The other two would be stopping in on Saturday night. Longer drive. They had barracks in adjacent jurisdictions. So, those were state policemen. From what I gathered, one was an investigator and wore plain clothes. The other, not. The investigator had requested the other one, a fellow MP's buddy to come with him.

   For at least a time? There would be four of these guard dogs here, gathered. The aura of two was impressive, I couldn't imagine a gaggle of four of them. I realized, there had once been a building full of these where Wiz had been for four years. When all the tough guys that were in the service got together and got rowdy, these were the guys routinely called in to calm things down. Wiz himself had the chilling effect on "trouble" coming near the hot tub and disrupting the festivities. I could taste in the air what having two of them was like. Four of them? All mouthy "bad boys" would check their morale, and find something they had forgotten to do, and had just remembered it.

   The hell had a small building of these things been like? Yeah. Cute Latinas. The apartment building packed with a bunch of these, a building full of them while working and between shifts. They of course had their own bar somewhere nearby. Where some locals figured out that if you were quiet and nice to them? All bad things took one sniff upon entering, looked around… you know? Just not my crowd.

   Yeah. They had their own crowd. Cute Latinas came in, and liked the friendly guard dogs. That one quiet, polite gringo that runs with these? He hablan espanol, muy bien. After some quiet conversation, all polite. He would politely ask her… ustedes tiene pescas michas? Yeah, she giggled. Nodded and winked. Put her head on his shoulder. When she asked for more sweet nothings? He smiled. Yo deseo, usted, en suelo. I want you on the floor. Out of tense, verb not conjugated correctly? But, somehow that made it better. Another smile. Another nod. And yeah, I wished I was a Latina and I had been there. The tough but sweet gringo? You had to urge him to do it, he was a gentleman… but then? He'd use you for a hole like you wanted and ride you rough. I felt a silly urge to learn Spanish words.

   These guys didn't like the turbo-slut regular uniformed girls, all strutting around, men carrying their packs. Playing soldier because playing princess got old. Girl power bumper stickers on their heavy backpacks they tossed onto the nearest big guy to hump for them. Then pouted and preened like they were something special. No, these guys had their own MP's bar. A few green queens only. A gaggle of cute Latinas that had figured out where “the good stuff" was really located on the weekends.

   I remembered him talking about how they sent girls out that were dressed like sluts, and would walk around pretending to be drunk and wandering at 4 in the morning exactly where they shouldn't. And that those girls had handguns and were actually wicked with them, and completely unafraid to use them correctly. Then, it crossed my mind what he had said about humans.

   No one can resist it, when you use the correct bait.

   The MPs had a few of their own green queens. Girls like me. That they knew carried their own heavy packs. That were as good with the handguns as the men were. They took them, dressed them up like turbo-sluts out drunk, and they staggered around walking paths on the weekend nights. Bait. Bait that couldn't wait to ventilate you at center mass several times, if the backup didn't make it there in time. Nobody was unhappy with the outcome when the rapist got baited in, took the bait, then found out it was poisoned. Everyone was tickled pink. The girls around the base? Were safe again. Safe to sport "girl power" bumper stickers on their heavy packs they didn't have to carry.

   The couple of green queens that looked good enough and were still fit enough to dress up in hooker boots and wham bam and ripped up get lucky? And were lethal with the cute little gun and had no problem using it? Very few of those. They probably cycled them around the bases, plying their trade. Quietly providing an "optimum outcome" for everyone. That, was another one of his cute puns I stopped him speaking to marvel at. An optimum outcome. A dead rapist, when you're being practical about everything? Optimum, really.

   Yeah. This was the atmosphere where Wiz found a monster. Tracked it and got it alone. Then made it so the monster had to learn to talk and walk again. Another "optimum outcome". I once asked Wiz about cops. Since he had been all but one, and lived and worked around them. How are they heroes, and criminals. Loved, hated.

   He said, smiling. We're basically the garbage men. We prowl your streets at 4am, and we take out the garbage. We get the stink of the garbage on us. We can't be too clean, too nice, too gentle. We have to throw the garbage in the truck and squish it and make it go away. We'll never get all the garbage, but? We make it so life, such as it is, goes on. So yeah, a few of the garbage men turn into garbage from being around the element. Those are the few bad apples that give the whole barrel a bad name.

   He explained. You have a crack house. Every area has one. The actual good cop? As the system sees him. Obeys every rule, dots every I, crosses every T. He's a boy scout. Never smoked a joint, probably drinks coffee instead of beer. Doesn't understand staying out after curfew. He has to be told there's crack in that house, right there. Oh. Now? He can't go in. Because he needs a reason, he needs this, he needs that. The criminals exploit this, and the crack house might as well put up a neon sign, flashing "crack!" for all the world to see. Everyone knows.

   Actual bad cops? Get paid to look the other way. They get nice things for them and their family. Influence to peddle among their friends.

   Someone, has to do something. I asked what that was? He smiled. Oh… start a little fire on the front porch at 4am. Now, a sympathetic cop just happens to be driving by. Just happens to see. Oh. Fire. He now has to report it and call it in. The right firemen are on duty. They show up. Now? The cop has no choice, but to clear the house. He's required to do a safety check, with the firemen, and search every inch and nook and cranny of the house. The crack house. Its a coffee can with a piece of newspaper in it on the front porch. A glorified tiki torch of no safety violation whatsoever.

   Now? The crack "found" can be taken. The people in the house? Arrested and interrogated and run through the system. Were the rules followed? Technically. Is it legal? No, but you can't prove it. And no one but a complete idiot wants to push the issue. Its either that? Or… they might as well hang the neon sign up. Another crack house will replace that one shortly, and it goes around again. Garbage men. Prowling the streets at 4am. Taking out the garbage. Yeah, the stink of the garbage gets on some of you.

   He wanted out of it. He could do it, and it surprised him. You grow up dreaming of being one of a group of men like these, having your own bar with cute Latinas on your lap. Yeah. There's perks. There's also shit aspects of the job and the life it brings. He wanted to go back to his computers and books and classrooms. He took a few monsters down. Compared A and B lives having sampled 4 years of each. He doesn't mind being Toot. Being Toot? Its the lesser of two evils.

   He sat with him as they talked, and Target laid back and crossed his ankles. Adjusted the pillow. Some more idle talk for which I didn't stay, and he soon joined me in bed. They're boys. If they wanna laugh about that one time, that the Latina that usually didn't do that… had some extra tequila shooters… then did? Fine. They mean nothing by it. Perfectly normal male behavior, and a wise girl like me knows to let them go.

   In bed, now that the townhouse was quiet and I had him to myself? I rolled on top of him in bed. It wasn't so very late, really. I dangled a pair of short chained handcuffs at him. He wanted to know what those were for. I shrugged and pouted. I'm a cute Latina, see my dark tan? I'm up to no good. Shouldn't I be handcuffed. Then wouldn't I need searched and very thoroughly, too. After all, I could have weapons or drugs on me, practically anywhere.

   I'm sexually dominant. I direct the action. I get what I want. This is my private property, and it does what I want it to do. Doesn't mean I'm on top every single time. In fact… sometimes… like now, for instance.

   I got handcuffed. Searched, and very thoroughly. A slow full cavity body search, and he left no stone not turned. Gloves and everything. He did, in fact, come up with illegal drugs. A marijuana cigarette, and it was quite cleverly "hidden". I was a very naughty girl. What were we going to have to do about this? This can't be tolerated. Now of course, we could. Maybe. Work something out. He did after all, want to help me. He called it working something out. All I heard? Was working something in.

   First thing? We have to get rid of the evidence. He would be nice, and help me dispose of it. So, with my wrists handcuffed behind my back, he held it for me while we shared big hits… and slowly got rid of the evidence. Then though, I had promised to keep my end of the bargain up. Slow and quiet, but a little rough, too. Around the world. After all, what girl doesn't like to travel and see the world, right?

   I thanked him quietly the entire time. For being so understanding. For helping me out of my jam. For teaching me a lesson, for being such a bad girl that should know better. I had to promise that I learned my lesson, and that I would never, ever do it again.

   I lied.

   Little Lightning went to sleep in her room by herself. Well, not entirely by herself. She had her Teddy Ball, and his new adopted little brother… Little Teddy. She also had us, right down the hall and Right in the next room. I had gotten the little bit of attention I needed, so I didn't feel ignored. That Little Lightning was stealing my thunder. I knew she wasn't and I didn't feel like that. But this prevented that from happening. I fell asleep after the firm but fair "dirty" cop let the "bad" girl go.

   A ticking sound at the door woke one of us up, and I'm not entirely sure which one it even was. It was Light. She came in and sat in my study desk chair for a little while. Then, she stretched and got tired again, and crawled into bed with us. This was routine, and we all fell back asleep.

   Ritual.

   In the morning, Light sneaked back into her room before the alarm clock. I got Right up, and I got Light up too. Rolling my eyes at the games we all have to play. Everyone in our circle outside the townhouse, thinks me and Lightning are sharing Toot, Wiz, Wizzy… as our boyfriend and neither of us minds and furthermore we all seem to like it. We all know, we being me, Light and my boyfriend. Right… might know.

   Maybe she knows. Maybe she suspects but sort of buys the therapy and problems story. Which is a true story and therefore easy to believe. Maybe she suspects or even sort of knows, and just pretends to buy the therapy problems story. Or maybe… hell. I just don't want to have that conversation if I don't have to. If we just never have it, its good. If Right were to just make a few jokes to let me know she knows or so strongly suspects that its like knowing? It could become perfect.

   We were plus one for breakfast, and Target got to talk with his eyes to Wiz. Leg show every morning. Nice. Wiz answered back, and his smile said it for him. Yeah. It is nice. Right was slightly less than her usual frivolous self. No patriarchy girl power lectures. Oh, that's right. She smelled another "Army boy" and knew from experience they didn't go in for that claptrap.

   She ended up asking Target what he did again. He couldn't go the "mostly paperwork" tap dance forever.

   "Right, right?"

   She giggled. Everyone used that pun as if they were the first clever word play person to figure that one out. Her slit eyes and tilted head and easy smile said, you know? Never heard that one before.

   "I… was an MP in the Air Force. Me and Wiz here? We lived in the same building. I'm guessing you know MPs are Military Police."

   "Yeah. You're like Wizzy. An ex Mil Pig."

   He chuckled.

   "Wizzy told you we're Mil Pigs, huh? I can see that. Now, did he tell you the rest of the joke? Why we're called that."

   "Cops… pigs… military cops… Mil Pigs."

   "What do pigs eat, Right?"

   "Um… pig chow?"

   "Well, I never raised pigs. They might. But, in most people's minds… pigs eat garbage. Also, I think everyone's heard that you shouldn't pass out with your fingers in the pigpen. They'll nibble your fingers off. Pigs will eat humans. Mil Pigs? Eat… human… garbage. We chew them up, and shit them out. I know, such pleasant breakfast table talk. But… Mil Pigs. Its not… if you call a civilian cop a pig? That's usually an insult. But, calling an MP a Mil Pig? Flattery will get you everywhere."

   "How old are you?"

   "Uh… let's see. The earth cooled. Then, when I was young, dinosaurs. Great grandpa was one of the first chimps to walk upright. Grandpa was an actual cave man, my own dad actually invented the oppose-able thumb… that would make me, about… oh… gonna be 28. Why?"

   "No reason. So… what do you do…"

   "I was Military Police. Four years. What would you guess I did for a living?"

   "Cop."

   "Unfortunately? Yeah. Now, Right? There's two kinds of cops. The one kind? Pain in the ass to work with, bigger pain in the ass after work to have around. You know the kind. No one else is allowed to have any fun, because they think they're not allowed to have fun. You know that kind of cop?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Well… I'm the other kind."

   And he made a silly face, to show he meant it.

   "So Wiz. You're getting soft on me."

   "How's that."

   "PT, if it comes at all, is after breakfast, after the sun's up? Lazy bastard."

   "Aw, eat your chicken shit and shut your gob."

   "You know, if you'd learn how to tell chicken shit from eggs? You could get somewhere with this cooking thing."

   "Uh huh. Just what I needed. Another smart ass in the house."

   "Better than a dumb ass. Must be a nice change. Just saying."

   "Hmm. We… wouldn't… know now, would we."

   They both chuckled as they did this. Christ, this was like having Lightning and Right snipping for fun with each other, and enjoying it. The girls were enjoying the show.

   Right waited another minute.

   "So… you married?"

   I didn't jump her, but…

   "Right! Would you let the nice man finish his breakfast before you ask to check his teeth like a horse? Gee."

   "Just making conversation…"

   He sighed, then smiled.

   "Online? You used to check off what you were. Male or female. Now, these days? There's other stuff to check off. They call it progress."

   "Oh. You're gay. Gotcha."

   Wiz and Target both about spit eggs out.

   "No dear. Not gay. Just an example. Well, you also used to check off online. Single, married, divorced. Today's world being what it is? You can check off another one. Its complicated. Its complicated, is right in between married and divorced."

   "Oh. So, which one are you."

   I did it again, but laughing a little.

   "Right!"

   "I'm asking. He brought it up…"

   "I check off… its complicated these days. Now. There's two kinds of guys. One kind, sits around and talks about the past, and whines and cries and bitches about it. Then, there's the other kind of guy. Kind doesn't do that. He goes out, and lives life and doesn't let it bother him. I'm that kind."

   "Oh. Cool. So… what happened."

   "You're an inquisitive little thing, aren't you. Well. Since you're writing a book and all. High school. Air Force. MP 4 years. Back to the real world. Dated. Got married. Pretty standard life plan, really."

   "Yeah. Except for the last part, right?"

   "Well, yeah. Wife? Waitress. Apparently, its demeaning to make your husband a sandwich. But? Its not demeaning, to make sandwiches for strangers. And, to get yelled at by some other guy? For her to make those sandwiches quicker. Which makes no sense to me. Now. As a good husband? I have to have a job. A good job, means I have to spend some amount of time, doing that job. With me so far, Right?"

   "Yeah."

   "Now. You know how on TV talk shows, these… egg spurts tell you shit like, oh… you have to balance your work and your home life? Money isn't that important, its people that matter. You should just… take a few days off now and then, smell the roses. Sure you've heard this speech before, eh? Its always in the magazines, too."

   "Yeah."

   "Well. I guess magazine writers, and the people that make their living sitting around on TV talk shows… must have very different jobs than I have. I'm a special agent at the FBI. I can't just… take a few days off work, in the middle of the week. Because some clown on TV or writing some article, thinks that's the in thing to do this month. I can't just… not answer the phone in the middle of the night, or on the weekends. You know how on TV… the phone rings, the man is just about to answer it… the woman puts her hand on the phone gently, and he doesn't pick it up. He? Chooses her… and, they play the happy music, everyone learned an important life lesson, and the happy music plays, the couple walks barefoot in the park and smells roses because they learned how to balance work and home life."

   "Yeah. I think I seen that movie. About a hundred times."

   "Well? Special agents at the FBI don't have that option. I'd like to, I really would. But… when the phone rings, I have to pick it up. If I have to go at 4 in the morning, or on the weekend. I have to go. Now, on the talk show, in the article? Someone says… you have choices, every day. That work on the phone? Hey, it'll be there Monday morning. Choose life, choose people, I say. And, the audience claps and cheers. Well? I'd like to see that lady having a serious problem. She calls the FBI. And they tell her. Sorry lady, our agent in charge of that? He's balancing his work and home life, just like you told him on that talk show. He's right now walking barefoot in the park, smelling roses with the wife, like you said to do in your bestselling book. So? He'll be in Monday. Maybe… you told people to just… oh, take a couple days off now and then, its fine. So? Agent Target will see you? When he sees you."

   Right was giggling. He interjected a lot of mild sarcasm and humorous voice and hand motions into his explanation. He was good at this. Reminded me of… Wiz. I wondered which one learned it off of the other, or if they maybe both learned it off of… the dead mentor who changed lives while he still had his own.

   "So. You're cute, and you're funny. And… you have an important job. The waitress watched too many talk shows."

   "Something like that. Now, ask Wiz if you don't believe me. I got a sense of humor about shit, I really do. So, while I'm getting told what an asshole I am, for having a good job and taking it seriously. There's these… magazines laying around. She always has some… zinger to hit me with. Tells me, I should try reading these magazines, maybe I could learn a thing or two about what's important. So? I did. Know what I found out?"

   "You read the women's magazines."

   "Hell yeah. This is my life. This is my wife. She's unhappy. Yeah, I'll read the magazines. Anyways, every zinger and argument we're having? Oh, its all right out of these articles."

   "So something happened."

   He laughed.

   "Yeah. Some lawyer in the city? He… gets her. I mean, he gets her all right. On lunch break. He… understands her. Because he's a lawyer? He understands her, in a very classy way, too. When you drive a BMW, you're classy. And, apparently he… gets her… in the bathroom at the diner she waits tables at. For lunch. Very classy. I don't even know how the logistics of that even works. I guess my wife is having her face shoved in the toilet bowl, while the lawyer… understands, and… gets her? I don't know. But, I'm an asshole. So… I pay what's called "spousal support". Which is what they call it, when you're wife is tired of bending over the toilet, and wants to bend over in the BMW instead."

   "You have to pay her for cheating on you?"

   "Oh yeah. I'm… basically paying the lawyer, that was banging her in the bathroom? To bang my wife. Now. If she comes back? I'm expected to love and support her. If she wants divorced? Well, then I'll pay alimony. Either way? I'll pay. Except? If the lawyer marries her… in which case, I don't have to pay alimony. So, I'm hoping she bends over the toilet just how he likes, real classy like, so I get out of all this shit."

   "That sucks. What kind of lawyer is he?"

   "Oh. Divorce lawyer…"

   We all about spit food out. You try not to laugh, but… his delivery is funny, and he knows he's making a joke out of it.

   "You asked. That's what… its complicated means. In my case, anyways."

   "Aw. You poor thing. You don't deserve all that. So… how about you. Are you, complicated too?"

   "Ha. I'm a man. And men? Are not complicated. Ask any one of us."

   "Okay. I'll ask you. What do men want."

   "Pffft. Sandwich, blowjob once a week… If the phone don't ring? Maybe watch a Sunday ball game, god forbid. And I guess, for lawyers to not shove our wife's face into the toilet bowl at work. And then, just cause I'm an asshole, you know? Once a year, I wanna go hunting. I'm a guy, I'm not complicated."

   "So… why are you always a cop. MP, then FBI. Always a cop."

   "Well… see, cavemen used to have a job. I guess all the cavemen had the same job. Go hunting. Make spears, I guess. Some dinosaur tries to come into the cave and eat your wife and kids and fellow cavemen? You all jab him in the ass with spears. That was a guy's job. We didn't have divorce lawyers back then, and all the wives were happy to make dinosaur sandwiches. Was it perfect? Hell no. Mainly on account of the dinosaurs, I suppose… but… it was a system. And? Every caveman, had the same job. What I'm trying to say is, the job men had? Mattered. It was… important. Makes a guy feel like… he matters, he's doing something that matters. If you're following that."

   "Yeah. I am."

   "Great. Well, I had an uncle. He was a cop. Now, he would tell the stories like they were. Not just the good ones. But he said. Every once in a while? You get to… find that little girl wandering alone in the woods, lost. You bring her back with your coat wrapped around her. Cause she almost froze to death. The mom? So happy and relieved she's crying tears of joy. And in that moment, if only once in a while? You matter."

   "So, you joined the Air Force."

   "Yeah. Then, like third day or something. They show you this film. The action music is playing. These guys are jogging together. They're doing push ups. They're throwing each other over their shoulders onto a big mat, working out. And that music's playing. And the voice… if you, think you, can do this? Walk up front and ask to try out. Your Air Force? Needs you. Make a difference."

   "Aw. So you did it."

   "Yeah. Went to states in high school, wrestling. Guys are jogging and playing on mats, you know. Hey, I did that. I was decent at it. My uncle? Hey, I wanna make a difference, there I go. Now, I get out? Turns out, MPs don't have that many career options. But, if you wanna be a cop? We kinda go to the head of the class, being a cop. See, if you're a cop, its a big deal to get picked to be FBI or state police. MPs? They look for us."

   "Well. I think that's nice. You… actually wanna make a difference."

   "That's the idea, anyways."

   "So, what kind of FBI agent are you?"

   "Take out the garbage. That's all. Human garbage."

   "You arrest people, you don't sit in an office all day."

   "I spend my time in offices. Believe me. But yeah, we have guys that never leave the office. We have guys that are called field agents. I'm a field agent. So? I get to leave the office."

   "Hmm. What kind of… garbage do you pick up?"

   "We work in different divisions. We all share and work with each other, but we kind of specialize in our own thing. You know what vice is? If I was a city cop, my job would be vice."

   "Drugs."

   "Not just drugs. Corruption, prostitution. Smuggling humans. White slavery. To round out my dance card, toss in pedophiles, kiddie porn. You know, all the fun stuff people can't wait to deal with. Most of it overlaps with organized crime in some way, too. Like I said. I take out the garbage. Human garbage."

   "You have kids?"

   "Not that I don’t like kids around, or even wouldn't want my own kid or two one day? But… no. Thank god. Or… its complicated, would be a little more complicated. As it is? That case can eventually get… solved. Just have to ignore it long enough? It'll go away."

   "You miss your wife?"

   "Eh. Maybe a little. For a little while. But… you walk into the women's rest room at the diner, instead of the men's room… on accident, mind you. I would never do a thing like that on purpose, believe you me. Oops. And… you don't miss them after that. All it takes? Is to see how its done… when you have some… class. See, the lawyer? He had class. What I was told anyways. Apparently, its a classy move, to shove someone's head into the toilet bowl in a public restroom. Now, I realize I just don't have that kind of class. I'm just a regular guy. I can't give her that… extra classy thing she needs."

   "Yeah. A thing like that, would cure you missing her."

   "Well. That? And I got a dog. I gave up the nicer apartment, I paid extra for. So she could live classy, you know. Found an apartment more my style. Less classy. Because? I'm just not cut out for classy. No, this place? So not-classy, they let me have a dog. So? I have a not-classy apartment, and a dog. Now… the dog? He's fucking cool. We eat sandwiches together, and watch the ball game on Sundays. The wife hates dogs, which really works out great for everybody."

   "But… if she comes back…"

   "The hell would I want her back for?!?! Weren't you listening? She takes it in public bathrooms, bent over public toilets. No way do I want that back in my life. See, now if she would try to come back, maybe I have a weak moment and think about it? Now, I live in an apartment building that has dogs. Rare in the city. Everybody there, has dogs. You can hear dogs barking, you see people walking dogs. She hates dogs. Now? I'm all set."

   "I like dogs. What kind of dog is he?"

   "Well. He's a big dog. See, the FBI? We arrest garbage. Sometimes, people don't wanna be arrested. I mean, I don't know why, getting arrested looks like fun. But, some don't. Now, some people are more serious about not getting arrested than others. So, we have SWAT teams. You know, guys to blow the doors and go in like on TV. So… the SWAT teams, each team has these SWAT dogs. He was one of those. Great fucking dog."

   "Oh. He's… old, he retired."

   "No. Kinda young. Poor bastard got shot. So, he's not a SWAT dog anymore."

   "Aw. Poor baby. He, like, lost a leg or something?"

   "Oh, no. He recovered. He's fine."

   "Well… if he's not too old, and he didn't get hurt too seriously…"

   "Uh. See. He got popped. He got the guy that popped him though, they said that. He took the guy down and ragged him to hell and back. I mean, good for you, dog."

   "Sounds like a great… SWAT dog."

   "Yeah… except… I guess after he got shot? They didn't know until the next raid on the dance card. Dog checks out, he's fixed up. He qualifies again. He goes on his next raid… he's not allowed to be a SWAT dog anymore."

   "Why? Oh… he's scared to get shot now."

   "Uh, no… kinda the opposite problem."

   "Huh?"

   "They go in. If he sees anyone with a gun? He… well, go figure. He goes nuts on them. And he won't listen, he keeps ragging the guy. I guess it took a couple guys to pull him off the last one. They had to retire him. He's… you could say, he's too good at his job. Overqualified, I call it. So now? We eat pastrami sandwiches together on Sundays, watch the games."

   "You like the dog more than your wife."

   "Oh… hell yeah. I mean, let's keep score here. The wife? Needed a… classy apartment. Cause, you know… diner waitresses? Need that. The dog? Hell, rent's hundreds a month cheaper, at the place that lets me have a dog. Now. I wasn't getting any pastrami sandwiches before anyways, I had to make my own. So… I ain't out anything there. I'm making my own pastrami sandwich anyways, I just make the dog one too. He likes pastrami, by the way. Now… the dog doesn't blow me. Plus, its a boy dog, that would just be weird. Of course? The wife wasn't blowing me either. Again, I ain't out anything. And the dog, well… I ain't yet come home and found him bending over the toilet bowl getting it from a lawyer. Dog don't read magazines and watch weird talk shows and bitch about stupid shit, neither. I'm ahead of the game, from where I was before."

   "Hmm. I guess so."

   "Hell yeah. Ah, I spoiled him. I let him up on the furniture. Sleep in the bed. He sits at the kitchen table, on his own chair, and eats off a plate like I do."

   Right was calculating with her finger in the air… imagining this.

   "Um. Dog. Sits on the chair at the table. Eats off a plate at the table. He stands on the chair, puts his paws on the table. To reach the plate…"

   "No. I'd of said that. He sits. On his ass and balls, like I am now."

   "Well, how does he reach the…"

   "Oh. Yeah. He's not small. He's big enough, he can reach the plate, while sitting down."

   "What kind of a dog is he?"

   "He's a mix. You know what a pit bull looks like?"

   "Yeah. They're not that big."

   "Well, he's not a pit bull. Looks exactly like one? Just a little bigger. See, apparently one parent was a Stafford-Shire Terrier. Which is what a pit bull really is. They come from England, we just call them pit bulls here on this side of the pond. In England? They were the Stafford-Shire Terrier. Same dog. But, the other parent? Was a Bull Mastiff. Which is a tall, long dog. Same head as a pit bull, just not as thick and muscular."

   "A mutt."

   "Well. Apparently, where they were breeding these special dogs. I guess someone got out one night… had a little doggy style no one knew about… and… the pups came out, different ones had different characteristics of either parent. His name's Bull, I call him Bully. He's… as tall and as long as a Bull Mastiff. Which if you look it up? Is a big, long dog. And, he's got the size, thickness, and those weightlifter muscles of a pit bull. All told? He's basically a 190 pound pit bull."

   "Got pictures of your dog?"

   "Oh, yeah… here…"

   He had pictures on the cell phone. Movies. Bunch of them, actually. He spent the next five minutes showing her all about his "Little Bully". How he took the dog with him "furniture shopping". They went to the second hand place, and him and the dog tried out big old sofas, until they found something they both seemed to enjoy being on. He got that one. Took the dog "car shopping" too. Dog wanted to get into used cop cars, go figure. So? He bought a used cop car and had it fixed for a few little issues. Since the FBI has a fleet of cop cars, and mechanics for them… and used parts off of wrecked ones… things worked out fairly good.

   Right made the wisecrack that it was too bad his wife had ruined him for other women. Target laughed. He had that infectious and genuine laughter, even broader and more appealing than Wiz's own. Might be where he got that from, who even would know.

   "Oh no, honey. Being ruined, for all time? That's for little bitches. I just have a list of specifications, I guess you'd call it… for the next Mrs. Target. You, for instance. You over 18?"

   "I'm 19. Almost? 20…"

   Lightning cackled.

   "Yeah… in about a year…"

   "Shut up over there. I'm having a nice conversation here, you stay outta this."

   Light giggled and put her hands up.

   "I'll be 20."

   "See? You meet the age requirements. Anything 18 or over. On account of I arrest pedophiles and all, I kinda gotta insist on that one. Now. Can you make a pastrami sandwich."

   Light couldn't help it.

   "Oh. You need her to cook? This is just… fascinating…"

   "Shut up!"

   Right kept her composure.

   "I know how to make a sandwich. I just don't exactly know what pastrami is, is all."

   "Yeah. You need to know where pastrami comes from. I'll educate you on that. Now, pastrami… you go to the store. They have sandwich meat. All sliced. You say… you got any pastrami? They say yes, you say I'll take a pound of it. Hell, get two pounds. They wrap it up, give it to you. You bring that home… now, you have to keep it away from a 190 pound dog. That's the hard part, but, then you're home free. Now. You take bread. Wheat or better yet rye. You put some sliced pastrami, which is that stuff in the package they gave you? On the bread. If you're not sure? Always go with another slice. There's no such thing as too much pastrami here. Add some Swiss. Swiss cheese, the place with the pastrami? Get a pound of that, too. Put the other piece of bread on it. Well… you need beer mustard. Same place? Has that too. You just slab some on both pieces of bread."

   "I can do that."

   "Okay. You pass the age requirements. You can cook, for all I need. You seem to like dogs, you pass the animal test. Still stuff left. Now, there's a class test."

   "What's that."

   "Are you classy?"

   "I… could be."

   "Nope, all wrong. Classy broads? They bend over toilets in public restrooms, let strange lawyers rail em there. All wrong for me. I need a broad who ain't classy, at all. On account of I ain't got no class. So, you'd have to not have any class, to pass the class test. See? Its a trick question. Have you ever been accused, of having class, being classy?"

   Lightning sputtered and suppressed a laugh.

   "Pffft…"

   "Never been accused, of being really classy, no."

   "There you go. Now. There's travel requirements."

   "Hmm."

   "I go hunting once a year. Sometimes, on account of I'm a major asshole? I go fishing, too. You could stay home. No lawyers though… or, you go fishing and hunting."

   "I fished before. I don't hunt."

   "You can just sit in a log cabin. Hand me a bag of pastrami sandwiches, pretty much all that takes."

   She shrugged.

   "Communications test. There's a phone. It rings. Hey. We found dead people. Drugs and dead hookers all over the house. You need to get to this address, pronto. Now, I have to go. When the dinosaurs get up to their tricks? Caveman gotta grab his spear, and go jab them in the ass you know. There's that."

   "What girl in her right mind, keeps a guy from going to work?"

   "See? You pass all basic requirements, to be the next Mrs. Target, little lady. Congratulations. You're… one blowjob a week, away from being proposed to."

   "One?"

   "That was the average."

   "What do I get for two or three a week."

   "What am I, some kind of machine? You're trying to kill me. Okay, you're allowed to blow me… twice a week. But that's it… and that's final."

   "What. I don't have to dress up like a dog or anything?"

   "No. Just lay there, and call me an asshole while I'm doing all the work. Pretty much what I'm used to, anyways…"

   "What happens if I move around…"

   "I don't understand the concept. I mean, you might move around too much, you might not call me an asshole the whole time. I might not like that. But, you seem like a nice girl. Here's what I'll do. I'll give you a few free samples, we'll see how you do. But… you only get so many, then you have to marry me. I'm a cow baby, and if I keep giving the milk away for free…"

   We are over here dying with laughter. Light is sputtering holding her hands over her mouth, I'm getting ready to either bust out laughing or start slapping the table. Wiz is chuckling, I guess he knows these routines out of him.

   I noticed a few things though. He straight out said it. I can't wait to get divorced, and off of the its complicated checkbox. I don't sit around crying over spilled milk, I'm not a little bitch. Pretty much? If you're cute enough, and can put two pieces of bread together? He can live with it. He also was one of those guys who straight out told you what to expect. I'm not fucking complicated, here's how easy this is. I go hunting and fishing, once each per year. You can stay at home, you can go with, see nothing's going on. Just don't fuck people in public bathrooms, for the love of all that's holy.

   And another thing. He's fairly charming. You don't see it coming, either. He seems to be carping about his ex wife, and before Right realizes it, he's turned it around. He's also very sly and slick. He's talking to a 19 year old college athlete, and Right is not an ugly girl. If you like 5'10", and fit? Well, he seemed to. One thing about the entire girls soccer team, everything else about them physically aside. For the most part, every one of them has great legs. She was maybe teasing him, or maybe not. Either way, he's fine with the conversation. But? If she wants free samples, they're there.

   Oh. And talk about straightforward. If I like how you fuck me, and you can make a pastrami sandwich? You can get married and live in the city. Anything's better than what I had. Not to mention. I'm sure in the back of his mind, if he pulled this trick off? His fellow agents would think he was a genius. Got rid of the crazy ex, and installed a 20 year old college athlete in her place.

   He's charming. He's likable. Great conversationalist. He's very smart, although probably not at calculus IV like Wiz, but… his brain is moving fast. He's one step ahead the whole conversation. He's almost certainly slick with interviewing suspects as well.

   And another thing, the hits just keep coming. My Wiz ran with guys like this. They don't just shake his hand? They hug him. He's the mascot, he's one of them. Wiz isn't having some buddies over for a beer and talking about the old days, either. He's calling in the Roman army. These guys have authority. They're physically tough and intimidating. They have badges, handcuffs and guns. I've just seen from a first sample? They're smart. Charming. Slick and sly. Bold and confident.

   If they at all like what they see? They might decide to keep an eye on the "case", and take a run at it. If I was a bad guy, running a small town to suit myself? I wouldn't want a pack of guys like this, eyeing me up and coming for me. From everything I've ever heard and can gather or even infer? These guys don't exactly all play by the rules. And, of those that don't? They probably have no problem looking at their cell phone for a few minutes while the next guy over that can? Does.

   Conversation stayed humorous, light and friendly throughout breakfast. When Right said something further and did giggle hair flip, giggle hair flip? Target acted.

   "Hey. What about that PT, huh? Come on, come on… let's go, let's go…"

   Wiz can run us to death for the morning workout, which is great. He's a long distance runner and he's been doing it for years. He ran track in junior high and high school. The mile run. He played soccer and admitted he more or less sucked at it, judging by how much playing time he got. But, he ran 10K races on his own initiative. Then, four years in the military. Jogging every morning. Jogging more on his own, as he had in high school. Though we were athletes, we had more sprint to us than long distance. Target was more like us than Wiz. He said as a wrestler before the military, speed was as important as wind. Wiz was always about the long run.

   So, Wiz ran all of us to death to start the workout like every other morning, and we had Target as a plus one. When we all took a break, the big change happened. Me and Right and Lightning, got to practice together while those two walked laps and gabbed. Whether they were just talking catch up and doing sweet bullshit, or getting an initial look-y loo at the possible case? I didn't have any way of knowing.

   They came back and sat on the wall and took a break, and gabbed some more. Watched us practice for more gabbing. Body language and educated guessing told me it was some serious, and some sweet catch up. My best guess. I know Wiz, and know his personality type. I don't know this guy. My gut and what I know about psych? Says on first blush, alpha. This was some kind of big dog. He's too confident, too straightforward, too straight up. Too glib. A possible situation came up with Right? Eh. He told her exactly what the situation was, in case she wasn't kidding. If she was, nothing lost. If she wasn't kidding? He left the ball in her court and dropped it there. Went jogging and walking and now talking with what he was really here for. Meeting his buddy Wiz, and seeing about the possible big case.

   To an alpha, the important job comes first. They organize things and they assign priorities to issues. Crime was not going to run rampant, because some diner waitress read a pop psych fluff best seller, and saw the author on the talk show circuit. She tried to force the issue? He looked at the face value. Gee. Just take a couple days off, at a job I can't do that. And even if I could, I should stall my career forever… because a waitress read a book and watched an interview. And if he could, and even if he did? People were going to die, or the people that killed them wouldn't be caught… no. And not just no, but hell no.

   He got a dog and considered his time there out of work better spent. Something better will come along eventually, and if or until it does? There's the dog. And he's a really cool dog. It didn't go beneath my notice at all, that he outlined his whole career and personal requirements inside of a couple minutes. He phrased it all as a glib half joke, but… there it was. That's how an alpha operates. He's done this routine before, and he'll do it again if this one doesn't like the deal he offers. The next wife he lands? Will know how things operate before signing on, so he can expect less friction.

   I can picture him and the wife in couple's therapy. The wife going on and on, quoting bumper sticker slogans. He's choosing work over people. He won't choose people. You have to make some space for family. He shrugs and throws his hands up in the air. Does anyone understand this isn't accounts receivable at the grocery store chain I'm doing for a living? I chase interstate organized crime and criminals for a career, for Christ's sake. Yes, when the phone rings at 4:00 am? I can't say no. I can't put a murder investigation on hold for three days, because some waitress read a goddamn book and saw a talk show.

   Therapist's reaction? The couple is looking at them like the referee. Tell us who is right, who is wrong. Make a call. And couple therapists don't do that. They should invent a therapist who does that. Sits at the desk, with the black and white striped shirt. Whistle. Listens to both sides, like this play. Then come out from the desk, make hand motions as they announce the ref decision. I'd like to invent that, but it would never fly.

   I already know, I can never be a couple's therapist. First off, there's a push for bumper stickers. Happy wife, happy life is the big one right now. Followed closely by… cheaper to keep her. The idea being that if the wife is happy? The husband is getting a blowjob and things are hunky dory. If the wife isn't happy? Make her happy, then the problem is solved. No matter how shitty of a wife she is though, they appeal to most men’s practical nature. Staying with the shitty wife is cheaper than divorce, alimony, and child support. No one makes a fucking decision, damn it. The therapist listens to both sides, and "validates" both views. Here? I'd side with the husband. Which is about illegal.

   Husband cheats. Bad husband, you should never ever do that. Woman cheats. Well, why did she do that. What could you have done to make her not want to do that. Well, you have to forgive people when they make mistakes. Happy wife, happy life. Cheaper to keep her. No, I can't do therapy for couples. I'll puke and punch some of the women in the face. I can picture it now on the internet. Dude. Go to this therapist! Bitch was fucking cool. She backhanded my wife, told her she's a dumb ass, and smacked her in the face with her stupid book and told her its all bullshit the author made up to make money on the talk show circuit. You gotta get in to see her, she's awesome. She blew a whistle to shut my wife up. It was the best. I mean, I'm still getting divorced? But this was money well spent.

   Yeah. I'd starve. Be fun though.

   Those two are definitely not reminiscing. The body language is serious. The hand motions. The stopping and starting. The staring, then going back to it. No arguing, they're… into something. Some pointing at a few of us. Mainly Light, and me. Yep, this is case, not Right making pastrami on rye's with beer mustard. I mean I'm sure that came up too, but only as a filler between more serious considerations. The guest is getting my attention, and motioning me over. Oh, he's an alpha. Anything but an alpha? Would have had Wiz motion me over.

   "Ma'am? Sorry to take you from that."

   I'm dripping sweat. I sat down panting.

   "No. Some things are more important than soccer."

   He looks at me. Really looks at me. He's doing it, he's summing me up. He’s deciding what I'm like and what I'm about. Deciding if I'm serious or fluff. Am I a green queen or a girl power. He nods and smiles thin but easy.

   "You know what we're talking about."

   "No. But I can guess."

   I looked over at Little Lightning. She's jumping up, taking air, and one timing Right's one time shots to her, taking shots on goal.

   "How does she even do that…"

   I sat on the other side of him on the wall, and put a towel around my neck.

   "She used to be a dancer."

   He sighed, and pinched his nose, looking down.

   "Yeah."

   More summing me up. Hey, drink me in.

   "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking."

   "I'm 20."

   "Really? I had you pegged for around his age."

   Wiz smiled.

   "She's 20 going on 30. She's like the den mother."

   He takes a break. He's deciding something. He'll do it quick. Alphas typically make most decisions quickly. Instinct and experience count for as much as bean counting. He's also a good alpha, or Wiz wouldn't have followed him. Good alphas, take advice from their second in command. Bad alphas do whatever they think and don't take advice. Even to the point of doing the opposite, just because they're proving they can.

   "Do you trust her, then? Really trust her."

   "Yeah. I do."

   He sighed, and smiled.

   "If I had a nickel for every time Wiz here said something like… I don't know, something I don't like about so and so. Then, later on down the line? I get fucked somehow by them. I trust him. He? Trusts you. Therefore? I trust you too."

   Yeah. Alpha. One of the big dogs. Takes a sniff. Instinct. He thought I was older, and he's usually right. So he's going to treat me like I'm older. Experience. His trusted mascot Wiz? Has a good track record reading people. He made his decision. His gut said yes, his advice coming back from his capable and trusted lieutenant said yes. So? He says yes. This got him where he is, he'll keep doing it.

   "Any chance we can go somewhere to talk? See what you got. Somewhere with some privacy."

   "Stay here. I'll be right back. We'll go to my office."

   I went and grabbed a cold six pack of soft drinks, so as not to deplete the cooler for the girls. I waved to the girls, and said I was going to go in and talk, have fun. Told Right that if I wasn't back quick enough, to keep Light from killing herself.

   "Follow me…"

   I took them into the cool sub basement, and locked the door behind us. The cool cellar air felt nice after sweating like pigs, and we sat around the desk. My laptop was still here, being mainly used for therapy purposes right now.

   I started with the basics. How I surmised that something had happened to my friend, and how I guessed what it was. That it took me a year to gain her trust. I gave him really broad strokes, then when he wanted more I went back and gave him a more detailed and much longer description.

   He wanted more. I launched into a much longer, and much more detailed description of everything. I let him see some of my video notes. Lightning breaking down. Then her cold, robotic face and voice and demeanor. Giving me chilling detail after chilling detail. Then, one of her earliest complete descriptions, when she was starting to be able to keep a little of her shit together, and tell the story in the proper tense. After an earlier out of tense version. To let him see her moving towards being able to tell it.

   I finished off, with one of her robotic descriptions of the 4 year small town prison sentence.

   He sat there, and thought. Trying to decide.

   "That's… wow."

   "Yeah. Welcome to the club."

   "That's… do you have any idea how many made up stories come into stations? That's… real."

   I looked at him.

   "If she's making it up? Monkeys are about to fly out of my ass."

   "How… how does she keep her shit together. I mean… what's she on… strong antidepressants? What…"

   I shrugged.

   "Nothing. Pharmacological history of the client? No history of alcoholism, or heavy drug use. Athlete. First a dancer, then a track sprinter and jumper and soccer player. Now a top level university soccer player. If she had alcohol or serious drug issues? It would have shown up by now. All observations support the self reporting, in my opinion. I've been around her over a year now, closely. As she reports, mild alcohol usage when she was young? Couple drinks. I see here, its the same. Couple drinks. Would rather smoke a joint, than split a bottle of whiskey with you."

   He was stunned.

   "I can't imagine going through that… not half of it."

   "Yeah, the one video? You can hear me puking from a room away. I can't even stomach hearing it."

   "All right. Let's go the other way with it. Wiz, I'm just playing devil's advocate here. Let's pretend, she's making it all up. What holes can you punch in her story. We have a one witness version of events. You know and I know both, as many people as you got in the same room when something happened? That's how many different versions you get."

   "Yeah. Ahead of you on that. I've tried some things. I tried feeding her back her own story a couple times, left one little thing out. Oh, she says. She stops you? Points out that one tiny thing. Another time? I changed something tiny, going over it. She stops me, and corrects me. Then, lets me go."

   "What's her memory like."

   "Not bad at all. Here. I had her make maps. You know, just want some idea if she's reliable or not. I spot checked things with satellite maps of the town. Found a local map, some brochure that was put online. She's pretty good. I mean, everything. This old gas station where she practiced alone every day and even all night. I found it. I found the trees she practiced running around fake players for speed cutting around. She even described deer trails she ran with her ball on. They're on the map. Is it to perfect scale? Hell no. But, are the Y's and X's of the trails like she says? This, is flat Midwest. You can see everything from the satellite. Its all… perfect."

   "I'm not a psychologist. You're in school for it. You're on. Why can't she be crazy, making up the most incredible story. Wouldn't be the first time."

   "I have no professional reputation to stake on my findings. But, if a professional can come up with a different idea? I'd be surprised. I sat with a diagnostic manual, and tried to assign every possible diagnostic condition they have. Not a single one can I get to fit. Not even the ones that wouldn't account for the story. All I get…"

   "Is what?"

   "Trauma. Sustained and repeated trauma. Betrayal by trusted loved ones. I told you. You think its an accident, that I not only predicted what happened, but what age it happened to her at? Its that obvious. Now. This doesn't leave this room, but… in the interest of demonstrating how obvious it is…"

   He agreed by nodding.

   "When she got here. Have you ever heard of a tall, blonde, pretty girl? That has a phobia about getting into a car with a boy? I'm not talking about some shy wall flower. I'm talking about a sexually aggressive, very outgoing and very… non-shy girl. But? Intense phobia about getting into a-n-y car, with a boy. I mean… bad. Not nervous, I mean… panic attack bad."

   "Devil's advocate. A phobia about riding in a car… I'm sure there's a car-phobia, auto-phobia, something like that."

   "There is. But… any girl? Hops right in. Asks for rides. If other girls are with her? She's nervous, but can do it. She can double date, but… anytime the situation is one or more boys and her? It would be like trying to put a cat into a bucket of water. Good luck. The coach? She'll ride with him. About it."

   "Okay. I admit, that's…"

   "I'll go you one better. Same intense phobia about dating. She can go to a boy's room. Can walk around with him, because no car rides. But… she can't even walk to, and go in to get a snack? If the boy's treating her. Same intense phobia, again like you're trying to stand on a cat and get it into a bucket of water. Tell me this isn't what happened."

   "No. I'm not arguing with your conclusion."

   "Women when raped, tend to go one of two ways. They shut down sexually, or get cold and distant. This typically happens with women past a certain developmental period. Before that period, say… a very young molestation victim. They tend to act out… become hyper sexual. Her… manifestation? Really fits with the developmental period this happens in."

   "Is there anything out of sync on this? At all."

   We both just stared at him.

   "All right. No more devil's advocate. Let's go the other way. Something definitely happened. That much is clear. And what happened? Is… not really getting called into question. Let's look at, if we assume we just went back in time and this is all just like we think. What crimes have been committed, Wiz. I hate to be rude, but… there's gotta be gold at the end of the rainbow. The bucket looks heavy."

   "It does. I'm calling not so much to get, as I am to give. Am I not my brother's keeper. List of crimes? Oh, where to begin. Felonies, misdemeanors, malfeasance, corruption… Santa would take a shit in some stockings if he only knew."

   "Let's go chronologically. I can't charge mom with being a piece of shit. But child abuse and neglect? Definitely. This is what chaps my ass, about my own system. Where the fuck is CYS for shit like this? Jesus Christ himself could get married and have children, and CYS would be up his ass weekly, making sure he's a good parent. Piece of shit like this? Can set the daughter on fire, and no one gives a shit. Physical child abuse. Then… rape."

   I cut in.

   "Not rape. Rapes. Plural. This is a series of repeated rapes. 10 or 12, at least. Over time. Each rape? Had multiple perpetrators. The last time? She remembers everything. Every name, every face. These were mostly all people from a small town, and as we all know, in a small town? Everybody knows everybody. So. As to the number of individual counts of rape? Its over 10 or 12, times number of perpetrators. I'm into triple digits, and I need a calculator."

   "Christ. How many perpetrators."

   "We're still building Santa's naughty list. I'm a couple weeks into building Rome."

   "I can add more. To your rape counts."

   "How?"

   "Well. When you charge a rapist? You typically get more than just rape. First off, you put your hands on someone. That's simple assault. Then, assault is where there's physical injuries. Any serious medical harm? Aggravated assault. Then, you have your actual rape charge. One is forcible rape. Another is sexual assault. Now, she was held down. That? Is unlawful restraint. Since the perpetrators passed her arms and legs around, in a typical gang rape fashion? Everybody gets that gold star, too. She describes being orally and anally assaulted. That, is involuntary deviate sexual assault. Sodomy. But we're not done, are we. No. This is like an infomercial, wait, there's more. She's 14 at the time of this. Everybody gets added charges. Toss in rape of a minor. Sexual contact with a minor. Involuntary deviate, again with a minor. Conspiracy to commit several things, one for everybody. She was taken in a car, to a remote location and held. Then driven around for more. That's kidnapping. Everyone that called anyone on a cell to come and have fun? That's separate communication for pursuit of criminal activity. Didn't you say, people had cell phone videos floating around? That's child porn. And, they know the girl is 14, they can't claim oh, your honor, I thought it was an older girl that looked young. Wiz? You have the degree in mathematics… you keeping score here?"

   "We passed up triple digits. We just moved into 4 digits. Thousands of individual crimes were committed. Holy shit."

   "We haven't even charged the big guy's son with prostitution, underage prostitution. Drugging her. Furnishing alcohol to a minor, furnishing illegal drugs to a minor. Poisoning charge. He's smacked her around before, that's simple assault and assault. He gets rape. Sexual assault. Involuntary deviate. Contact with a minor. The list, goes on just for him alone."

   Wiz took over from him.

   "Let's not forget his little speakeasy. Selling alcohol without a license. Underage girl dancing sexy for the patrons. I have a sneaking suspicion? Moonshine is being put into cheap liquor bottles getting refilled, too. That's a crime. There's cocaine being sold and distributed. Now. There's also a regular prostitution ring too. How am I doing."

   He nodded. Then added more.

   "The police? More. Corruption. Bribery. Conduct. Maybe abuse under color of authority, filing false police reports. You never get this setup, without your standard gambling ring. Cops are in on it, you said. Racketeering. There's just no end to it."

   When they ran out of crimes to add up, I cut in.

   "Yo. The girl? Remember that deal with the mom got the big payoff, the lawyer, the police station? That girl, is convinced her mom signed some kind of legal gag order, and that if she breathes a word of it, she's guilty of… violating it, and gets 10 years in jail or something, and a zillion dollar fine."

   Wiz admitted he was curious about that one.

   "Target? I'm not a legal expert."

   "Eh. You’d be surprised what kind of shenanigans get swept under the rug by people with money and influence, you can reach an out of court settlement. But… no fucking way the girl gets fined or gets time. That's… no. I'll tear that shit up, right in front of the police chief and the lawyer, on camera for reporters. I'll give you four hours to draw a crowd. No way in hell."

   Wiz countered.

   "Really? Rich people pay girls off all the time…"

   "Adults over 18. Who smell a big paycheck. Putting people in jail gives satisfaction, but… you can't spend satisfaction. Can you reach an agreement with the legal guardian or parent, over allegations on a child? Eh, yes and no. Not this level of gang rape. I double dog dare them to try to enforce it, or try to use it as a legal shield. I'll have to check, but, pretty sure once crimes reach a certain level of felony? You cant gag it. I mean, murder. You can't pay and gag a murder. You can't drug and gang rape an underage girl, then just pay the mom, and have a get out of jail free card for life in your safe. It just doesn't work that way."

   Wiz smiled.

   "Well… at that point. Doesn't that agreement, now become more of evidence, than a shield?"

   "Oh… you devious little shit. I like the way you're thinking."

   Wiz looked pleased.

   "So, big enough pot of gold? Am I, or am I not… my brother's keeper."

   "Oh. You're fucking Santa Claus. I'm making my career on this motherfucker. So are the other two. We developed this ourselves? Do you have any idea how good we look? Oh, shit."

   Wiz asked what.

   "Ma'am? Please. I… don't want you thinking the cops are happy that victims are…"

   "No. I understand, sort of. On some level, I know we need help, and we can't get much help for parking tickets. Just… do me a favor, and try to control what you just did? In front of the victim. I mean…"

   "No. That's why I'm wearing this long face in front of you just now. You gotta understand, when you get garbage off the streets, that's a good feeling. What the garbage did? Doesn't make me happy. Now. The sixty-four thousand dollar question."

   "Which is?"

   "The victim. Willingness to testify. Credibility."

   "I want you, to tell me. That's my friend. That's my room mate. That's my team mate. That's my team's biggest star. She's like a little sister to me. If she wasn't willing to testify. Or, if it wasn't in her best interests. Do you walk away? You know. No fucking pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

   I just stared him right in the face. This, surprised him. He tried eyeballing me back gently. No, that doesn't work on me.

   "What are you trying to do to me here."

   "No one, has done a damn thing to you. Now. To her? Over a thousand crimes were committed on her poor 14 year old body, in just… one… night. She was drugged, held down by a list of boys and young men in town. At least one of them? A cop. Don't even start with me, what I'm trying to do? To you."

   He backed up to the last point where things were working fine.

   "Hold on. We were doing… so goddamn good. Right up until the point, where I wanna know about her and testifying. That's… where we went off the rails. Let's back up. Now. We pretend, that I haven't asked that yet. Educate me. Ask Wiz, ask anyone? I'm not an unreasonable motherfucker. We… aren't seeing eye to eye. That's cool. Tell me where you're coming from. Maybe I can dig it."

   "Are you serious? Or are you patronizing me, and you just agree with me, pretend to agree with me, pretend I convinced you. Get me on board. Then? Just go on and do whatever in the hell you want."

   "Whoa. We're all on the same team here, lady. We can't play as a team, with this… unresolved shit. Now. I'm not mad. You might be. Anger? Is not entirely bad. Anger? Is determination. Well, it can be. If its channeled good. Now… here, let me propose something."

   "Go on."

   "You tell me. Your point of view. You tell me, where this is coming from. I have an open mind. Ask Wiz? I listen. I adapt. I change my mind sometimes. Explain it. At least, give it a shot."

   I explained. Where I started. How it was about me. Being, and playing, therapist. How much I could help. How it was all about me? Knowing what to do, being in charge. Then? How much I found out I didn't know. How much Wiz and as a male at that, was doing all the "wrong" things and it was working so well. Then, how I came to realize… it wasn't about me at all, how wrong that is. How I failed my self assessment sheet… and that was great. Because early on, before I got rolling on my first client? I had it smacked in my face, that it was about the victim. It was about helping them, it wasn't about me, at all. Then? The therapist, police therapist thing. I was now finishing up.

   "So? He already got read the riot act, and I have another big lecture planned for him, because me and him are… a couple. Now. Do you see where I'm coming from, or not. Its not job number one. It is the only job? To do what's best for her. Not me being a successful therapist. Not you… being a top cop. She, comes first. What's best for her. Not me, not you. That's my point of view."

   He sighed and rubbed his chin. Deep in thought, it seemed.

   "I'm not patronizing you when I say this. Ask Wiz? I won't lie to my team, to the players I play with. You're right. That doesn't mean I feel like I'm wrong, mind you. But… you? Are right. Now, we can do me afterwards. Let's start with you, and how I think, how I know? You're right. So, you tell me. What's best for the victim. I might have something wrong."

   "Her getting better, is what I care about. I have every signpost, pointing that I'm started down the right path. So, as far as I know? I'm going the right way. Now. Wiz here? Wants to get the people that did this to her. She? Is not only on board with that, she seems enthusiastic about doing it."

   "How much trouble am I in, if I say… sounds like we're both, hell, sounds like me, Wiz, and you are all… in lock step. Hell, the victim, too."

   "Wiz."

   "Anything, hun."

   "Can I… can we. Trust this guy?"

   Wiz sighed.

   "Him? With my life. Look. I come up on him, and I think I hear him or see him doing something that looks like he's out to get me? No. I wait, he's actually doing something in my best interest. I trust him that much. So yeah, you can trust him."

   "Okay. He trusts you, you trust me… so that's why he trusts me. I'll do that back. I trust you, you trust him? So… I'll trust him. On that note? I want two things. Right now."

   "Anything."

   "You tell him… about… the art of war. Enemy is as smart as you. The… how safe you think she is, that thing. Go on."

   Wiz went through that explanation. Target nodded, he rubbed his head. His gears clicked and whirred.

   "Okay. I… see that. Wiz? You're not called The Wizard for nothing. Now that you mention it? Yeah. If I was… you call him Mister Big… I'm him, she'd be face down in a ditch five years ago. Sorry. Its what a crime boss does, ma'am. So… mind if I point something out? Not that you're going to like it."

   I said to go ahead.

   "The mother, sends her clothes and gift cards? Mister Big knows where she's at, and could come and get her anytime. He doesn't have to find her. I agree with Wiz's assessment, she's the madam. He… could get nervous at any time. Realize he has a loose end he left five years ago. That, to me… is all the more reason to go get that motherfucker. The girl? Is willing, and you think probably able? To help get him. But… what's the other thing. I gotta be missing something here… what is it."

   "Wiz? If you trust him, explain about… saying goodbye to mom."

   Wiz explained what happened. Head injury…

   "Hmm. Okay. I see your… concern. Let me say, and believe me. Good for her. I'll stand there and watch her do it again, better? If I didn't think she'd get in trouble, or, it would reduce the chances of getting convictions. I don't care, and what's more? I'm happy she did it. And ma'am? That don't leave this room, obviously. Okay? I shared back."

   "So… you don't see some asshole charging her for attempted murder."

   "Hmm. No. I don't. Here's why. I don't think the mother knows. I think she suspects, and or feels guilty. Some guilt. Whatever guilt the evil bitch is even capable of feeling. Also? I don't think a prosecution would even be possible, with a witness saying… I think. Basically, I believe, that as long as the girl never admits it or brings that up? She got a free one, and good for her. Not that any jury wouldn't probably let her off on that one anyways."

   "I agree with your thoughts."

   "Okay. Let's decide, according to your line of thinking. What's best for the victim then, now that we have… maybe… all our cards on the table. How do we best help her, how do we best protect her, from… a certain sweetheart one day waking up, and realizing what a loose end is. You tell me what you think."

   "Getting Mister Big? Is job number one. He's a threat. Followed very closely, by Little Asshole. Him too."

   "And, I agree. I bet Wiz does too. From what you said? The girl likes this too. So, that's best for the victim, right off the top. Are we in agreement here, am I thinking correctly… putting her first."

   "Yes."

   "Great. See? I wasn't kidding, lady. Now, we're being a team again. Its much better."

   "Question, Target."

   "Shoot. Pun intended."

   "That's cute."

   "I know. I'm a cute man. You were saying…"

   "Can you get Mister Big, good enough? Without her."

   "Hmm. Yes. Not as thoroughly as I would like. I want him, to die in prison. Not get out in 10 years. I get running a prostitution ring. I get, let's say cocaine sales. Realistically, lets say he'll do 5 on each thing. Before he walks. Guy has money, influence… he could maybe get concurrent sentences. Let's ballpark out walking the streets, 5 to 7 and a half. Ten at the outside. There are limits, to what I can get? For what the public and jury members think of as victimless crimes. To me, thinking your way… that just winds him up and makes him more of a threat. Let me guess, the mother is no physical threat to her safety, but, the victim would probably benefit from her going down too. Madams catch hell in those situations. Or, they help put the Mister Big and little Asshole away, we get better odds and more time on them. We flip mom, we can get more dirt on them."

   "Not exactly optimum."

   "Ma'am? Can it be my turn, to share my line of reasoning with you now? You told me how you look at this, let me share back. If I may."

   "Shoot."

   "Okay. I meant what I said about my uncle. Its about feeling good, knowing you helped, knowing that you did the right thing. That, is my payoff. Now, if I make a living, buy dog food from that, well? So much the better. And if in the end, I can buy gourmet dog food with my raise and promotion? I don't feel bad. Not only don’t I feel bad, I get a bigger desk? I get more men, more authority. So, I can go and get more bad guys. What I want, and what’s good for others? Its not different things. Now that said. Here's me. What exactly is… the right thing. I think that's the key here."

   "The right thing, is helping the victim get the best outcome, bar none."

   "Yes. And what is that right thing in that respect? I ask you. Is it not, seeing Mister Big go down. Now, while I respect the idea of doing what's best for the victim, and I really do. I also believe in justice. Not our justice system, although it can provide some measure of it, if even on accident, once in a while. But… real justice. That serves the victim, too. That also, helps prevent future victims. Others can benefit from the example."

   "Go on."

   "Mister big, Little Asshole. That prevents further harm to the victim, as well as provides some measure of justice. More justice is better though. I personally, am not so much concerned with this wonderful little town and how fucked up it is, were it not for the drugging and gang rape of an underage girl. Now, were it not for all these men in this town, thinking this was a fun night out? We wouldn't even be having this conversation. Would we. Not that I'm happy about it, but… if you knew how many small towns have a prostitution ring going, and an after hours illegal club… some cocaine sales… its not the rarest thing in America. Cops getting a little grease on the side too. Not good, but…"

   "Without the rapes, plural? This is a victimless crime story."

   "Now. Motivation to me, plays a big role. With my sense of justice. Now… Mommy, Mister Big and Little Asshole… all conspired to beat, drug, and whore out? An underage girl. I want you to keep in mind? That the men that lined up that night… uh, those nights plural… I'm not lessening their crime, but…"

   "Go ahead."

   "Put yourself in Mister Big and Little Asshole's mind… wow. I'm evil."

   "Yeah."

   "Now. Let's go into the mind of one of those guys standing in line, waiting his turn. Our scenario. We have a girl, who as far as they see? Was a… pole dancing girl, cocktail waitress, sort of attraction. At an illegal after hours club. In my mind, these guys aren't the devil incarnate."

   "No."

   "Now… Little Asshole says… hey guys… wanna have some fun? This much a head… drunk guys, a few lines of nose candy… whatever. Oh. We buy booze, we buy coke. There's hookers in town. The mom's a hooker. Oh. We can buy this girl too. That's the hooker's daughter."

   "I'm still with you. You haven't lost me… yet. You could, but… watch it."

   "Just… intent, or motivation? Forms a large part of a crime. It also? Goes to my sense of justice. When the girl is taken aside, and given a vodka with the date rape drug. She appears… drunk but awake to these men. A little sluggish, but… hey baby, do this… she does it. Do you understand, that to these men? She appeared to be a completely willing 14 year old prostitute. And, that after 10, 12, 14 times, mind you… do you see what I'm getting at?"

   "You, are on thin ice. But… scuffing along on it so far. Continue slowly."

   "The town, calling her a whore for four years. All that humiliation. The people in town? Are not as evil as they seem. To them? A willing hooker. The daughter of a hooker, mind you. Simply decided to up and quit being… a willing hooker. The town's… reaction to her? Was kind of… understandable might not be the best word, but, you could see how they got there, yes?"

   "I'm going to maybe puke? But… I'll grant you that… small point. Keep scuffing. I'm interested where this is going."

   "In those men's minds? They weren't committing rape. They thought they were buying a ticket to a willing ride. Do you have any idea, how many… and perfectly willing… 14 year old hookers there are across America?"

   "Probably more than I want to know about."

   "No doubt. Now, I'm pissed at those men. But… mainly for thinking it was okay to buy tickets and line up to ride a 14 year old girl, two and three at a time. A local girl from town, and they're old enough to realize. That this wouldn't have been going on, as they saw it, without the mom being a hooker herself. I want these men to pay for their crime."

   "There were thousands of crimes committed, against a 14 year old girl's body. You can't seriously absolve all guilt, down to…"

   "No. My sense of j-u-s-t-i-c-e requires that someone pay, and pay dear. The tab needs paid. But, unlike a bar tab in real life? The people that drank the drinks, need to cough up and pay the justice tab. Period. Now then… we're just talking. It doesn't leave this room. Let's all decide… wait. First? Hurry, you're right. We agreed, that getting the Mister Big and little Asshole, was the best thing for the victim's guaranteed safety and future safety. Yes?"

   "Yes."

   "We agreed, that the town's reaction… was not as oh my god horrible, because they didn't know what was going on, and how that service was being provided."

   "Sadly, yes."

   "So, before I go on. And this doesn't leave this room, Wiz? The victim. What is she to you. Friend of your girlfriend? Or… family. I'm asking you as your brother. Friend or family."

   He didn't hesitate.

   "Family. She's… this doesn't leave this room, and the other girl doesn't know, but… I have two girlfriends. Both girlfriends are okay with it, I'll leave it at that."

   "Sounds fun. Is it romantic all the way around, or you two are romantic, and that's just fun…"

   "Its all romantic, all the way around. As in, when me and her graduate? That girl might, if she doesn't have her own personal life back to normal… maybe live with us for an indefinite period of time. Family. You? Can pretend that's my own daughter, for a point of reference? And you won't go far wrong seeing my end of things here."

   "All right. And we're just talking. Supposing. Pondering our imponderables. The people responsible, to answer for the justice bar tab? Are… in my mind and correct me if I'm wrong. The mother, Mister Big, and Little Asshole. We need to get them. To protect her, and… to pay that tab. There were thousands of crimes committed, and most of them land squarely on their smug shoulders. Whatever we cook up? It should satisfy that end. I mean, I'm just throwing that out there."

   I liked the sound of it.

   "I agree."

   Wiz nodded.

   "Agreed."

   "Now. That brings us back to the town. There are… the men that bought tickets and stood in line, waiting to ride an underage ride. Local girl. With the justice tab paid by those other three? I'm of the opinion that they… simply get the regular legal end of the system. Then? There's the matter of the rest of the town. I can't do anything to them legally. However. If, or better when… they find out, that the girl actually was raped, as she said all along? They get to feel guilt. They thought they were calling a whore a whore. They didn't know they were calling an underage rape victim, a whore. Can we agree on this justice scenario. Not saying we can pull this off, just saying these are our objectives."

   Me and Wiz looked at each other. We both nodded.

   "Ma'am? Am I obeying your sense of… victim first? We get the three responsible. We levy the more sedate sense of legal fury on the men that inadvertently… perpetrated the crimes that someone else was actually more responsible for… and we douse the town in guilt. Is there anything more I could do, putting the victim's needs and… therapy… first."

   "Look. Mister… Target. Its not that I don't trust you. Its more that I have to trust you. And this isn't ordering a pair of shoes. Can't just send the shoes back and order the right pair. Whatever comes in the box later? Well, that's what comes in the box."

   "What is it you're worried comes in the box."

   "Basically, my little sister's well being is at stake. That's on the line, up front. There's her sanity? And no lie, you've seen. I wonder how she still has most of it. Now, her well being. I don't think she can kill herself? Or, she would have a long time ago. That's a guess, and that's what I guess."

   "I… am no expert, but… I would agree with you. Guessing."

   "So. You wouldn't know this. There were four girls here. Myself, plus 3 others. I lost one. I'm kinda responsible for the best front line this school ever had. Over summer and off season. Reporting back to the coach. Yeah. Only lost one. Hope that's okay."

   "You… lost her she dropped out, she ran off with a boy… got pregnant…"

   "Went away and hung herself. Couldn't take it anymore. And it was a lot less than this shit. I think."

   "Most people say sorry for your loss. Me and Wiz don't."

   "Well. What do you and Wiz say instead."

   "We don't. You stand there. You look your brother in the eyes. You put your hand on him. And you just say… yeah. He does that back. There ain't really words. We don't cheapen it by trying some. So…"

   He did look at me. He had emotions, like Wiz had. He wasn't some unthinking, unfeeling robot. He didn't try to hide his eyes like some men can do, and like most men try. Just for that short space of time, it was like the little curtains were off the little windows, and you could see into the little room. He waited before he spoke again.

   "Yeah."

   He waited again. I nodded.

   "You wonder how he came to me?"

   I nodded again.

   "He's here. So I can't lie to you, if I was even going to. We're men. We don't call each other and talk, every day. Watch the same movie, talk about the movie we're watching. But… we stay in touch. Regular. Short call now and then, outta the blue. No schedule on the calls. Regular emails. Again, no schedule. But, longer I don't get that call, that email. Eventually? I get some time every month, my discretion. I'd take a drive. Come looking. And if I don't find a Wiz, and there's supposed to be a Wiz? I'll be back, ten or eleven days, every month. Like clockwork. Like you can count on those bells at the church, lady. Ten days a month until I get answers."

   He waited.

   "I'm finding Wiz, eventually. Or? I'm finding the reason why there's no Wiz. And if a person is responsible? Well. You don't wanna look in that box. Police serve and protect. They represent, law and order. We don't. We represent military justice. Not law. Justice. You can take that how you decide to take it. Because civilian police… give the public the illusion, that this system, is fair. Life is not fair, no matter how much we like to think it is. Me and him, we know this. That girl, that victim up there? She damn sure knows it."

   He paused.

   "We don't… we didn't… there are billion dollar spy warplanes. Air Force MPs? We guard them. Around the globe. You know how you don't like a dog that bites you all the time? Well, we get sent to guard warplanes, in places around the world. Where you wouldn't send that dog you hate, that always bites you. Because you probably wouldn't be that uncouth about what you do to a dog you hate. But, there we go. We don't all come back. And when we're not on warplane detail. As I said. Its not called military justice instead of military law and order? Without a good reason. No Wiz? I take back a human head. That's justice."

   He waited again.

   "We're family. Being a part of a family? Means you're never truly alone. You might not live with your brothers anymore, but, you can pick up the phone, stop by. Ask for help. And you know you're gonna get that help, no matter what you did, whether you deserve it or not. The family? Is dug in like ticks around the country. Some are near me. Others can help without coming. We’re all through the system."

   Another pause.

   "We are legion."

   And another pause.

   "Now. He has my number. I got a call, at work. Do you know my voice? I said yes. I do. He asked if I was on an open line. I said I was. Can I call you back at this number. Is that line secure. He said yes. I called back, not on a work phone. Someone could be listening. He said his line was secure, means he doesn't think anyone's listening. I asked if he was in trouble, or he needed help. He said help. I asked. Is it you? Or friend, family. He said family. Here I am."

   He turned his back to me.

   "We had a lot of nicknames. One? We were called angels. Now, I'm sure on paper, that conjures up images of young guys climbing up and down the tree, and getting the cat out the tree for the old lady. And we would. Maybe civilian cops don't get cats out of trees for old ladies anymore when they call. But you know what? Maybe they should. They used to make a difference back then. But, angels. You know the real reason of that sick joke? Aside from the obvious PR spin on it."

   I waited. The question was obviously rhetorical.

   "Angels sometimes… what. Make bread appear in the desert, to feed homeless starving people. Tell the virgin's husband there will be a child, don't hate on the bastard. Tell an old childless woman? She'll give birth finally. I guess most people would love to see an angel appear. There's this… greeting card idea of some beautiful winged creature. With a halo. But… god sends angels to do other things too."

   Wow.

   "Who do you think went and killed the firstborn sons. That was an angel too. Just not sure those assholes got to see the same angel that brought the magic bread in the desert."

   He pointed, his back still to me.

   "That's my brother. You? Are his sister. Upstairs, the victim? That's your little sister. So, that's my baby cousin. That's family. God made laws, and he expects order. When there is no order down here? God will settle for justice."

   He paused and turned back around. I got the sense he didn't turn away because he wanted to lie. I got the idea he might not want me to see his face.

   "Wiz would do it for me. Its just my turn at bat. When you're at bat? Swing for the seats. It's not how you play the game, that's just some shit we tell little kids, like… grandma's sleeping now honey. As adults? Its whether you win or lose."

   He looked around.

   "Seen shit like this before. Not this exact thing, but… we're putting something in the box. There were three people, that sat around talking and laughing. And laws and preserving order? Were the last thing on their minds, when they cooked this shit up. Whatever. They started it. They made a box. They decided how big the box would be, five years ago. Not me. You don't like how much sausage fits in the box? You should have folded up a smaller box."

   "Sausage…?"

   "Hey. We had sausage at breakfast. I like it. I assume you liked it. Looks good. Smells good. Taste's great, don't it?"

   "Sure."

   "Justice, is sausage. Everybody likes it. Looks good, smells good. Taste's just… wonderful. And what does sausage do, that's so wonderful, to so many people, hmm? I'll tell you. You feel like you have an empty space inside of you. You're hungry. You're hungry for long enough? It turns into something beyond hunger. It becomes a craving. And when you get enough sausage, that it fills up that empty hole feeling? You feel better, you're satisfied. Goddamn that really hit the spot. The sausage, the final product? Beautiful. The sausage factory though? Ugly place. Now. Everyone can eat sausage. Everyone can enjoy sausage. But very few people can make sausage."

   He paused.

   "That… Little Asshole we call him? Sounds like a firstborn son to me. I hope he's a god fearing man, because his head might fit in the box. Some of us, where I work? We work… they try to work us, I should say… a kind of 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. We get paid on salary. We don't get overtime. Its mandatory. My ex didn't understand this. Now, I'm not an office agent. My phone rings? Seven days a week, night and day. So… I work by the month. Day 1, through day 20. As needed, as things happen. Now. The rest of the days, the end of every month. I get to turn my phone off. I can… sleep in and watch TV. I can… take my dog and go fishing. Or? Well… here I am. Probably see you like I got here, late on the 20th. Next month. That's every month. Until? I got that box filled with sausage."

   I just looked at him for a little while.

   "Yeah."

   "Okay. Have I satisfied your… and I respect it, believe me. Your, victim comes first… philosophy?"

   "I'm ashamed, that I once doubted you."

   "You said you were the den mother, and you have two daughters left. Upstairs. Here. This victim, being one of those two left."

   "Yes."

   "If… I am offered a pastrami on rye. Am I allowed to eat it?"

   "You don't need my permission, on that."

   "Didn't say I needed it. Said I was asking."

   "If you're offered a pastrami on rye? I hope you get extra… beer mustard. With my blessing. I hope it fills your empty hole up. If you're here at dinner time? That's my dead grandmother's fine china. Don't break the plate, it can't be repaired or replaced. Wash the dish carefully. Put it back where you found it, how you found it, when you leave. Like any mealtime, though. That's between you and the cook."

   "Yeah. And, thanks. Funny you say it like that."

   "What?"

   "Between me and the cook? Dealing with a waitress sucks. I mean, you pay the waitress extra, and you pay too much for what you get. Now, the cook? Better food, more of it, it costs a fraction of what the waitress brings."

   "Well. I'm sorry you paid too much, for too little, of bad quality food. And the plate got thrown at you and you got called an asshole while you ate. When you even got fed. You seem to know that not all women are like that, though."

   "You sure you're 20? Its easy to forget that."

   "I'm an odd duck."

   "Told you, Target. My Hurry? 20 going on 30."

   "Yeah. I see that. I hear that."

   They paused.

   "Target? Sorry I didn't come back. Join you guys at the sausage factory. Its like, you guys spent time teaching me how to run the sausage machine, and… off I go."

   He sighed.

   "No, Wiz. Just because a guy can make sausage, and he's okay with it? Doesn't necessarily mean he should do it. If you can do something greater with your life? By all means. Please do it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out, that you were probably meant to do something else with your life."

   "Well. You guys gave me a gift."

   He chuckled.

   "Did we really? You, worked at the… computer factory, we could say. After work and on weekends and holidays… you came for no pay, and… gave. Extra, and for free. How many times, did we turn around, and there you were. Wiz, we were in the trenches. You jumped in that trench, how many times. I can't think of a single time, in four years, then two years since? You ever asked for anything. Not once. I'm proud to be here."

   "You don't owe me anything."

   "Well. That's just it. Wiz? Pretend you're me. Kid next door. Every time I look out? Man, he's mowing my grass. Raking my leaves. Bringing my kid’s bicycle back onto the porch, one of my own kids leaves it down the street. Now… that's not a debt. But, you figure the kid wants something. Wonder what that is. Normally? Scratch the back, you want scratched back. But no. So… kid finally asked, can I have a comic book? Kid… whole fucking rack of comic books. Here, whole stack."

   They paused.

   "Wiz? You took the garbage out for me. And I'm the garbage man. I don't have words. So…"

   My boyfriend just looked at him. They do that sometimes.

   "Yeah."

   "Okay. Hurry? I know me and him are good. How about you. Are we… team had a tiny issue. Coach didn't come down on you. Hell, you told the coach? Coach says… you're right."

   "Good coach."

   "I try. We good?"

   "Better than good. We're great."

   "Well. It goes without saying, we all know what doesn't leave this room. Hmm?"

   That was for my benefit.

   "Oh. Way ahead of you."

   "Wiz. We have things on our side. We also have things against us. That guy has the police in his pocket. That… complicates things."

   "It does. You can't just flash your badge, and get service. In fact, you'll get no service."

   "I know. I also don't like other things about that. You have police? Those police, have access to other things. Which potentially, gives Mister Big access to those things."

   I asked like what.

   "Well, if… state police, or FBI are coming into town? Looking, sniffing. You normally go to the local boots on the ground. Usually, the best thing. Even if not squeaky clean, the locals know the local wildlife. They know where things are, when. How things work. Where to look for things. This takes that away from us. Also… they would work against us. Take away our element of surprise. Speakeasy is a dusty old garage when we finally find it. All the bad things are put away in boxes in another house. We leave town? Out come the boxes, party kicks back on. Its like turning the jukebox on and off."

   "That's bad."

   "Yeah. It would also… jeopardize your victim. I mean, you talk about motivation, to wanna snip a loose end off. That would about do it, if he has it in him. And I don't like finding out the hard way."

   Wiz thought about it.

   "Make that work for you."

   "How?"

   "It forces us. To increase the element of surprise. We take our time, but… when we strike? It has to be like lightning coming down, all at once."

   "Yeah. Dealing with dirty cops, is the dirtiest thing possible. Ain't much dirtier, than a dirty pig. They wallow in shit. And pigs in shit? Why, they hear the farmer coming? Well… don't they just take a little dip in that there pond, and look how shiny and clean they are. Hard to make shit stick to the pig."

   Wiz asked it.

   "How do you hunt dirty pigs. Has to be something in the manual."

   "Two ticks dug in near us. State police ticks. Both in that state. The one tick, got there first. He made investigator. He's… all burrowed down under the skin, sucking fresh blood. He'll know. Won't be the first time he dealt with it. We'll get best advice from him on that. Now, the other one. He's doing good, got there after him. The first one, bringing him with him. If anything starts to go down? He can request him. Special purpose, for an investigation. That? Makes him very dependable and trustworthy."

   "Okay. Secrecy. Discretion."

   "Yeah… I can't trust any normal channels. If it ain't a brother? I assume he's shitty. See, normally? I run plates. I pull arrest and driving records. Tax records. That leaves a trail, who looked. Only certain cops can get those files, and not leave a trace. In my barnyard? That's IA. They can get any information, on insiders and the civilians. Without leaving a time and date and ID stamp, on the logs. I… can get a guy in IA to do that for me. Now, this is a state matter. So… I need that state police investigator. He puts his name on the file and the report. If we even have one. Depends how the sausage gets made."

   "He should know how to get information without leaving a trace, in his barnyard."

   "Yeah. Investigators like him, would handle dirty pigs in his state. In fact, the state police are the normal… dirty pig wranglers."

   "Do we even want a file?"

   "Mm. We might, we might not. But… if we do? We wrap the box up all pretty, and put a bow on it. Short, neat report. Open and shut. Hey, I hear noise. Go check? Look-y here, what I found. You, you, you… come with me. Fact someone spent a couple nights before hand, setting the barn up just right. Well, no one needs to know exactly how the sausage gets made."

   "Sounds like a plan, Target. Honey?"

   "Sounds like a plan to me, Wiz. What now."

   "Now, as in right this second? Or… now, as in… the near future."

   "I meant right now, but now you mention it… both."

   We both looked at Target for the answer.

   "Right now. We know what we want. We haven't figured out how to get there? But, knowing where you wanna end up, makes looking for a path so much easier. We have a point A. Where we are. We have a destination in mind, point B. We have to find a path. It might be the shortest, most direct line. It might go around like a drunken mouse, but… it will get us there. I like in between. If you're the curious type…"

   "Sure."

   "Glad you asked. Direct line, A to B. Too easy, too pat. A dip-shit will smell a rat. A moron, will take one look and say… this is too neat and too tidy."

   "What's wrong with complicated?"

   "Well. You get too many layers of… back and forth, and around, and up and down. Becomes obvious someone's trying to confuse you. Lead you astray. They start wondering what's really going on. Now…"

   "Middle of the road."

   "Oh. Not a direct line. They feel like, they had to struggle, but just came out on top. Figured out the mystery. They pat themselves on the back. What I like, and I assure you. Got my technique down all pat and everything. I like them, to kind of break their arm. Patting themselves on the back. I'm so smart, someone just tried to throw me off? But here I am. I figured out the puzzle. Now, I figured out what really happened. So… I like to leave a puzzle, but… an easy puzzle."

   "Hmm. What are we talking here."

   "Nothing. Everything. Who's family. Who's the enemy. Wiz? We good, or what."

   He looked at me. My boyfriend winked.

   "We're good. I'll have a talk with her. Or? More than likely. She'll have the talk with me. But… same thing. We're good. Little Lightning? Is family. Family comes first. And we're on the side of the angels. And, we are legion. Honey? Nothing else about this framework, need be said outside these hallowed halls."

   "What does Lightning know."

   "What she needs to. What's important. That I love her. That… people that love me? Are doing what they can. Being all they can be. And, that one fine day. She can eat sausage. That's all there is. 14 year old girls, need not know how sausage gets made. They just need to know it tastes good."

   Target looked at me.

   "As I asked. We good?"

   I stared him and smiled.

   "Yeah."

   He stared back and smiled.

   "Yeah."

   We went back. All kinds of normal idle talk ensued, but we shared looks that went unnoticed. At one point, Right was complaining. She couldn't see shit on her phone. Whatever she was looking at, could she use my laptop. Sure.

   She was looking up what Pastrami was.

   I giggled, Lightning teased her. I laughed more to myself, although Right took it naturally as laughing at her. Quality men. They were hard to find. Right, and to her credit? Had intuitively sniffed one out. We ended up going out, although only for food. We have plus one for company. Right grabbed my hand and tugged me over to the deli counter at the store.

   "You."

   "Ma'am…?"

   "You have pastrami back there?"

   She pointed.

   "Is it any good?"

   "What you mean."

   "Is the pastrami… good pastrami? Or is it shit. Me? I don't know pastrami. I'm asking you. You got any complaints on the pastrami. Huh?"

   "Ma'am? I have no complaints on the pastrami."

   "Uh. That's… good. I'll take a pound. No. Two pounds."

   "All right. Anything else?"

   "Yeah. I want two pounds of Swiss. Cheese. Swiss cheese."

   "Okay. Hard, or regular."

   "Are you fucking with me, lady?"

   "No. I'm simply asking if you want hard Swiss, or regular Swiss. Its a… normal Swiss question."

   "Oh. Well… if you were some kind of… Swiss expert? Which kind would you want."

   "Well. Young kids, don't know no better? Regular Swiss. But, the old men, the ones got a fucking opinion? They want hard Swiss."

   "Hmm. Okay. Two pounds. Hard stuff."

   I'm standing there, trying not to laugh. Two wrapped packages come up.

   "Anything else?"

   "Actually? Yeah. I need… some shit called… beer mustard."

   "Aisle 6. As you look at the ketchup? To the right. But… down low. Don't come back and say we're out. We ain't. You ain't looking right. Its there."

   "Hey lady. What's your name."

   "Why. You gonna report me for… not being crazy enough for ya. Huh?"

   "No. I like you."

   "Name's Norma."

   "I Like you, Norma."

   "Thanks. Can't really say I like you all that much. Course, I just met you and all."

   "Yeah. I know. Here…"

   You pay up front. She handed her a five dollar bill. Quite a tip, for just working the deli at the store.

   "Now Norma. Next time I come back. There's a pound of pastrami, even though you're out of it, right?"

   Norma looked at the 5 dollar bill.

   "It… could work like that."

   "Great. Love your hair, Norma…"

   Norma deadpanned her. Not sure Right noticed.

   "Love your attitude…"

   She got her beer mustard. She held it up to me.

   "You think this is the right shit?"

   "How the flying fuck do I know. It says… beer mustard, and actually? It says… the famous beer mustard. From 1800 whatever. Now. We get right down to it? I don't know shit about pastrami. I don't know shit about beer and mustard. And I damn sure don't know diddly dick, about beer mustard. But? I know you."

   "Really? What about me."

   "You gonna do this? In the grocery. Fine… you. Think you're fucking Light over."

   "Fresh meat rules."

   "Light? Is off the market. So… you? Could wait, oh… four hours. And? Not appear quite so desperate."

   "The hell you know about it."

   "Well. I know you don't have any competition. Don't try so hard."

   "Are you trying to tell me…"

   "Right? I'm trying to tell you. Anytime you feel like spending time in his sleeping bag? Well… Wizzy won't complain…"

   She was all excited.

   "Did he ask about me?"

   "Yeah. He did. He likes you. So? Settle down, there's no competition. All yours."

   "What's he like about me?"

   "I don't know. But, he likes you. He asked about you."

   "What did he ask?"

   "He asked… me and Wiz's permission, to…"

   "Yeah, like you two are in charge of that shit."

   "Its Wiz's service buddy. So? He asked me and him. If it was all right. Of course I said it was fine. You have to ask her. So? There you go, you're all set. So, you don't have to keep doing… he's yours."

   She did the fist yanking thing.

   "Yes… my meat…"

   "Do you really like him? Or…"

   She shrugged.

   "Let's do the math. 28. Cute. Great job. Working on divorced. No kids. Near as I can tell? Not damaged goods. You? Will kick my ass, if I giggle hair flip Wizzy. Not that I would. But… this is another Wizzy. You said Light's in some mood, letting this slip through her fingers? That's fine."

   "Wow. You… naming the kids yet?"

   "Maybe. So what if I am. Prime beef, no kids. When that comes to visit? Mine. You heard him. I don't even have to cook. Pastrami sandwich, I'm all the cook he needs. He's staying a while?"

   "Looks like. Probably be back, too."

   "Mine. So… which beer mustard should I get… like I know shit about this…"

   "I'm no pastrami expert. You wanna impress him?"

   "Duh."

   "Get one of each, or… just get the most expensive one. If he's a… beer mustard expert? He'll know about it."

   "One of each. I ain't fucking this up… that's going to be mine."

   "Okay. No one's in your shit."

   She worked quick. That night, me and Wiz claimed we were tired and were going to bed early. She elected to stay up and watch movies. I noticed that she was going to be watching movies in the living room, and that was where he was camping out. How convenient. When I crept down later to quietly get a snack for us to take up to my room, I peeked around the corner of the kitchen into the living room. I could see the top half of her. She was face down and looked like she was making out with his pillow. She had her arms wrapped around it, and her face was buried in it. It actually looked like she was practicing making out, with a pillow.

   It was obvious she was trying to keep her own noise down. While I don't know exactly what's happening, I know enough about her to guess. She's probably giving him "bum fun", as she called it. I could see a plate with the remains of what looked like a sandwich. No doubt she surprised him with a pastrami and beer mustard on rye, for a midnight snack. Now she was part of the midnight snack.

   Guys think they pick their women. They're wrong. We usually have them picked out long before they make their move. No doubt he was happy. What 28 year old man going through a long protracted separation and divorce, would turn down a 19 year old college athlete offering herself to him. By morning, she had him moved into her room for the duration of his visit. Two other guys arrived a couple days into his visit. They were no surprise to me. Basically, two more guys that were like the first. They all had that quiet, serious way about them.

   They were both state police, and their state contained Swellsville. Target brought them up to speed with what was going on. These guys really were like a family. There was no question of whether or not they wanted to pitch in and help. It was automatic. The one that was an investigator for the state police, said he would look into things quietly. All three of them spent time with Wiz in the sub basement. For privacy talking strategy. I didn't press them to get in on the conversations. I knew enough about what was going on. I knew sausage was being discussed, I didn't need to know the particulars.

   The two state policemen who camped out in our living room apparently only had the weekend so they left Sunday night. Target stayed his entire allotment of days off on his unique work schedule. Right followed him around rather like a puppy dog who found a new favorite owner when they were out of her room. Right decided to go back with him to enjoy 20 days staying at his apartment. My job was to keep working on Light's therapy. Getting her more used to telling her story, a little better every day. Drawing more details out of her as we found them. Coaching her about how a relationship worked outside of the bedroom.

   I felt weird having Right gone for 20 days straight. It felt too much like Miss Moody going missing. Except Right's phone worked daily, and the macabre feeling passed. Also, I realized she couldn't possibly be safer than living and sleeping with an FBI agent. Then, being alone and having the townhouse to ourselves? Was bliss. Lightning surprised me with an almost identical tiny frayed denim miniskirt and yet another almost identical ripped up get lucky shirt.

   Mistress Vaquera came for another visit. She even had a surprise for Wiz. She was no longer to be called Mistress. She was the Lady Vaquera. Her reasoning? A mistress is the side piece, that sneaks around and hides. She refused. A Lady walks in and out the front door, and doesn't hide. She had him worship her at her feet, give little kisses and more, and smacked him around some. Demanding to hear her new name repeated. The Lady Vaquera. Again. Again. She hurt him some, and its not as if he didn't like it.

   Little Lightning's eyes were as big as saucers, as she watched me fuck my boyfriend into utter and complete submission for her benefit. Her only complaint when I was finally done, was that I didn't "save any for her". When I dressed as Lady Vaquera for therapy, I enjoyed it. After we were done, I asked Light to leave us and I told her we'd be a while. I opened the desk drawer up and brought out a pair of his jeans and the bullwhip, and dropped them both on the desk. I told him, its time.

   As I fixed him securely to the big, heavy old desk, I told him.

   "So. You were jealous someone else got a few through their jeans, hmm? Well… you won't be jealous anymore, I know that much."

   It was a rush to get to use the whip forcefully. I normally had to baby the thing around, with my lightest touch. Mainly on lash strokes. Sure, I laid some on from the side. But, doing hard lash strokes was the prime satisfaction for my naughty compulsion. I got to take my time. Coil and uncoil as I felt like it. Snake it around on the floor. Stalk around and whisper sweet nothings before returning to it. Breathing breaks, safety first.

   My first two hard lash strokes were one after the other. Fast, hard and accurate. I ripped both back pockets open to hanging flaps. Then I snaked out and took the flaps off. It took me a while to begin to get through the jeans material. I had to have him gagged thoroughly, he definitely would have torn something in his throat. During breaks, I told him how wet I was getting. I wasn't lying, either. I could have wrung my panties out like a dishrag.

   I finally got a spot thread-baring. Another couple hard lashes got me my tear starting. One final fast accurate shot… tore the abused fabric. I snaked around some, and made noises around him. As if I were going to continue. I had been taking noise shots all along, to mask the next couple shots coming in. My panties were soaked. My compulsion was overly satisfied. I hadn't eaten, I had gorged. Now I would become a glutton.

   "That was for you…"

   I coiled up, and ran the coil over him. Tapped his bottom with it.

   "Jealousy? I bet its… all… gone…"

   I stood against him from behind, to let him feel me getting ready.

   "Now… this? This, is for me…"

   I grabbed the inside of the tear I had worked so hard to make. I ripped out suddenly, exposing his welted bottom. The fabric was thin now, and it shredded. I felt powerful. I slid my hands into the ripped fabric of his abused jeans. Onto his hips and took a firm hold. I lined up and touched his quivering little rabbit hole. Here comes the bigger, badder bunny over for a little play date.

   Ritual.

   I was slicked up and ready. I took my first bold, confident stroke. With little hip rolls at the end. I proceeded to take all bold confident strokes. All the way in, all the way back out. There was no working him up. He had long ago ceased to be anything except my helpless victim. Reduced to a screaming hot mess already, this was just thoroughly enjoying the writhing pile of submission. I told him he was mine, and that he belonged to me as I took him with no mercy.

   When I decided I was done, I withdrew slowly then gave a little bang time, then pulled out slow. I took him over after waiting on another breathing safety break, and strung him up. I used the thick, clear heavy oil for the first time. He knew what it was for, so he knew what was coming. So I could do it harder and not tear skin. I had a fully welted bottom. This would be everywhere else.

   "For you? I took your jealousy. Then, for me? Well… I took your ass. And now… we're going to have a nice… little… talk."

   I laid a few on. Hard.

   "I'll do all the talking. You? Can do all the listening."

   I wrapped a few around. Harder.

   "This… will let you know I'm about to say something…"

   A hard lash stroke. The kind I never could do before now.

   "And this… will let you know I've just said something…"

   A harder lash, then another.

   "And? Guess how you'll know how important what I said was?"

   Several hard lashes, in several spots. Rapid in succession.

   "Yeah… I have your attention now. I can tell."

   Several hard strokes in that brief a time of work, brought instant results. He was hanging doe eyed, the hurt puppy look, shocked at what could happen, so fast. One instant, still being greased up and lovingly prepared. Then the next? Covered almost instantly with large, red, teardrop shaped raised welts. Anywhere but his ass had not only the signature bloody teardrop, but that scraped with sandpaper almost artistic shading around one arc of each welt. Noise, commotion, and falling tears within seconds. An excellent introduction to how serious I really was prepared to be.

   I could talk about anything I chose to. Instead of talking about me, I talked about poor Little Lightning. How he was going to make sure he kept her best interests first, above all else and all other concerns.

   I explained that I trusted him, and his motives. But… there were a lot of big personalities involved. He needed to be on top of his game, to influence and control everything. And he could use his imagination what would happen to him, if that were to happen to her. I dedicated the entire "talk" to this subject.

   I had originally intended this talk, this time… to be the culmination of me, and us. But, that would be selfish. Instead, I used my power and control to extend over to cover someone else. My vulnerable friend, who needed my protection.

   The thick oil, the light grease. Clear. All over. I was amazed, it worked wonders. I was able to deliver powerful shots at will, and not tear or rip skin. I paused at times, to reapply more, and to work it in thoroughly. I was able to stalk around, and lay, wraparound, and lash out to my heart's content. To my compulsion's content. I was able to feed like a puppy at an unguarded source of food. Like a prized pig at a feeding trough. All I wanted. I wallowed in it, reveled in it, drunk with power.

   His poor bottom from ripping the jeans off this fun way, was marked. Now, I marked the rest of him up. I could reach anywhere I wanted, from above the ankles to below the neck. I took frequent breaks, and extended my talk time. I didn't need to hear anything from him, except noise. I knew my talking points I made were heard loud and clear. I dedicated the entire hanging time, to that single subject.

   When I let the rope down, I'm sure he thought it was over. At first, I'm sure he did. I let him catch his breath and calm considerably, laying in a writhing mass of wrecked victim where I let the rope out and he collapsed in a heap of wracked sobs, sweat, oil and tears. Still cuffed at the wrists and ankles, he was still my helpless victim. I still held the rope to the wrist cuffs.

   Now I could have my own selfish fun. I tugged to get him to crawl to me, inching along. I still had the bullwhip. I could still lay a little stroke on now and again, still give a light accurate lash. I had fun tormenting him. Enticing him to come to me, then chasing him to inch away from me. Then punishment, for moving away. I paused to have him grovel at my boots, then shoved him over and went back to the game. You are mine. You will listen to my voice. You will obey my commands. You are my property. You are my trained slut. I put one boot on the small of his back, and held him down. The spot where I would mark him permanently as mine. Posed like a hunter with a big game animal in triumph. I had bagged my game animal. Then I tapped him with the toe of my boot, and sent him inching along more. Toyed with him more.

   Gagged tears and slobber were an intermittent cleaning solution for Lady Vaquera’s prized farm slut boots. The helpless face cleaned and polished the well oiled and cared for leather. The strong scent of leather people recognize, comes from the oil. Mine smell like new and more, because I go the extra mile. Like I was going the extra mile now.

   I calmly told him, with Vaquera’s signature quiet icy tone. Never think this is some game. This, is very real. Sure. Strict discipline, demands strict obedience. And, to make no mistake but that I'll get as much of it as I want. Anytime I feel like it, if even for no reason other than to be simply entertained. But that strict discipline bringing strict obedience wasn’t enough. I demanded to be worshiped, when I snapped my fingers and pointed down when we’re alone and he hears the tone of my voice change. That’s what training him to obey my voice was for. It wasn’t about just following my commands, immediately and enthusiastically. I demanded more, than simply that.

   I stalked off, and continued a little more in earnest than already. Then I came back in again, for more polishing and worship. I let him know what that something extra was. Obedience wasn’t enough. Pleasing me, not good enough. He must always be thinking of new ways to please me. On his own, and without my suggestion. Offered freely. That, would show the proper and new found appreciation for being reunited with sweet mommy.

   Blindfolded, gagged, wrists and ankles locked together helpless. A long rope leash to the wrists. A blind, mute, pet slut. He inches towards my voice when I softly issue a command to "come" to me. He loves me, he craves obeying me. He inches away when I lash out at him. I don't lash out verbally, I do it physically right now. I literally lash out when I feel like it.

   "Where the fuck do you think you're going, hmm?"

   I walked around the pole he was near a couple times. This wound the long rope up.

   "You're not going anywhere…"

   I laid a light one on.

   "Ever. Your ass? Is mine, little boy…"

   I backed up. I snaked around and let him feel the leather snake action rub against him. He knows what it is. I speak softly. I've seen many videos where the women prance and strut around in outlandish costumes. These women think they're in control? They're wearing costumes on demand. A get up they could never wear in public without being pointed at and ridiculed. Me? I wear my farm girl outfit and I'm a good girl. Even when I wear Lady Vaquera's wham bam and ripped up get lucky with my cowgirl boots? I get nothing but lolling tongues and heavy stares.

   Those women not only wear costumes, but their voice and mannerisms are so fake and annoying its unreal. Its completely unreal. They can't train a horse, much less a more intelligent and therefore much more potentially dangerous animal. You're training an animal that can kill you if it turns on you. You calm the animal, you speak in soothing tones. You only raise your voice a little. So the animal associates your rising tone and the edge of your voice with punishment. And plenty of soothing voice during correction or punishment.

   No. Those women are the ones who have been trained. Wear this. Walk like this. Talk like that. Do this to me, using that. I don't. I wear anything. I walk how it pleases me. I speak normally. I do what I want to him, with what I choose to do it with.

   He was inching away from me yet again, when I showed him my new trick. I reached out with the whip, gently, and it wound around his neck and I held him firmly with it. He's seen me move a heavy paint can from spot to spot before. This is a delicate maneuver to master. You're basically doing a wraparound, but beyond gentle. Especially so, considering I went around his neck. Getting it to wrap isn't the difficult part. Its getting it to hold that's the high end thing to accomplish.

   Going for more than one wrap, isn't that hard. Now, you can obviously wrap "up" or "down", on a vertical cylinder. Wrap down? It uncoils quick and soft, almost immediately. Wrap up? It basically does the same thing, but can turn into a mess. The trick then, is to wrap down. But, I bend and drop my angle at just the right moment, so one or two wraps go above, as well. When its just one wrap above after the down wrapping, a gentle tug provides a light cinch.

   If I get it just right, there's that one wrap or a hair less above, laying over the rest coming back to my hand. I can yank on the object I've thus ensnared. Loosening? If I get it all just so, I simply send a little "wave" down the thing and it gently lifts that one wrap over and lets it fall. Now, all that's left is the coil under, which falls soft and quick.

   If it sounds complicated? It is. It takes quite a while to figure out exactly how to grab or hold something, let alone move it to a new target location. Accuracy comes last, believe me. The subtle movements that let that one wrap go above, so you can shake loose at will and retract like a professional? Not overnight, trust me on that one. I can rip a person off their feet if they don't suspect it coming, and their feet are close together.

   So yeah, I'm really showing off. I can wrap around his neck gently enough there's no danger, and deftly get that almost a full wrap over the rest. Pull and surprise him, then flick loose at will. There's still the handcuff's rope around the pole, and now I have a whip leash on him, shocking him. I can tug both gently, to show him how firmly and easily I have him.

   "Don't try to get away. I'll punish you for that. Face down. Ass up. I want you to… present yourself to me."

   "Yeah, that's right. Now, wiggle your ass for me. Invite me to do it…"

   Begging for it. Begging for more. Now that he's listened, I send that tiny wave and retract back.

   "Other girls have to run all over, trying to find their horse. Not me. I don't even have to call it. My horse hears my voice? It finds me. Because I'm a good owner."

   I'm touching him with the toe of my farm girl boots.

   "You begged me. To allow you, to submit to me. I agreed. I trained you, to please me. Just the way I like to be pleased. Don't ever forget what you feel right now, slut. When you dress me, when you undress me? You show me this. Every, single, time."

   When I was all done, I had him down at my boots, groveling at my feet. I lifted the toe firmly up under his chin. I'm sure my tone was surprisingly soft for him to hear.

   "I'm not even mad. Imagine what could happen, if you actually made me mad. Now that I seem to have your full and undivided attention? I told you before, and I'll go over it again. You'll treat Little Lightning, the same way you treat me. She might not be like me, but that's no reason she doesn't get the same level of respect from you. Basically, you have two mommies now. The fact she doesn't know or understand this? Is no reason for her not to enjoy it. Don't even answer me, I know I'm making myself crystal clear."

   I walked over and sat on the mattress pile. I watched him as the hot mess of a victim, turned slowly into a cold mess. I can speak softly now, and get spectacular results. I made a kiss-y noise.

   "That? Means come… I'll suggest politely, that you remember it…"

   I gave the gentlest tug on the rope still tied to the wrist cuffs. Another kiss-y noise. He inched his way over. Slowly. He groveled at my boots without prompting, and I lifted his chin up with the toe of one boot. I spoke softly.

   "I bet you think we're all done, hmm?"

   I ran the coiled up threat over him several times, but saying nothing.

   "Up. Come…"

   He crawled up and I got him in my arms and started mothering him. I shushed him, I kissed him. I Stockholm Syndrome-d the ever loving shit out of him for a good while. I shushed him, I kissed tears away, and I told him it was all over now. I slowly reintroduced him to his sweet mommy.

   I was done. He was done. We were done. He had fulfilled and propelled the dirtiest fantasies my naughty compulsion driven brain could come up with and comprehend. I had done and given the same back to him. I now had a trained personal slut of my very own. One that I owned and could use any way I wanted. Anything I ever wanted was mine for a word, a touch, a gesture. A truly guilt and shame free groupie. One that would fulfill my every desire without a second thought or a moment's hesitation. I could be anything and anyone I wanted now. I could be feared, respected, obeyed, loved, protected, treasured and worshiped. All as I wanted or needed. My desires would be anticipated and fulfilled before I even asked for them.

   As I gently touched him, he moved to whatever position my light touch seemed to call for. It reminded me of my beloved horse. A fingertip moved a powerful rippling beast into any position I desired.

   He had graduated to my well trained personal slut. I had graduated to owning completely a thing that was willingly and freely submitted entirely to my will and desire. I had something in my possession that I treasured above all else. After I thoroughly reintroduced him to be reunited with his sweet mommy, I got the handcuffs off of him slowly. Unlocking the double locks, then clicking off the cuffs. Removing the blindfold, undoing the bandanna knot and taking out the inner soaked bandanna he chewed on. I replaced the blindfold with my face, I replaced the gag with my lips and tongue.

   I gave him water out of my plastic water bottle. Like giving an animal a drink. I gently and gingerly dressed him in soft, loose clothing. My soft practice sweatpants. My big, soft, loose practice T shirt. A clean pair of my practice socks. All things that proudly displayed my number. Clothing that felt good given his condition and proudly showed my ownership. I packed things up into the little beach bag, and led him upstairs when he was fully composed and quiet.

   The thick oil, the clear thin grease… did wonders. There were no real abrasions to the welts. So, no scabs. Red welts that formed tiny bruise lines around the worst of them. By day three, he no longer had to sleep face down. By day seven, he was hardly a mark on him. We went and got drawings for our marks to be inked on our lower backs. Then we went back the next day and finalized the artist rendering, and got the work done.

   Little Lightning was initially aghast at his condition. She just looked at me, with some rare combination of horror, fear, admiration, wonder, awe, and fascination. I laid next to him, while she traced her fingers over his marks. Oiled him gently. Comforted him. She caught the significance of the images we wore once we finally got the work done. She marveled at her "little lightning" bolts worked into the hurricane. She's not any more of a "tattoo girl" than I am. She decided what the hell, and got two small lightning bolts at the bottom of her spine. SS lightning bolts that matched his. She was Little Lightning just like I was The Hurricane, and the SS bolts were the old Nazi joke for having a German last name. Szarabjorna Sturmer. Her initials as well. I once asked her what her father's last name would have been for her. She laughed and said it was worse than her first name, for spelling and pronunciation. She had shown me, writing it out. I could in no way put the string of letters, to the sounds that came out of her mouth.

   I caught the giggles when we all three slept in the same bed face down, all of us for a couple nights. Tattoo work when fresh, is like a patch of sunburn. I was content to be The Hurricane to everyone. My family is very Italian, and my name reflects that, a little too well. Frusta Sferza Frustino. Quite a mouthful, hard to spell, hard to pronounce, hard to remember. The Hurricane is much easier all the way around. I'm just Hurry.

   Still though, I took stock of everything one night when I woke up to take a pee and no one else was awake. I had Wiz, and we were happy. Light was doing better now. Mainly, the only regret I had was number three and her sad fate. Most other things that either concerned me or that I knew of? Were either doing better, on the mend… or at least not seemingly worse for the wear. I can't bear to think of number three now as anything but a lost friend. And I didn't hold her as a dear one when I still had her around.

   I'm going to guess that I texted or called Right more often than was necessary simply because of what had happened the last time one of my girls disappeared. As long as the phone answered me? She didn't share her fate. Silly, yes it is and I surely know it. Yet, there it is.

   I asked Right if she was keeping in shape at all. She sent me a picture of the gym she was at. She said Target got her an inexpensive one month at a gym club. The kind of place with no staff. You get a key code that works for a set time, and the code records who entered using their code. I was still going to be happy to see her back. The little pictures and tiny movies were nice. I know the gym. Big chain, no staff. I use it on the long holiday break. Her smiling face and doe eyes, showing me herself in the gym told me volumes. She felt spoiled and special. Target had brains and intuition, that was always obvious. He was “spoiling” his new girlfriend and quite effectively, for less than a dollar a day.

   To me its the gesture, not the cost. The last little movie with her smiling and waving on the treadmill, was about priceless. Her eyes smiled too, and she pointed next to her. The next treadmill had a big, no… a huge dog. Running and contented like a giant puppy. Of course. An FBI SWAT dog? Would be used to exercising with the SWAT boys. His pack, his buddies. This… almost 200 pound rippling but friendly beast, had a fairly big dumbbell in his big mouth, while he ran easily on his own treadmill. This dog was like a big, friendly lineman for the football team here I knew. Huge, powerful. But? Eager to please and friendly. Actually a gentle giant to be around. Only dangerous at game time, and even then? Only dangerous to the enemy.

   He was the boy I had enlisted to walk around with Little lightning, to see to her complete safety on campus. Carrying her books and walking her to and from classes. He’s so big that he was an effective deterrent even when absent from her side, once people got used to seeing him with her enough. I could see that Target had seen to Right getting the same treatment. Her giant lineman deterrent? Running on the next treadmill over, jogging with that big dumbbell in his mouth. I would guess, that he did this for his own obvious reasons. To make her feel safe in the city walking around. I would also guess? That having lost one girl to suicide, he senses my apprehension about now another girl going off to the city for 20 days. I can breathe easy, about her time away.

   She reached down, and went from jogging to sprinting on her own treadmill by pressing a button. She reached over and did it to Bully’s treadmill as well. The dog instantly went from his own fast jog and smoothly into stretching out and galloping. Like morning runs here. The occasional speed lap. The giant dog would glance up and over at her, to see they were both still doing the same thing. New pack member.

   Target and Right arrived back, and to say I was happy to have my friend back was an understatement. Target spent time with Wiz, I spent time with her. The girl part of me was all excited to hear about her budding relationship with an older guy that seemed like a great guy. I asked her what they did, she giggled. Not that, I said. What was it like being there?

   She smiled. Described the apartment. Pictures and videos of this gigantic dog. When he stood, he looked down at her after putting his big paws on her shoulders. And the sweet, gingerly way he came in to kiss her cheek was amazing. She would wake up with this giant dog coming onto the bed in the middle of the night. Apparently the dog was willing to share Target with her, but only to a point. You're asleep? You're all done playing? My turn for attention. The dog would wiggle between them.

   I asked if everything smelled like dog. She said no. When he took a shower, the dog went in and showered too. Dog had his own brand of shampoo, a dandruff shampoo. She tried it once, she said it made her scalp tingle. Dog loved it. Kept him from sitting around scratching his back all day and night.

   She said when he was at work, she went for a run then would hit the gym membership. Walk the dog around, to explore the city. Apparently, when you're walking around with a dog that weighs practically 200 pounds, rippling with muscle? No one hassles you in the slightest. The dog can go anywhere, you just say he's a "service dog". She had a little movie of taking him into a fast food burger joint. Dog was incredible. He just heels up, like a perfect gentleman. Sits and "guards" her table without a single bark.

   She explained the only weird thing, was the dog expects to get his own food. Also, it was like two dogs. At home? He's a big lummox. All friendly and spoiled and loving. You put his one harness on him though? He's quiet and different. When he's wearing that harness? He's "working". That's how you walk him. There's a "dog park", and you take him to play with the other dogs. There's a little dog enclosure, and a big dog enclosure. That's where they play, and obviously he plays with the big dogs. Video showed he's a big friendly lummox with all the other dogs as well.

   There were more pictures and movies of the dog than Target. I smiled to myself, it was like she got to experience taking care of the kid, while dad was at work. She said she enjoyed the experience. He does work sometimes long hours, and yeah he runs off in the middle of the night or in the middle of a weekend. But, he also stays at home in the morning the day after, or goes in late when he can, and even comes home early or for an extended lunch. Its a trade off, you just don't know which day will be what. One night he disappeared after a phone call, and the next day? He was all but off and only went in late for a few hours and was home early. They went to the pool.

   Yeah. Video of the dog with Target at the pool. Little kids riding him and moms and dads clapping at seeing their kid riding the "horse". She had a movie of Target in the middle of the deep end. He called him, and the dog ran and dove in and came and towed him to safety.

   Target while bullshitting explained that people that hated animals were just "weird". He'll never have another friend or lover that doesn't have some kind of rapport with an animal of some kind. I know the feeling. My horse once told me someone was going to try to jump me. I asked jokingly if the dog was to keep her company, or she was the one keeping the the dog from being lonely.

   He shrugged and explained.

   "You date a guy with a kid, you meet him. But, pretty quick… guy's gotta see you with his kid, you know?"

   I nodded yes.

   "Bully's my kid. He's my friend and my room mate, too. Guy has a kid? The guy and the kid, its a package deal. And its fair, you know. How many times a guy wants some girl, she comes with that kid. I don't see this as any different."

   He offered more.

   "She's safe, you know."

   I asked what he meant. He smiled and rolled his eyes.

   "I know I live in a city, and I know a city can be a cesspool. You don't always realize that you're walking around a giant toilet bowl, you know. It can smell real nice, like roses. You can heat the water in a toilet, did you know that? Rich people. Heated toilet water. So when a drop splashes up, its all warm on your ass cheek. God forbid some millionaire feels a drop of cold water, you know. Anyways… that's the city."

   I nodded. I understood.

   "Yeah. You can heat the water. You can put… perfume and flower petals to disguise it. But… at the end of the day? Its just a well kept toilet. Now… Bully. Being with her? Its like she's walking around with her own personal cop. Some human garbage pulls a knife or a gun on her, tried to mug her? Well… I feel sorry for him when he has to try being an armed robber… without an arm."

   I giggled. He smiled back.

   "I wonder if armed robbers, lose an arm that holds the gun? Do they, you know, get disability for that."

   We both laughed.

   "But yeah. That dog can literally smell a gun. I know when I'm walking around, who has one on them and who doesn't. He stares right at the gun, through their clothes. He's just watching them, waiting. Some idiot pulls a gun in public around him? He'll take the arm off."

   I asked what happened to the guy that shot him.

   "Oh. Dog like that? Look. The dog isn't mean. When you train a police dog, um… in the dog's mind… he's just playing sock. He's playing with people. Dog doesn't know anything but that. You obey commands from your handler. You protect your group that handler is with. And, if someone comes up with a knife or a gun or a stick? You grab the forearm holding the object. And you hold on, and play sock. So… when he got shot? Small caliber, didn't really incapacitate the dog. Dog played sock, did his job. It was the next raid he went on, things got ugly."

   I asked what happened to that guy. He sighed, and smiled thin.

   "Most people don't know this. You know how a dog bites, right? Quick snap. Makes those puncture marks. Pops back. Maybe tugs your pants. You know, mean dog."

   I agreed, sure, everyone knows that.

   "That's not a mean dog. That's a dog being a pussy. He's scared, he's nervous. He's treating you like he does another dog making him nervous. You bark. You bite and release, you maybe tug some fur and skin. Hey. Don't start no trouble. I'm warning you. That's not a dog being serious."

   I asked what a serious dog was.

   "When a dog wants to take a serious bite. He takes it back in the rear of the jaw, and he locks down. Out front? Punctures? That's just a nip. A big, deep bite. Then you hold on and play tug of war, and if you're big and strong enough of a dog? You don't have to let go. You have to teach a dog there's no reason to be afraid of humans. We're taller. Height of the eyes in the animal kingdom? Is dominance. Those dogs are never beat. They have no reason to fear people. The only thing those dogs are afraid of? Is being called bad dog, and not getting a treat. They whine and cry and carry on. Breaks their heart."

   I was quiet. He went on.

   "So. Dog's not scared of humans. He's been taught, from birth. To play tug of war. With a hand coming with a weapon. And when you play tug of war? You take a nice, deep bite and play to win. Well. After he'd been shot once. Guy pulled a gun. He knew what could happen. He’s already been shot. He now knows, this isn’t just a game. Him or his handler would get hurt real bad. He crunched through the forearm. He took it off. Then they had trouble getting him off the guy. Well. Guy was some drug dealing pimp. Dumb enough to pull a gun on a SWAT raid coming in. He lost an arm for it. Twenty years in prison is what he was facing. It got dropped to five. Dog got retired. Dog's young. Long life ahead of him. He didn't do anything wrong. And god help me, you have no idea how expensive a dog like that is, and it didn’t cost me hardly anything. I had to take a class to be allowed to adopt him, let him enjoy retirement. SWAT boys couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him put down, for just… doing his job."

   I didn't say a word. But really, take an arm off seemed like just a phrase.

   "So. If some asshole in the toilet bowl, decides they think its a bright idea to whip out a gun and rob people. Or rob her when she's out with him? He leaves the house like that? He's got his harness on. He knows that when that harness is on… he's working. They do it? Bully will take their arm clean off. The dog ain't got a mean bone in his body. But… you ever play tug of war, with a pit bull?"

   "Yeah. Some farmers have livestock dogs like that. I grew up on a farm, with other farms all around me. Other than guns firing, a pack of livestock dogs like that running free all night? Is about all that the coyotes respect."

   "Well. You ever actually win, playing tug of war with a dog like that?"

   I had to admit, I never did. They actually tire you out.

   "The dog ain't being mean. He's just playing tug of war, like he was taught. Doesn't mean you're going to win that game, you know? So. She couldn't be safer, when she's in the city. And if some turd in the toilet does it… well… the movie they make about that one? Will be called… a farewell to arms."

   I laughed at the punch line, and told him that was a good one.

   "People can learn things off of animals, too. You said you grew up on the farm. You… ever learn things off of animals?"

   "Yeah. I guess I did. Funny you say that, though. You don't think of it as learning off of the animal, but… I guess it really is."

   "I learned off of Bully. When I'm at work? I'm working. That's not me. That's just me when I'm working. When I'm home? I don't have my harness on. I'm not working. Doing what I was trained to do. I can just… do my thing and forget about it. I learned that."

   I said I liked that. It was nice.

   "People are like animals. Take your Wizzy, for example. MPs had a stray dog. We lived with him. No reason for a computer guy to live with the MPs, but some joker in housing made a mistake, or thought it would be funny, or… maybe they just stuck him there temporary till an opening came up in the computer apartments, and… they forgot about him. Who knows. But… we had a stray dog. We thought it was cute to train the dog. Here's this stray dog, and we never would have thought it, but… ended up being as good or even better than the regular MP's dogs."

   Wow. I don't even have my magic washrag. A great therapist shuts the fuck up when they're doing the work for you. So that's what I did.

   "We liked him. Great guy. Went with us anywhere we went. Went to the gym, the range. Weekend training camps we run for the new guys. Stray dog, just… it just happened. We didn't fully realize it, either. See, the MPs job, well one of the jobs. You got all these… guys… some of them are combat guys. Its the service. They can go out, and raise hell, and get all rambunctious. Now, you can't realistically put these guys in jail for that. Rangers, for instance. You can't stick them all in jail for… the hell you want, you know? These are the guys that you expect to… you get the idea."

   I nodded. I must be getting better at being a therapist. I don't even need my magic washrag now.

   "You still need to break it up though. Now. You get a call come in, hell being raised. First guys get there, if its a normal thing, you do the normal thing. Break it up, bring the boys in. Shake your finger at them, let them go in the morning. They might get a fine, or a reprimand. Do combat guys get a bit of a pass on that? Sure. Its an unwritten rule. Cause when guys like that are deployed? Well… you want guys like that."

   Silence is golden.

   "We got our own motor pool. We get our own cars to run around in, even off duty. Carload of us is out, radio goes off. All hell's breaking loose at the one bar. We're closest, we're right by it. Now, what you do is you go in. Doesn't always work, going in and yelling to get them to break it up. You get in the back, a couple guys. You call for help. You and your buddies, find a corner, and you protect yourself that way. We told him to stay in the car. He can hear us calling for all hands on deck over the radio. Now, all the MPs on duty are going to come pouring in eventually. Guys will hear the alarm on the radio and wake up and come in, too. All hands call."

   I said nothing.

   "We had two guys in the front seat, three in the back. He's one of them. So, there's four of us in the back corner. Waiting on the troops to arrive so we can wade into this mess. Here he is. He came in the back door, and found us. Put himself right with us. He won't leave. Fuck it, five's better than four, in this position."

   "How did it turn out."

   "Ah. Normal. You got guys know what they're doing, in a corner? You can handle what comes at you, until you get all the backup there. Guys post up at the doors, and the rest pour in when they have enough. Here's this guy. Our… stray dog. Won't leave our side. This is one of the scariest parts of the MPs job. You're trapped in a bar already went to hell breaking loose. Guys are coming back to your corner, and you have to protect your corner. He's doing it with us. Eventually, enough backup arrived. You start hauling guys out, one by one. We got a bus we bring in. You zip tie their hands, and you go back in and get another one, bring them out. There he is. Doing it with us, just like we practice it on mats."

   "Stray dog. Just wants to…"

   "Yeah. I asked him later. The hell did you do that for. He just looked at me, like I'm nuts or something. You guys are my friends. You never leave your battle buddies. And you know? Not every single MP is good at this. Some guys… they naturally guard the doors, other guys go into it and bring guys out. Go figure. He's good at it. We were off duty, so, we don't have anything with us. No flashlight, no taser. Most of the guys that show up for backup do, though. There he is. Well… all the guys knew him, in our unit. Hell, they're teasing other new guys. Get the hell in there and grab someone, you can see the computer guy's doing it. The fuck in there, you pansy."

   "Stray dog. Became your mascot."

   "Yeah. Its not illegal, for a regular guy to decide to render aid to an MP having a problem. Hell. We gave him his own radio. Bar owners all like seeing that radio. They know what that is. Its the one thing an MP has on him off duty. Bar owner knows, if something happens? He's got a witness, saw the whole thing. Can call for help, and get it quicker than calling 911. Guys all know who he is anyways. He's basically, at this point? One of us. Just, never on duty. He's like a permanent… off duty MP."

   "Training aid, for the new guys, huh?"

   "Oh yeah. We had him talked into when he re enlists? Fuck that, you're gonna be one of us. We all wanted him to. The commander, that ran our substation? Was all happy to have him come back in. What, run him through a few classes, toss him a radio and car keys. He already knows most of the guys. But, he was a computer guy before he came to us, and… he wanted to go to college. Can't blame him for wanting a life. Said it before. No one calls MPs for the fun. Only when things go wrong. Cop? Same thing. You get to see everyone's worst moments. Too easy to forget what people are like at their best."

   "How did he get… rape prevention classes and that."

   "Oh. Well, we don't have enough MPs. You can never have too many. He's never on duty anyways, he's always off duty. They wanted someone good to teach self defense to women. How to avoid… that. He volunteered to teach classes for that. Not just anyone has the right… I'm sure you know what I mean. He's not threatening. He's quiet, he's polite. He was good at it. You just can't send a drill instructor to deal with rape victims. You need someone who can pet a hurt, scared dog. And put them at ease. He can do that. Get information. Put things together. Being an MP, if he enlisted again with us? He had a bright future, doing it."

   I waited. You never know when there's more. He sighed.

   "I guess that's when he changed. Taught those classes too long. Worked with the people that… work around that kind of thing. Hell. Commander joked with me, when he said he wasn't going to enlist with us. The fuck did I do wrong, you know? We had him coming back, right up to near the end. I figured it was just wanting to go to college, get back to that life he knew. But… with enough time to think about it? That probably didn't help. See, any cop that wants out? There's usually a reason. I guess he spent too much time around… well, like I said. You see people at their worst too much, you…"

   "Yeah. I guess I see what you mean."

   This explained a lot, though. Why he was so good at investigating rape, talking to the victims, so protective of women… everything.

   "Hey. You want some ice cream?"

   "Sure. Thanks."

   I gave Target his own bowl. We continued on our talk, with less conversation and destination in mind now. Just idle talking for a little while. Right was off getting some sun with Lida and her crew. Wiz had Light on a store run in my car, she likes to get better at getting over her phobia. Its how we had our talking time now. I noticed he wasn't eating his ice cream. It was starting to melt.

   "Hey. We got bullshitting, you're letting the ice cream turn into a milkshake…"

   He chuckled.

   "Oh. That. I, uh… I do this…"

   He scraped with his spoon, at the edges. Where it was soft and melted. When he ran out of melted ice cream? He waited for more to develop, and he was on it slowly. He was on the mush, not the cold stuff. He smiled.

   "I, uh. I have to watch cold stuff. It hurts. Hot stuff, too. I let hot stuff cool down. I let frozen stuff start to melt. So I can enjoy it. Maybe now you'll notice. You guys all get an ice cream cone? Doesn't do me any good. I always get a sundae. So, that way I can let it melt and I can still get ice cream."

   I figured he had a bad tooth.

   "When I was little. Moms, you know? Used to put my cereal bowl in the freezer overnight. So… the milk stayed cold. So the cereal didn't get mushy. Its how I liked it. I miss that. Used to like cold sandwiches too. Have to have everything lukewarm now. That's why I like my pastrami sandwich to sit out. Warm up. Meat's cold, being in the fridge. I could get a hot one, but, just gotta wait till it cools off, goes warm. I miss hot food being hot, cold food being cold. My whole life's lukewarm now, at least mealtime."

   "Well. Get the bad tooth pulled, or… capped, or whatever. You're an FBI agent, I'm sure you have dental, right?"

   "Nah. Nothing they can do. Its down in the jaw, what does it. I guess its a typical nerve damage. Old injury. You notice the little cop mustache? Helps hide my scar."

   "I never noticed."

   "Yeah. I got lucky. Damage was mostly on the inside. So, I'm still as pretty as I am."

   I chuckled. He had a sense of humor about everything.

   "Car wreck?"

   "No. It was an accident though. Nothing on purpose. Like all accidents, it shouldn't have happened. But like any accident? It just works out like that. Tiny scar. Lukewarm food and drinks. Small price to pay, for wisdom."

   "What did you learn?"

   "Oh. Nothing's routine. No matter how everyday you think things are? You watch. I honestly should have died, learning that lesson. But? I did other things right. Made up for it."

   "What did you do right?"

   "Eh. Had good backup with me. That right there? That's key. Guy I was with, when it happened. Saved my life. See, mistake wasn't just mine. We all thought it was a normal day at the office. Guys on the radio, me. Everyone. Little thing. You guys, handle that big call. I'll check it out, its fine. No big deal. And that? Is when it gets you. So… you ever wonder. How cops bust in like gangbusters, go all commando on everyone. That's why. You can't treat normal like normal. Just when you let your guard down? That's when it happens."

   Wiz told me about this. I know. This is the MP that got shot in the face. He just never told me who. He's not even admitting he got shot, nor that Wiz saved his life that night. This explains so goddamn much. Their special bond they share. Why he'd be so eager to help Wiz when he made a plea for help. Why the other MPs would all be just as eager to help one of their own.

   It explained a lot about Wiz, too. He was a quiet and polite computer guy. How he got around these guys, and became all but one of them. Their mascot. Then… well, Target himself said it. You see too much of humans at their worst, you want out of it. So you can see people at their best again. So you can get called for fun times, not just when things go all to hell.

   Where Wiz got his sense of justice from. And, I was just sure of it, too. More than one rapist got a visit in a dark parking lot later on down the road. Because most women didn't want to go through the circus side show, being pointed at and dissected in court. They got in the way of official justice. And there was an optimum outcome, when bad karma came home to roost. The zen mentor, had seen what he was like, how good of a man he was. Helped him. Taught him then and gave him material like… the Art of War and Machiavelli.

   Watch. Wait. Study. Choose the ground and time wisely. Then, when your moment is finally there? Strike like the lord god almighty himself, and do the job right. The universe is watching, and wants bad karma repaid. The punishment should fit the crime. There should be justice, when law and order fail. Some angels get cats out of trees, and others take firstborn males. His friend and fellow MP? Had to learn to eat solid food again. Got hit from out of nowhere. So? He did it back. He made sure the guy had to learn to walk and talk again, and I'm willing to bet that involved trouble with food as well.

   And, a crazy stalker. Terrorizing a married family. All that time spent helping rape victims. Surrounded by men with an unspoken sense of what justice was. It was like making sausage. It sometimes involved blood and scraps of meat flying around the workshop. But, once it was all crammed into that casing? It was a wonderful meal, and it really hit the spot. It satisfied your craving, for justice.

   I suddenly realized in a flash. Target had said it. In code. Wiz? You took the garbage out for me, and I’m the garbage man. I don’t have words. He had also said more in code. Lots more. I now understood that code. I could read it in plain text. I’m proud to be here. You’d do it for me. That, was code for he had already done it for him. Probably for others, too.

   Then it struck me. The analogy, of the kid next door. Mowing the lawn, raking the leaves. For no pay, no favors. Kid finally asks for a comic book one day? Hey, kid. Whole rack of comic books. Here. Whole stack. Least I could do.

   Holy shit. They were spread out around the country, almost all in law enforcement. Higher end, too. State police, not locals. FBI, not security guards. They were preferred for those jobs. They were promoted quicker. Their first loyalty? To each other, and to justice. Those close, would come in. Others that couldn’t? A phone call, an email.

   We might make a report, we might not. We’ll see what it takes. Wiz said to treat Little Lightning, like this was done to my own daughter, that’s how I feel about her. Sounds like a firstborn son to me, his head might fit in the box. I read the secret code now, like a code breaker in world war two, in plain text. I felt a shiver go up my spine. This might get fucking ugly.

   We are legion.

   It explained who he was, and what the universe had sent to me. The universe will put you, where you're supposed to be. You just have to let it. The universe will find a way to put you on the mountain, right when and where you need to be there. The mentor? He was up in some karma afterlife. Probably sitting and talking with some god of karma, whatever he even looked like.

   The universe was out of balance. Sure, someone is going to run a small town to suit themselves, that's normal. But… they went too far. Way too much bad karma came out of that. Look at her, her life is shattered. Everything's fucked now, everything's out of balance.

   The mentor is there though. Hey, look. See him? You were happy with me being your karma agent, right? Trained him myself. Just… put him? Over there. Put him near it. He'll track the kid's animal, he'll jog right up that mountain. He knows what to do. He knows how to send a big ball of bad karma back at them. Just put him there, and we'll sit back and watch the show. I'm telling you, he'll jump on that scale and balance things out. See? He's calling in reinforcements, he's not stupid.

   No one has a bigger sense of justice, than cops. They see law and order fail or go too little too late, all too often. And military cops? An even stronger sense of it. These guys were in demand, too. All the cop agencies wanted one if they could find one. Because they were tough. They were fair. And with not a word said, without a word being put on paper… they would seek justice, they would make you sausage. The report? Oh. That might be bullshit, sure. But? It will be great bullshit. And you'll get your sausage, and you'll have pieces of paper that explain how everything is being done according to law and order.

   No. Everyone wanted one of these guys. You got your law and order followed. You got your justice. And they knew how to play the game well. You have one or more of these guys around? You get to have your cake, and eat it too.

   The universe was craving it as well. A nice, big plate of sausage. Boy, would that just sure hit the spot. Bad things had happened in a little town called Swellsville. Horrible things, really. These people were pleased with themselves, and laughed up their sleeves about it. Now, the big bolts of lightning were being charged up. The lightning machine? Was being aimed right at them. If they weren't so busy being assholes, they might notice the hair on the back of their neck standing up. You can't say they don't deserve it. The hell did they think would happen eventually, you keep pulling shit like this.

   No, they went and did it now. They pissed off the god of karma, and he sent a few emails out. Boys? The universe needs you. Let the universe put you where you need to be. I know something's gonna happen, and I know its not going to be good. This can't be solved in a couple minutes in a parking lot at the right moment. Too much bad karma was generated, and far too long went by that it grew. Swellsville might look like a small nuclear bomb went off over it. Who even knows what this will take the form of. Heads might end up on sticks.

   Workouts still happen. Therapy still happens. Me, Light, Wiz… that still happens. The investigator state cop, when the weekend gets here? He's coming in. He's got a stack of paper it seems, and Target and Wiz wanna see it. Oh, Christ. I just got Target's nickname. Morbid sense of humor the MPs seem to all have. Guy got shot in the face. They nicknamed him… you guessed it… Target. It obeys the rules, too. You can't prevent it, you can't change what happened? You keep your sense of humor and perspective and you poke fun at it. So, the guy's named for all intents and purposes now… Target.

   Yeah, when you get to the rock bottom of the whole of any story? You understand everything. Guy was an MP. Got shot in the face before he got out. He heard there was a big gigantic dog that was great at his job, except he got shot and took the next guy's arm off? Oh yeah. He had to have that dog, I'm sure of that. I'm sure Bully is his best friend, and gets his own pastrami sandwich. It was obviously not a thing like the SWAT guys are looking for a home for Fido. Target had to take a class on how to understand and handle a K9 dog like him. Probably so he knew what to do, and more importantly what not to do. Around the dog.

   Dog's happy too. Dog grew up around cops and cop dogs. Hey, I got a new handler. Nice guy. Has a badge, has a gun. This is normal. Hey. I get to wear my harness again. Awesome. I still get to work, I still get to go play. Because I'm a good dog. Not sure what pastrami is? Good stuff though. I must have been a really good dog, because this job is a lot easier than my last one. No one's shooting and screaming every day. We have to patrol the park though. Sometimes patrol the public pool. Easy work though. I got this. Hey. New partner. Girl cop. Doesn't wear a gun. Ah, its fine. I won't let anything happen to your partner. I got this, too. Hey, uh… she knows I get my own pastrami sandwich, right? Beer mustard, like yours? And I'm allowed on the furniture. Oh. She does? Great.

   Christ. Guy and his dog both been shot before. Just for doing their jobs. They both wanna just go, do their jobs. Do them well, mind you. Then? Watch the game on the weekend, have a pastrami and beer mustard sandwich. Not too much to ask for.

   Yeah. Right probably thinks she has to approve of the dog, to have him for a boyfriend. I ain't being the one to tell her. The dog has to approve of her, or her ass goes. I can hear it now. Now, honey? The dog's allowed on the couch, on the chairs. He gets his own plate at the table, just like us. He sleeps in the bed. And here's how he likes his sandwich made… and if I'm late tonight? Put the game on for him.

   If she forgets that its time to patrol the park? Bully will bring her the harness, and gently remind her. We got a job to do, lady. Lets get to it. Could be some kids at the playground, need a ride? I gotta be there for that. I'll show you how its done. You'll be fine. All you gotta do, is walk behind me and hold that thing, and look pretty. I got this.

   Me, I'm getting an education on how the universe really works. It works on karma. I was raised a Catholic, just like Wiz was. Didn't really do that much, for either one of us. Now, don't get me wrong. Its fine when you're little, with your family and a few close family friends. Here's ten easy rules. You apply them. God's rules. Makes the world he made for us? A better place. And really, it does just that.

   The little girl that came over? She stole my toy. Won't give it back. I tell mom. Mom has a talk with the other mom. That kid gets brought over to the little pow wow, after her mom put a word in her ear. The little girl now shows the appropriate amount of that Catholic specialty, the defining characteristic of any devout Catholic. The girl that took your toy now shows guilt. Here. I'm sorry I took your toy and tried to keep it. I'm sorry. Then your mom nudged you. Someone is apologizing, what do you do and say. You accept their apology, and you better mean it. Your sin was tinier. So, you feel less guilt. Because if someone wanted or needed something? You were supposed to offer it to them.

   Now, this really is a truly wonderful system. If you follow the rules. The more rules you follow, the more you follow each one? The less guilt you feel. Guilt doesn't feel good. Not only might you wind up in hell for all eternity, while you're still here? Your guts feel bad. Like you ate bad potato salad been outside all day in the sun. Stealing might taste good, just like the potato salad tasted good… but… ouch. Now, if you steal another kid's toy and make it home with it? You feel bad, instead of good. You have to get it back to them. You know they miss their toy. Self guilt is the weapon of choice for good Catholics. They wield it like swords. They can cut you down with it.

   Someone stole something from the church? The priest is a master of guilt and self loathing. He preaches about it, and next thing you know? The missing thing just turns up on the church steps. Probably with something else ten times as cool along with it, to make up for it. And even if you're not completely devout? Everyone else is, or at least pretending. There's a small town and a community involved. The used car salesman? Has to at least tow the line and appear to go along with these rules.

   The mayor and the councilmen? They have to either believe or pretend to go along. Or, they don't get elected. Because you can't have godless heathens running the local show. Old ladies go around and talk to everyone and make sure everyone knows the business of everyone else. Teachers at the local school? Same principle. All the moms and all the dads you know, are all on board this ship. Everyone has got the same plan, or is pretending to. Which is functionally the same thing.

   God I love some of Wiz's phrases for things. Pretending to go along, is the same thing as actually going along and believing. Its functionally equivalent.

   No. This is a great system. I'm Italian. Which makes my family either complete drunks and criminals? Or, more likely… Catholics. Whole family, and its pretty big? All Italian. All Catholic. So all the kids you meet when you're real little? Everybody is on board with the plan. And, I gotta tell you. It works. Feeling only a little guilt? Wonderful feeling. You can leave your toys out and not watch them. Someone else? Will be their brother's keeper, and put them safe for you.

   Everyone agrees to follow the ten simple rules. Everyone forgives and forgets and accepts apologies and grants forgiveness. Everyone turns the other cheek, within reason. Even the fucking small town cops are on the plan, and do their part. You don't haul a kid to jail for stealing hard corn to throw at houses around Halloween. You take them to their parents. Doesn't cost a dime to the system. Its easier. Kids are more afraid of their parents, than they are some mythical system of law and order anyways. Fuck paying a fine, we're talking about eternal salvation and damnation hanging in the balance here.

   Its a beautiful, well thought out system. And, it really works, and it gives great results. Poor people find places to live they can afford, and someplace to work some kind of job. Families stay together. Everyone might not have great loads of wonderful shit, but… everyone takes care of everyone. Sort of. In practice, its not perfect. I'll grant you that. But, they try. And that's where the magic is.

   I'll tell you the problem with this wonderful system. Where and how it breaks right the fuck down. It begins, when you get old enough to go out and about. Off the farm, away from family and close friends. You run into… what my grandparents called… godless heathens. Now, your system is eternally fucked. Now? Your optimum outcome becomes an optimum screw up. A thing that's now so fucked up, its fucked to biblical proportions. We're talking meteor in your ass fucked.

   Because when suddenly a certain number of people aren't on board with this plan? All you've done is create a town full of victims. Rubes. Gluttons for punishment. You can do and say anything to them, and they'll accept any lame ass apology. Now, you have to protect your shit if you wanna bring it back home from school. You gotta lock your locker. You can't turn the other cheek, because they'll strike that one too. Catholic guilt looks like fear to godless heathens, and they laugh and do whatever they want, preying on you.

   So, you learn there's two systems. There's how its supposed to be, then how it really is. There's family and close friends, and everyone else you have to watch out for. There's your hometown, where things are supposed to be swell, then… there's at a worst example, the big city. Full of all kinds of godless heathens. This, is where the system breaks down completely.

   You simply can't follow the rules, when you're one of the only ones doing it.

   Wiz found out hanging out with the MPs? This system is wonderful, but only with carefully chosen family and close friends. You need something else entirely. Because guilt ain't gonna get it. Karma.

   An equally wonderful system. Everyone is raised to do all the same good things to each other, just like young devout Catholics. Or else your bad deeds will save up, increase in size and momentum, and the pendulum will swing back into you like a cosmic sledgehammer. And, while accomplishing all the same goals? It doesn't create victims out of the believers. No sirree. If you steal everyone's shit? Sooner or later people will figure that out, and they will come and steal all of your shit. Shit you stole, and shit you paid for too. You punch people in the nose instead of saying hello every day? Guess what happens. They find someone who can split your face into two halves. And when you're helping the universe balance out? There's no need for guilt.

   Wiz's mentor explained how the universe really worked, and he understood it. An older sigma male, mentored a younger sigma male. If your motives are pure. If you're a quiet and polite person. If you only put good karma out for the world. Then… when the universe needs you? You answer the call. You can't do it to make yourself feel big. You have to have a pure heart, a pure soul. You have to give people a chance to learn and make good karma. But if you run into a great wrong, that law and order can't properly address it? If you've been following the code, to the letter? If your heart, soul, mind, body, spirit are pure? Then strike like the right hand of god almighty himself. And don't you dare feel one second of guilt or remorse before, during or after.

   The universe is an imperfect place, sadly. Bad things happen. Horrible things can happen, and not get addressed. You, are part of that universe. Simply accept that negative energy. Save it up? Then hurl it back at them and crush them. You're doing the universe a favor.

   This mentor? Was the senior fighting instructor. He took certain men aside, and tutored them on the finer points of karma. But master. Fighting alone can't accomplish but only so much. What do we do when we encounter great evil. Oh, young grasshopper. Here. Reading assignment. Here's Sun Tzu, the Art of War. Wow, master. That was a great read! Glad you enjoyed it, grasshopper. Now, here's Machiavelli, the Prince. Enjoy. These two books go together like peas and and carrots. No karma master should be without them in his library.

   Aha. I see. So, law and order only works so far, that's why we have a system of actual justice. Yes. Everyone is on board, you just have to learn how to write a report. If you even go that route. Let me explain how dark parking lots work late at night. We don't have a form to fill out on that one.

   He knew what to do. What needed done. He took care of violent rapists and other human garbage. The MPs knew what to do when they found a "victim" in the parking lot looked like a truck ran him over. After all, someone had helpfully dropped a picture of the wife on top of his near lifeless body. Well, how neat and tidy is this. The victim deserved it. All the people with any kind of motive were all on camera somewhere when it happened. And the universe? Just like that, is balanced again.

   Women who were violently raped, not just gently used? Well, if they didn't want the added insult and injury of the "system" to punish them further just for being a victim. Well. Turned out there really were angels walking around on earth. Some angels told old women they were going to bear children. And others? Well, they had some kind of oil on the feathers of their wings. So the blood washed off. They could dip their wings in spattered blood, and handle the rougher things god required. You really didn't want to look up in a dark parking lot and see one of these looking at you, smiling. You were all alone, it was dark, and no one around to raise the alarm. Karma had come for you.

   To a regular person. A person who has a more common personality type. Yeah, this all makes sense to them. But… to a sigma male? Oh, an older sigma male taking the young apprentice aside. No, this was like a loudspeaker turned up to full volume so he could hear it as plain as if the lord almighty gave him holy writ on the side of a mountain. There's nothing wrong with you. This thing you feel inside of you? Its fine. Here's some books to help you do it better. And remember. Don't feel guilt. You're doing a public service. You're just taking the garbage out. The garbage men do a great job, but if they miss some or can't reach that one can? Help out.

   And then he heard about the dumpster fire that was Swellsville. Well. You're right where the universe wanted you positioned. You were hand picked, you were hand mentored. Now, go forth and create your masterpiece. Paint your own personal Sistine chapel.

   I'm also humbled, in a way. These men. My Wiz. Target. The others. The other men that were there back then. Now, spread out and around. Enforcing what it was they thought was right. Carrying out law and order, imperfect though it might often be and fall somewhat short of its intended mark. Then? They have their own code they can fall back on. That justice, was a higher code than laws and orders.

   Its very humbling. These men don't get paid enough, and there's no amount of money you can give a person to live like they lived, and to live the way they do now. Bored to tears, a mundane and thankless existence. Then, sheer terror. The kind of terror that gives you cold sweats and grips your bowels and twists your guts up until you're just sure something you need to survive will just give away and snap.

   How do you willingly go through life like that. Doing boring drudgery. No one's happy you're doing it. No one appreciates it. No matter what you do, you're fucking up and pissing someone off. You didn't enforce the laws enough. Look, this one got through. Where were you all. Oh, now you went and did it. You enforced the laws too well. You're supposed to exercise judgment and discretion. What were you thinking. I'm sorry, you didn't protect the unimportant people. They depend on you. You? Are all they have. You fool! Don't you know who this is? How terribly important he is. Yes, you ignore unimportant people, and concentrate on the important ones! The hell is wrong with you, anyways.

   No matter what you do? Its wrong. And all you're trying to do is your best, to do what's right. No, you put up with it all. Why? Because when you were young and impressionable, some uncle told you that every once in a while, you get to save a cat out of a tree, and be just for that moment? The greatest thing in some old lady's eye. You get to, once in a blue moon… actually do some good, and make a difference.

   Then, what thanks do you get in the end? Really none. You get a paycheck, but its hardly like you're doing it for the money anyways. As if you can even pay a man enough, to stand there and get shot in the face. All over a mistake, all because some other asshole is terrorizing a family like a goddamn certifiable lunatic who hasn't been diagnosed and institutionalized yet.

   Wiz had to watch his friend get his face blown apart, and barely make it to the emergency room to save him just in the nick of time. Why did they go through it, why did they really do it then. I can see it now. Because they live their life by a code. It gives their life meaning. It gives them a sense of making a difference. It makes them feel like they matter.

   That feels so good, that Wiz did it without being paid. He did it on his own time, and called it having fun. After he was done working his own job. And when his friends were outnumbered and in trouble? He couldn't be kept from them. He went and stood next to them. He willingly chose to share their fate. My god, if I could get a portion of that sense of "team" into my team? Christ, we'd be unstoppable.

   These men share a bond. They love one another. Not in some romantic way, but on a deeper sense of what it means to have a family. Or, what it should mean to have a family. They'll die for one another. They'll kill for one another. When you're really in a pickle, you have one call to make. You don't call friends, you don't call your real family. You call the nearest one of them. The rest? They're on their way too. Their own radio communications system put out an audible alert.

   One of our own? Asked for help. Drop whatever you're doing, and report in. See if you're in the right place to give aid and lend a hand. I'm right here. I got the call. You… and you? You're in the right place. Let's go. Here's the address. And they show up. They don't ask questions. You don't have to bargain or plead. They… just show up. What's going on. What do you need. How can we help.

   And you don't even mention it to one another. You don't cheapen it. You just… look at each other. Smile. Touch them on the shoulder… and say… yeah. They risk their lives. They risk their careers. Everything.

   Yeah. It humbles you. You don't know that you're even missing out on some important part of life, until you see this and experience it. What it means to have a code, and live by it. Above all else. To belong to something greater than yourself. To both feel important, and at the same time? To recognize how insignificant you really are. That its the bigger thing that's important.

   This is love. You put each other above yourself. Not everyone doing whatever they can for themselves. Together, they're greater than the sum of their parts that way.

   And a sigma male, like Wiz. Oh. He took one sniff of this, and knew that's where he belonged. Your own values, suddenly matter. Rules? Yeah. Comb the rule book. See which ones work. See which ones we can ignore, or find a loophole or a workaround for those ones. Or? Take that rule book and throw it right out the window. Make a plan. Or improvise. Hey, whatever it takes.

   And that sense of humor they all seem to share. You ask for the car, you need it. These guys just point at their coat. Keys are in the coat. Go ahead. No questions asked, no explanations needed. You can tell them, that the plan is to drop your new car off of a cliff? So it lands in the right place, to get some bad guy. Oh really? Cool. Just one thing. What's that? Call him, tell him to get my CD out of the radio. I like that CD.

   Wiz and Lightning? Back now. Target is explaining how the investigator guy is on the way, he called he's getting near, he'll be here soon. Also? He's bringing a friend. Wiz asks who, he says its an old friend. Its a surprise. Wiz is already in a more than decent mood. But now? He's a little elated. Wow. Cool. Another old buddy. That's wonderful, he can't wait.

   When the state police investigator arrived, he came to the door alone. Wiz asked where his surprise was, and he jerked his thumb out the front door, behind him. Wiz walked out to see his surprise, and I followed him. There was a woman standing there, and she was smiling at him. He ran up and hugged her and twirled her around a few times. She laughed and feigned being mad, and swatted his shoulders, demanding to be put down. They even swatted playfully at each other a few times. Target was laughing, he had followed out behind me. The investigator? He was smiling, maybe about to laugh. Those two? They were smiling and grinning, quite happy to see each other. I guess I was the only one who wasn't laughing or smiling quite as much.

   I felt the first stab of actual, real jealousy over him, ever. I mean, you could argue that I was jealous when Miss Moody was shaking her ass at him, giving him a leg and pantie show behind my back. But, that wasn't jealousy. That was anger. He wasn't even looking at her putting on her little show, I was quite proud of him. I was simply angry at her. Had I said a few things to a few girls? Yes. Had I pushed one or two around over it? Sure had. But never jealous. Out of anger, out of pride, out of a sense of "this is mine". This was jealousy, and I knew it.

   I know what he likes. Tall and athletic, first and foremost. He prefers a tomboy, too. Looks are fine, but it comes down his list, and goes through his own personal sliding scale. You don't get but an initial 1 to 10 rating. Other factors nudge you up and down a point at a time. I could guess what those factors were. And she had I would guess… all of them.

   Simple jealousy. He knew her from way back when. She was older than me. She came from his old world, and he probably didn't have any secrets to her. He worked with her. That made her one of the boys. She was way more than likely? A green queen. She had these men's respect for some reason. She was one of them. She had some kind of skill set, she was being brought in on this. Good old fashioned jealousy, and I didn't like this one bit. I felt silly, sure as hell I did. That doesn't stop you from being jealous, its just an added factor that you're not just jealous, now you're silly and jealous.

   If you show you're jealous? Now, you're marking yourself as being childish and silly. And if you don't? Well, you run that risk, too. He's obviously happy to see her. He was as excited as any of the other guys he had met on this. This? Was Elise. Gee, I'm so happy to meet you, Elise. Would you mind if I bumped you under a speeding bus? No? Great. Can't show that, so I smiled and acted happy. The hell else am I going to do.

   Naturally she's the novelty newcomer, so… he has to concentrate small talk on her now. She's not unlike me. Tall, about almost as tall as I am. She's got an athletic frame. Leg muscles, shoulders. Even some forearms and a grip like a working farm girl like me would have. No tiny dainty hands and feet. You can tell from her attitude, she carried her own heavy pack. She's not unfeminine, she just doesn't go out of her way to accentuate it. Hair? Just pulled back into a ponytail. Not a knockout, but not ugly. A little plain, but not a trace of makeup.

   They found out she was on leave, so? Apparently she had some skill set the boys were happy to pick up. I'm kinda used to being the biggest and toughest girl in the room most times. Here's the competition. She doesn't have an attitude, but… she exudes the kind of quiet confidence the other guys do. An MP, obviously. She walks around with these guys as if… well? Not as if, she is one of them. I'm betting she can handle herself, too. Great. Can't wait to have her prancing around in her underwear and T shirt for a couple days.

   Didn't help that much, when the boys dragged her down to the basement office, for a strategy session. Not something I'm invited to, but she is. I have to like this and be happy with it, too. Gee. I might as well shove her onto his dick. And naturally I know I'm being silly, so that just makes it worse. No husband, no kids. Not even hooked up with a boyfriend. She's as single as a woman can be. Oh, good for her, you know?

   There's something about her, too. Just don't know what that thing is. She has a little smile, like she knows something I don't know. Polite about it though. Maybe she used to fuck him, and I'm supposed to just know and not care. Who knows. Still something about her I can't put my finger on. I just can't place what it is. It feels like its something I should know or be able to guess. Which makes me try harder, which just frustrates me more.

   She ended up coming upstairs and got a soft drink, and asked if I minded if she sat at the table with me. Go right ahead. I was pleasant, I smiled. She's quiet and direct, too. Like all of them.

   "So. You rehearsing the speech?"

   "What speech."

   "The patented… that's my guy, speech. That one."

   "What makes you…"

   She smiled. An easy smile, not a haughty sort of thing.

   "Eh. Could of sworn I picked up a vibe from you. You're being polite, and… it doesn't go with the feeling I pick up on you. So. That's my guess."

   Great. She's an expert at reading people. She knows I'm jealous. Which means she knows how silly I am right now. Great. The hits just keep on coming. I can't even say anything to him. Or I make myself look worse.

   "I figured we could talk, save you that speech you've been working on."

   "No speech. It is my guy."

   "You don't trust him… or…"

   "I trust him. You're his type, though. And you obviously used to work with him. You guys seem to be great buddies. You guys might even have some kind of history. Hell, I can't even say anything about that. Not like me and him grew up together."

   She smiled, and it seemed genuine.

   "You sure that I'm his… type? So. I thought I picked up a feeling. And like I said, I excused myself, to get a drink. Really, just to get a chance to talk with you. Save you that speech."

   "What would you like to talk about. Elise."

   "You might wonder what I'm doing here. Normal question."

   "And…"

   "I was an MP. I'm out now. I work as a cop. Same as most of the other guys. Your Wiz? He's one of the few that didn't come back and become a civilian cop. Good for him. Hurry, right? But yeah. He speaks very highly of you. I haven't been here very long? I'm already sick of hearing about you."

   She smiled easily, to let me know she was just kidding. Yeah, same easy sense of humor as the guys have. That quiet confidence thing they all give off. She went on.

   "You… might wonder what I did. When I worked around him."

   "Well. You were an MP, so… I got the basic idea."

   "I doubt it. I wasn't a regular MP. Most of his… service buddies? The boys all worked together in their own substation, on the airbase. I didn't. I worked for the… main thing over the substations. I just happened to work around him, when I wasn't moved around. I… specialized."

   "In…?"

   "I mainly worked rape cases. Some other stuff, too. Purse snatchers might draw me out. But, usually rape cases."

   "You… worked with the rape victims. I know he did that. I know he taught prevention classes. Self defense classes. Helped talk to victims."

   "Well, yeah. When I wasn't doing my main job? I did that. He needed a woman, to play the victim. Showing the girls the moves, for the self defense classes. You're not teaching scared girls how to fight off a big drunk guy. Just not happening. Things you wouldn't think of. Don't run away, run towards. Girls getting chased always try to run and hide. No. Get towards something. A road, a building. You'd be surprised how keeping something like a telephone pole between you and the guy trying to get you? Can buy you time. Throw things at them. Knock things over as you run. Make obstacles. Don't zig zag… you have adrenaline? Use it. You zig zag, they run straight? You're losing ground, losing steam. Lots of little stuff that adds up."

   "Great. So, he rolled around on wrestling mats with you. Had his hands all over you every day. You're making me feel lots better, Elise. Thanks."

   "I didn't think of it like that. Sorry you took it that way. Maybe it would help, if I explained what my specialty was. Why I got moved around."

   "Maybe."

   "When you have a density of population? Rapes just happen. The more young women you have in one place. The more likely it happens. Practical thing, I guess. You got your prey. You have your predator. A successful rapist? Needs a herd of young women to prey on. Cities. College campuses. Big military bases. I mainly worked big airbases, but… really any big military base that developed an ongoing… problem? I get brought in."

   "You investigate. Talk to the victims."

   "I do that, too."

   "Well. What was your… main job."

   "Do… you have any idea how you catch a rapist? Two main ways."

   "You wait until you get a witness, I would guess. Put up posters. See a guy looks like this? Call this number."

   "Yeah. That's one way. When you don't have that, though. There's another option. And… some rapists either don't leave a witness behind, or… they make sure they can't be seen. Some of them are pretty slick."

   "And that other option is…?"

   "You need bait. And, as any fisherman or hunter will tell you, well. Live bait? Works best. I was the bait."

   "You…"

   "I would go around to all the bars. Looks like I'm getting drunk. I would go to all the big parties the boys had. Take my own bottle. Water with food coloring in my bottle. Drinks at the bar? I'm slick at getting rid of the drink. They give me money, to keep buying. I dress up. Put my hair and face on. When I'm working? I don't look like this. Most people that know me? Walk right by me, and don't realize it's me."

   "Oh. You…"

   "I'm the worm on the hook. I… talk shit at every bar. You know. I'm drunk, and I run my mouth. Why, if any man tried that with me? Ha. That'll piss a rapist off. It challenges him directly. Gets him to follow me from bar to bar. The, uh… experts say? A rapist likes to show women how powerful he is, for being a man. That women are weak. He likes to prove it to them."

   "The worm flips the fish off. Nice…"

   "Yeah. I walk around a lot. I'm really good at… staggering around aimlessly. Getting lost. Oh, I walk everywhere any woman dressed like I dress working? Shouldn't. I say all the wrong things, I dress the exact wrong way. I look like I'm shitfaced. I flash a wad of money, and drop some. I go for the walk down by the lonely river walk. You know… tell the whole bar. Boy, I'm wasted. Gonna take a nice long walk, get some air. That'll fix me up."

   "I guess it… works."

   "Yeah. It does, actually. I had a… decent track record."

   "Sounds dangerous, really."

   "Mm. Had a few close calls. But… honestly? All my main thing is, if it comes down to it. I just have to stay alive long enough my backup arrives. And… that's the easy part. Turns out? Rapists need the girl alive, long enough to have some fun with her. Its just a matter of how scraped up I am, by the time they get there. Once I make a confirmed contact? Oh… that's what they call it. When the guy attacks and starts to try to rape me, by the way. That's a confirmed contact. Now, a guy approaches me? That's a contact. But… an attack? That's a confirmed contact. I always loved that phrase… confirmed contact. Like I'm in sales or something."

   "I'm surprised they haven't made a TV movie about you."

   "Well. Playing me? Would be more fun than… actually being me."

   "How in the hell did you get into…"

   "Just lucky, I guess. I was the junior ladies… sport Judo champion, for my state. Two years in a row. Judo? Is a funny martial art. You learn how to hold onto clothing, put your foot on someone's foot just right. Keep them off balance. If they don't have any idea what they're doing? They fall a lot. That eats up time. Guy's gonna get a hold of me, but… he loses time, I'm pissing him off. Longer I can hold him off? That's less clothes ripped off me when my backup gets there."

   "Fun job."

   "Eh. Someone has to do it, I guess. Now. the more I frustrate the rapist? The madder he gets. So… when he finally gets a hold of me… I get knocked around. You fight a rapist off, and lose? You pay for it. Now. There's different kinds of rapists. By the time I'm called in? We already know what kind's coming. Curious?"

   "Sure. If I ever get raped, I'll know what kind I got."

   "There's one kind? I call it a sex rapist. He… just wants to make you have sex with him. He'll hurt you as little as possible. This is the guy that grabs you, holds you down. Like that. Walks away."

   "There's others."

   "Weapon rapist is another. Guys that like to hold them at knife point or gun point. They usually like to take their time. Savor the moment. They wanna hear you beg. Cry. Plead. I actually like those. That… act they wanna enjoy? Eats up a lot of time."

   "Then there's the fun kinds, huh."

   "Yeah. You got your basic caveman rapist. This guy, will beat the girl unconscious. Kick her in the head, drag her off like an unconscious rag doll. I can hold him off longer, buy more time. Of course? You also got your real lovers out there."

   "Lovers?"

   "Its a sick joke. Some? Know not to leave a witness alive. But… lucky me. I already know from the trail of victims, what I'm hunting. Wanna guess how I deal with those lover-boys?"

   "Judo…"

   "No. Normally, I don't carry a weapon. If you're fighting a guy, the odds of him getting a hold of the weapon, using it on me? Pretty high. But… those lover-boys. I have a little purse. My hand is in it, when I'm walking. Pretending I'm drunk. Little purse. Credit cards and money, lipstick… but… a big handgun. I can fire thru the purse. Or get it out. Once I have a fully confirmed contact, with a perpetrator that's a known lover-boy? Well… I'm alive. So… I haven't lost one of those match ups yet. Knock on wood. And yeah. I get a pretty free hand dealing with those."

   "Free hand?"

   "I… retired from being professional rape bait, as an MP? With an unblemished record. Meaning, I never once killed an innocent man. A contact… might approach me. Keep trying to talk to me. Give me a ride. One guy? I was this close to greasing him. I was looking for a lover-boy that strangled them all. That guy? Honestly had a cigarette lighter. Just wanted to talk to me. I do usually walk around with an unlit cigarette. Makes me look drunker."

   "I'm afraid to ask… how many…"

   "Oh. How many… lover-boys I took out? Hmm. More than one, I'll say that much. My nickname? Which I hated, by the way. No one used that nickname to my face. Black Widow. I lure the mate in… and… I kill him. Simple as. Can't let a murderer run around a big airbase. Bad for recruitment. The, uh… brass? Gets brownie points. The more girls they can lure into a four year tour for their little… whatever the fuck those girls are even doing in uniform? Well. Brass loves it. Rapes were up through the roof. More work for me."

   "You hated your nickname. You hated your job."

   She sighed.

   "I got out of the service. Wanted a break from… that. All I'll say is? I got a lot of… very strange job offers. Got so I could smell them? A mile off. Nice suit. Nice haircut. Would establish who I was. Always wanted me to work for… the government. Never would say which government agency they worked for. I'll leave it up to your imagination, what job they had in mind for me."

   "Oh. I can imagine what… they would have wanted you to do."

   "Yeah. See, women? Have this magical ability. Rich guys, bad guys? Have these body guards. Professional killers, basically. Always with the guy. But? What's the one time the rich, important guy will make sure he's alone and has privacy. Yeah… for that. And if you saw me working? You'd know… yeah, I look like one of those girls in… that line of work. And, as far as my track record of… well, you get the idea. So, that's the kind of job offers I was getting recruited for. I got sick and tired of that, and… fuck it. Might as well just keep being a cop. Before I maybe got tempted by easy money doing the… other job. I might have been a Black Widow? But I was one of the good guys. Went back into the same line of work I did as an MP. If a city has a… problem? I get hired. I work until I bring the case to a close. Then? I get a nice long leave of absence. And… there's always another city with the same… problem."

   "You make a living doing…"

   "Yeah. You, would be amazed? How good you get at it. Quick. I swear, I've learned to just… tell. I know when I'm being followed. Tracked from bar to bar. I let my backup know. They can sometimes figure out who it is. Guy has to make a move though. Its not like guys won't follow a woman dressed up and drinking around for… perfectly obvious and legitimate reasons. But, I swear its just something you can smell in the air. And… walking around? I about know when its coming. You can just taste it."

   "You have a sixth sense for…"

   "Oh yeah. There's two kinds of confirmed contacts. One kind? Walks up. Talks a bit. They got this little smile. They know they got a drunk girl, alone. Then, you got your blitz attack. Those guys? Lay an ambush. They like to get ahead of you. Hide in a dark corner. Like a predator. Waiting for prey. I swear it, I know when its coming."

   "Why are you telling me all this. You… this is your private business. You don't have to…"

   "We started out. Me talking to you, to save you from… making your speech you were working on. Remember?"

   "Yeah."

   "Well. I started out. When I was young? I liked guys. But then? I'll just say that there was an… incident. Yeah, we'll call it that… an incident. And? All of a sudden? I had no more interest in guys. So, by the time I left, to join the service? Well. So you see. There's no need for your little speech you had prepared. In fact, whatever hands off speech you had prepared? Your time would actually be better spent… telling me to keep my hands off of you. And… your girls here."

   "Oh."

   "Just making a little joke. Not trying to make you uncomfortable. But… as you can see. Your little speech? No need for it. Wiz will probably, ask me to play with him? And… it won't be what you think. I don't practice fighting with girls. Doesn't help me practice for work. You were right about one thing. Wiz and me? Did spend a lot of time rolling around on the mats. But… it was all business. He liked the sport Judo. It was something new for him to see. He? Showed me a lot of little tricks for dirty wrestling. I don't have to just get scraped and lumped up once they got me on the ground, waiting on backup to arrive. I can hold them off longer. And like I said… I'd rather not have my clothes all ripped off, and some weirdo's trying to poke his dick in me, when my backup team finally gets on scene."

   "Look. I'm sorry, that I was…"

   "Don't be. Wouldn't be the first time some guy's girlfriend, fiance, or wife gave me the speech. I work with all guys my whole life. Goes with the territory. And. Now that we had this little talk, instead of your speech you were preparing? If you remember… you said I was… Wiz's type? That's kinda funny. Because if I was Wiz's type he liked… that would make you…"

   I smiled. I blushed. My face flushed red and got hot. I looked away politely.

   "Yeah. If you were worried me and your boyfriend used to go out after work? Grab a bite to eat, have a few drinks? We did. But… we were both looking for the same thing. The exact same thing."

   I was just blushing so bad, it wasn't even funny.

   "Sorry to make you uncomfortable. I'll just say this. He has excellent taste in women. Don't worry. I can tell you're not my… type. I can usually tell right off. I don't think either of the other two girls are my type either."

   "I don't think so."

   "Mm. Pity…"

   I got my blushing under control.

   "Now. As pretty as you are when you blush… you might wonder what I'm actually doing here."

   "Catching up with Wiz? You guys are friends."

   "Well, that too. I respect him. He did a lot of good work. We were both working at… trying to help people that needed help. And. This case? Has an element of… bum bum bum… prostitution. I can put my hair and my face and my clothes on, and… not attract any attention scoping things out for the boys. Also? The boys just look like cops. Of course, if they go around with me? They don't look like cops anymore. They'll look like a guy out with a… paid companion. Which, might attract attention and get information. Or, if the boys want backup in place, that no one would suspect was on their side? Well… you'd be surprised how effective I can be at that. And it carries quite an element of surprise."

   "I'm sorry, that I…"

   She just looked at me. Studied me some. Sipped her soft drink.

   "Wow. You seem like you really are."

   This was a new one for me. I'm a psych major. I'm supposed to be the one reading people. Seeing if what's coming out of their mouth, matches what's coming off their body. Wiz is the only person outside of psych classes that seems to know anything about the subject. This woman though, and she's not a girl now, is she? No, she's a woman. She's reading me and not really like a book, not the way I do it. She just looks and decides. On guts, instinct, and feelings. She's good at it, too.

   She wiggled her empty soft drink at me. Put it down. Smiled her little smile again.

   "Tell you what. I need another one of these. Put it in a glass, and got any ice? We'll call it even."

   I got her a glass, a big one. Filled it up with ice carefully, poured slowly to get less foam. Waited for all the foam to go down then topped it up until it was as perfect as I could get it, before putting it in front of her.

   "I am… you came to help. The boys want your help, too. And, here I am, and I'm…"

   "Look. Hurry, right?"

   "Yeah. Hurry…"

   She sipped again and waved her hand in a soft backhand motion across her field of vision.

   "Give me your hand."

   I did.

   She placed her other hand on top of it. Made a little hand sandwich. She wanted that slight intimacy to give weight to her words.

   "I was kidding about needing you to serve me a drink to get to the point we're past this. Those guys talking right now? We're all family. I'm a member of that family. You don't… get deals for taking someone's apology. One of them insists on apologizing to another one? Hell. What would they say. Probably make a joke about it. All right, it's really doing something for you? Fine. Buy me a beer, and we'll call it even. That's it. It's done."

   "Wiz… can be like that."

   "I'm sure that's where he got it. Look. You know where this comes from?"

   "You could tell me."

   "True story. The MPs, they don't just play cops on the airbase. Its considered an… honor? To get picked out to go on a hangar assignment. Overseas. Foreign country, where people don't all like us being there, and that's the friendlies. You can go figure what the enemy thinks of us. Uncle Sam picks out the best, to go join an overseas assignment, to guard a couple billion dollars of warplanes in a hangar. If all they can do, is set the place on fire? They win. They'll settle for setting the fuel on fire, anything they can do, to disrupt us. Its dangerous work, and the Air Force MPs are the only ones that are trusted to do that job."

   "Wiz mentioned something like that."

   "Yeah. The work is dangerous? And… living there and leaving the base is dangerous, too. So, not everyone gets along. I had a kind of a, back and forth, ignorant jokes kind of thing with one of the MPs. We just didn't like each other. I had just… I was one year in. I didn't realize his going away party? Was to do that. You know what went on?"

   "No."

   "Well. I stopped late at the party. Less time in, I drew rounds. Guys with more time get off for a party like that. He took me aside. He, seemed all serious. Looked me in the eyes. Said… I know we don't get along, but… nothing personal. You're okay. You're more than okay, you're fine."

   I said nothing. I realized she was patting my meat hand, inside her bread hands sandwich on the table.

   "I didn't get it. I mean, I went along with it. Told him something back, yeah it's fine. We're good. But honestly? Guy's drunk I'm thinking. This is that… aw man, I love you… shit guys pull when they get a few drinks in them. Pretty sure, the last thing we said, was… he said something about, see you when we get back, I'll buy you a drink, or a lunch or something. Know what I said?"

   "What."

   "I'll never forget it. Hey, I'm just counting the moments, you know?"

   More silence.

   "I didn't think nothing of it. I'm a girl. Working with all guys. I gotta be tough, you know. How I saw it. I'm not getting all emotional, then it gets played back, I get laughed at. For acting like a girl. I mean, come on. Guys just going to another airbase. He'll be back. Jesus, not a big deal."

   "You didn't know…"

   "I didn't realize he was going overseas. No. Anyways, he flies out next afternoon. I meant to catch him at the substation, coming in and saying goodbye to his boys. Didn't make it out in time."

   I stayed quiet.

   "He came back. Ashes in an urn. Some of the ashes? Might have been actually his. I can't describe how horrible I felt. You can say something smart ass to someone. Maybe mean it, maybe not. And you have no way of knowing, that's the last time you're going to see them when they walk out that door. Now, in real life? You'd never say that to grandma in the hospital. You know there's a risk of that. But, a guy in his 20s? I honestly thought he was going to another airbase, and he'd be back."

   I waited.

   "Still counting the moments. I'll leave this world, still counting them. After that… well, you can imagine how I felt. Couple of the guys, that I was good with. They had explained it to me, after he left. I guess, he was all actually hurt and stuff, it was like that. So, it was explained to me how it was. I kind of avoided writing him, doing it over the internet. Figured when he got back? Do that face to face. Apologize and mean it. Never got the chance."

   "That's… a sad story."

   "I guess it is. Gets worse. This is gnawing at me. I made it my business, to go around, and… learn what I could about him. From guys that knew him. This was another substation. I started hanging out with that substation, to do this. Know what I found out?"

   "What."

   "Guy got married out of high school. Had a little kid. Little kid? Got killed in an accident. Guy’s wife? Was driving. They all got killed in the accident, but… it was worse. He comes to find out? His… wife? Had been cheating on him the whole time. With her best friend. The best friend she was out with, driving, with his kid when it happened."

   "Poor guy."

   "The… best friend she was out with? Wasn't a guy. It was her girlfriend. I guess… that circle of… girls? Outed their friend and showed up at the funeral. The marriage? Had been a sham. She just wanted a kid. She cheated on him before, during and up until… with her girlfriend. Who he thought was her best friend. Now? He's out a wife that he never really had from day one. Out his own kid. And now he's… humiliated in public. In front of family and friends, at the funeral. He joined the service to get away from all that. Start over."

   "Holy shit."

   "See? I couldn't have known this. There was a perfectly good reason, why we didn't get along. And… he was actually over that personal thing, and… we were going to be okay. But me? No, I had to say something smart ass the last time I saw him. I had to get that last shot in."

   "How were the guys about it."

   "That's the thing. Everybody would have everybody believe. That in this world? Men are assholes. Women? Are where you go for… kindness. Acceptance, love. Understanding. And… I got that, from those guys. Those big tough MPs? Yeah. I guess someone might say… they acted like a bunch of girls. They, would talk with me. Hug me. Made sure I always had someone to eat lunch with, go out with. Not one of them said I told you so. They just said… yeah. Now you know. Now. I'd like to be able to say… they acted like a bunch of, what? Emotional girls about it? Helping me. Being nice."

   I'm getting good at shutting up. A therapist gets the best stuff when they just shut up and let it go. I couldn't arrange this if I knew and tried.

   "But… calling those MPs… acting like girls? Well. That would give girls too much credit. See, it wasn't illegal to… be me by then. I had a circle of girlfriends. Most of them were just girls. A couple were, you know. Like me. I went to them… you know what they said?"

   "What."

   "You'll get over it. It was just a guy. They got plenty more where that came from. Look around you."

   "Wow…"

   "Yeah. Just some guy died. They got more. Like… people with dicks? Are… just like disposable razors. Oh, trust me. I didn't let that one slide. I dotted both her eyes for her, for that one. Twice. Maybe three times. I was pissed."

   "Good for you."

   "Yeah. I went back to the MPs, and… that's family. It was a hard lesson to learn, but I learned it. So."

   She patted my hand. The bread flapped on my meat hand. She waved her soft drink in the waving away motion again.

   "We're fine. I mean… if I had a girlfriend living with me? And I came home and she had some girl from work hanging around? Hell. I might be working on my own little speech. So there's nothing to be sorry about anyways. And I meant what I said."

   "What."

   "I think Wiz does have good taste in women. He really does speak highly of you. Its not like my own family doesn't talk to me. I come around on… holidays or stuff like that. But, its not like it used to be. I have a little niece. She… played softball. Thought she might have wanted to join the service. Around the holidays I was back one time? She's got a million questions. And Aunt Elise, well, might as well ask it from the horse's mouth. Wanna guess how that went?"

   "Uh…"

   "Mother. My own sister. Keeps coming over, and interrupting. Keeps leading her away from me. I finally said something. Real polite. What's the problem. She gave me the look. Told me, she didn't allow me to ruin her daughter. I asked what the hell that meant. This is my own sister. She took me in the kitchen, and… that's my daughter. You're not allowed to talk to her. Its bad enough we had to let her play softball. She's got a boyfriend, and she might get married. Don't fuck her life up, like you fucked yours up."

   "Wow."

   "Hey. This is my house too. I went to mom."

   "Moms. Yeah… tough old mom, straightened her out, huh."

   "Mom took her side. Nice and all, but… well, she has a point now, dear. I can see I made a mistake, letting you play Judo with the boys. I told her not to make the same mistake. I want grandchildren you know, and that's the last daughter I have."

   "Ouch."

   "I go back when I have to. I hang out in the basement or the garage. With the guys. Have a couple beers. Then get the fuck outta there. I mean… we both know what happened to me, huh?"

   "With…"

   "The incident. I didn't like girls yet, but… after that?"

   "Yeah. Pretty sure I can guess."

   "Winning girls Judo tournaments, didn't… ruin me. I still liked guys then. Playing softball, won't ruin my niece. I don't think. Now that? Would ruin her. Not softball. I mean… what happened… I don't want pity for it, but… a little something. From my own sister? Whatever. But to get that, treated like that. From mom?"

   "What's your sister's husband like."

   "Oh. He thinks softball is fine. If his daughter wants to go ROTC to do college? He thinks that's wonderful. But, he can't tell my sister anything. She's determined to do anything she can do, so her daughter doesn't turn out like her… sister. I like ginger ale. Daughter probably isn't allowed to drink ginger ale, either."

   "Real family can suck."

   "Yeah. Next year. I was bitching about going home for the holidays. Get treated like that. Some MP? He said, fuck those people. Come home with me. My family? Won't treat you like that."

   "Did you?"

   "Yeah, I did."

   "How'd that go."

   "My family? All… in the city. Nice part of the burbs. Little upscale. That family? I was worried when I got there. Edge of a small town. Women were all… baking cookies and wanted to drink little glasses of wine. He saved me. Come out to the garage. Guys were all out there drinking beer. Talking about hunting and cars and work and shit like that. It was a lot better. Upscale city people. Supposed to be all… modern. They were shit to me, and that was my own family. This guy's family? Treated me like gold. Then, it happened."

   "Something bad."

   "No. Teenage girl. All excited to hear I was an MP. With the guys. Hell. She grew up hunting deer with the men. She had a cute boyfriend. He was nice. She was all excited to wait to get her deer head mounted and it comes in. She liked hanging out in the garage with the guys, too."

   "You feel better?"

   "Yeah. A tale of two families, I guess. Out in the garage, guys wanted to know what I did. I said I'm an MP. They kept asking. My buddy, the MP took me there. Said go on. Tell them. I gave them a basic explanation. How I hunt. When I'm working. Guys wanted to do shots with me. Asked me to come back and go deer hunting with them if we ever made it back in time. Said next time, stop back for Thanksgiving instead of Christmas, we'll do that. One guy, father to that… teenage girl? Said if anyone ever did that to his little girl? He'd have a hard time not burying the guy out in the woods. Hell. I wished I grew up in that family, instead of mine."

   "What…"

   "Mom. When the… incident happened. She wanted me to put it behind me. Didn't want it to ruin my chances of… you know… landing a good husband. Hey. When your approaching 18? That's fucking prime time, for landing a good one."

   "That's horrible."

   "Yeah. I didn't… do anything to ask for it to happen. I'm a teenager. I'm on my way to the bus stop back from Judo practice. In the city. It was winter. So, it got dark earlier. Walked past the wrong alley on my way to the bus stop."

   "I meant, the way your mother treated you after, that was horrible."

   "Mom didn't want me to… well… ruin her chances of getting grand-kids, to some nice guy that had a good job. Might make her look bad. You don't want people to know you're damaged goods, honey. We gotta finish getting you a good start in life, then you can be okay."

   "Is it rude to ask… did you ever talk to anyone? Professionally. I ask, because the way you call it… the incident."

   "Yeah. The incident. I got the rest of the year off school. And summer. Mom wanted a therapist she could… trust. So, her therapist. You know. One you can count on for… discretion."

   "So… you didn't see a… proper therapist. For an incident like that."

   "Well? Mom never got grand-kids outta me, so. I guess maybe not."

   "Did it help?"

   "Wiz told me you're a psych major. You know the… hurt locker?"

   "Yeah."

   "My impression of this lady. Some… dip-shit. I guess she's great, for listening to bored housewives complain about their bullshit. I mean, if your husband makes enough money? You can afford a therapist, right. You get a Mercedes, you get a therapist. Everything was all… we put bad things in that hurt locker. We have to forgive and forget, and move on. Bad things happen, we have to just keep on keeping on."

   I groaned and rolled my eyes. She was putting on some dippy girl's voice to imitate the mom's therapist.

   "That didn't go over well."

   "No. I tried, but. No, it didn't end well. I told her to stop with that stuff, she told me about that stupid hurt locker one too many times, after I told her, that was worse than saying nothing. She did it again, so… I bounced a coffee cup off her forehead. Gave her stitches."

   "You did?"

   "Fuck I didn't. She's screaming at me. And nothing bleeds like the head. I told her to put that in her fucking hurt locker. That's what it's for, you know honey? Never went back. Stupid dip-shit cunt. Basically telling me, I just gotta get over it."

   "My honest opinion? That lady wasn't… qualified to try what she was doing. Just my opinion."

   "I agree. That's how therapy went. Mom's pet therapist. Hired to teach me to hide it and get over it. I'm supposed to punch a doll. Big workshop? Avoid certain movies and books. Might trigger me. Well, she hit my trigger all right. She got 20 or so stitches she can see every morning in the mirror. To remind her to stay in her fucking lane."

   "You… uh… ever try a real therapist for that?"

   "Well. I went right back to Judo. Some asshole girl? She knew. She tried psyching me out I guess. Making fun of me for it. You know. Rattle me before a big tournament? Didn't work. More like a good pep talk for me."

   "How'd you do."

   "I shattered her leg in the finals. Bad. It ended up I went to states and won. Fuck her. Took states the next year, too. Mom wouldn't send me to the nationals, to try. She was embarrassed."

   "Your therapy."

   "Better than punching a rag doll. And having some stupid imaginary locker in your head. Fuck it. A lot of us were running away from something. I joined the service. Recruiter kept coming around."

   "State junior miss Judo champ, huh?"

   "Yeah. Said they needed female military cops. He thought I'd be perfect for that. You know. Judo. I guess they got enough sissy girls playing soldier. You gotta find a couple that can carry their own pack."

   "No more boys."

   "I tried boys. Last couple years of high school. No one wants a girlfriend that doesn't put out. Kinda goes with the whole, having a boyfriend deal."

   "You happy now. Finally."

   "I hunted purse snatchers and rapists for a living, for six years. And men that will kill a girl, so they don't leave a witness? I provided what we refer to as… an optimum outcome. In between bait assignments, I got to work with the girls. The victims. Gave me a chance, to not do… what mom's therapist tried to do to me. And, after I provided the first… optimum outcome on my airbase? And I didn't go to pieces. They flew me around. To other bases. Turned out? They wanted optimum outcomes, too."

   Her face was not blank. Still had that little smile.

   "It was not a service I was unhappy to provide them with. So, I guess I found my therapy. I mean, why punch a doll, or a pillow. The doll, the pillow? Didn't do anything to anyone."

   "You're okay now?"

   "I learned not all men are like that. And I don't hate men. Not like I could. And… men can be more loving and compassionate than a lot of women. Found that out too. And I have morals. I know what right from wrong is. I turned down… I'm pretty sure I would have made a lot of money. What I was being recruited to do. After I got out. I don't know the reason they would have wanted the Black Widow to do her thing. And, I'm sure they would have just told me what I wanted to hear to make it seem okay."

   "You're a good person."

   "I almost lost my soul. Over six years? I had a little piece of it left. I grew it back into another one. I'll be damned if I was going to trade it in for money. Not doing that for a living. So? I went back to what I know. I basically get a hunting license. Then I move on."

   "How long can you…"

   "I got a few more years left. Financially? Doing all right. Working in plainclothes, for big city forces? Yearly pay, is surprisingly good. On paper. Now… if you have to live in the city? Well… first one, I lived in an old van. Trying to save some money up. Friend from the service? Wanted money for a down payment on a house, for him and his wife when he got out. Now. He had, one of those house on wheels trailers? That you drive around. An older big one. He had got it, for him and his buddies hunting. Gutted it, put basic stuff in it. Hunting camp on wheels. Bathroom, shower. Generator. Solar power. Nice bed. Little kitchen. He sold it to me, for the money for his house down payment. So… I get to make the city money, and don't have to pay city money to live. Its all mine. No rent if I can figure out somewhere to park a 42 foot pull behind trailer."

   "Sounds like a good deal."

   "So money? I got. Couple more years, I'll have some more. I live comfortable. I can drive to the next city. I get vacations. See, after an… optimum outcome, you get a leave of absence. With pay and benefits. On to the next hunt, after I take a nice, long break."

   "What are you going to do, when your hunting career ends."

   "Well. If I stay in the game too long, and outlive my usefulness? I could get that instant retirement. In some alley, before backup makes it in time. Or… my plan? Open up a… Judo school. Teach classes on handguns for women. I spent a lot of range time with the boys. There's been loose talk about maybe… writing some kind of… unofficial handbook. To give pointers to women that want to do what I do for a living. Not a lot on the subject. More of a small textbook. Not for sale to the general public. There's publishing houses that specialize in training materials for police agencies, the pubic can't get."

   "And personally?"

   "Oh. That. Not even sure I could ever go back to guys. Not for that, anyways. Maybe get lucky and find some… nice girl. Like Wiz did."

   I realized she was still holding my hand. I no longer blushed or felt uncomfortable.

   "But we live in the here and now. You can miss the past. You can be happy its behind you. Whichever works for you. You can hope for the future. But today? I'm on a leave of absence. Then, another little vacation while I look for my next gig. And I get to help family out. If I can. I don't think I get a hunting license on this one, but, if I can do anything? I will. Wiz? Is family. That makes you? Family. That makes your friend… that poor girl? Family."

   "Yeah."

   "That girl… doing okay? She has her own therapy?"

   "You had Judo."

   "Yeah. Guess I did."

   "You should see her play soccer."

   "I heard about that. He says she's really something."

   "She is."

   "Well. I'm going back to the basement office. See if I missed anything important. Thanks for the glass of ice…"

   Wow. She can really read people. I've read about that. Some criminals, cops, con men… really good at sizing things up. They operate quickly. On instinct. And they're good at it. Its funny. She knew what I was planning, before I ever got started. Headed it right off at the pass. Wasn't even mad. I'm probably lucky I didn't shove her. Physically, she's basically me. Except trained to hurt people, not kick a ball. She can size someone up, coming after dark to talk to her. She knows if its okay, or not. Before maybe even they do.

   The really funny thing? She gave me therapy. Her story, about saying the wrong thing to someone, not knowing you'd never see them again? And having to live with it. That? Was me and Miss Moody.

   I'm not jealous of her. Not anymore. I'm not jealous she gets to sit with the men and discuss sausage making plans. Then it hit me. Wiz had told me about… I was gonna think he told me about women like her. That hunted men that preyed on women, but… he was probably talking about exactly her. This woman actually hunts murdering rapists for a living, and all but mounts their heads on her trailer wall. Hell, she might do that, if anyone would allow her to.

   Another mom of the year. Mom, I've been raped and beat up. I didn't do anything to deserve this. Well honey? Just ignore it, you don't want this to make you damaged goods. Or no man that makes a lot of money, will want you for a wife. Just, bottle it all up. Keep it a secret. You're embarrassing the family, dear. Sorry I let you do Judo. Women shouldn't do sports, dear. Now, go punch that pillow. Until you get over it, and you can go right back out there and make mommy proud. Make me some grand-kids to a man with a good job.

   She got better family, out of some guy in the service took her home for the holidays to his hometown. What kind of fucking world do we even live in, anyways. Where the fuck do these sisters and moms of the year even come from. I guess that's the same world that made Little Miss Moody wanna punch out and go. Wow. I'm friends with The Black Widow. Sounds like she's killed more men than testicle cancer. And she had to give me peace of mind without even knowing it, about my dead friend.

   When they came back up the next time, I guess strategy session was over for today. In the course of sitting around and gabbing normally, Target talked to Right.

   "So. I was thinking. Maybe, me and you could find somewhere nice to go out and eat dinner. Any places like that around? Figured this is your town. You would know."

   "Maybe."

   "Any chance you could do me a favor?"

   "I do you lots of favors. Here and there. Don't I?"

   "You do. All for which, you have my undying gratitude. Now. Finding us a place for a nice dinner? I was thinking, that would be tomorrow night."

   "Hmm. So what's tonight."

   "Maybe you could keep Light company. We're gonna all talk, and… she can't really hear some of that stuff."

   "Oh. The adults wanna have an adult talk. Is that how it is now."

   "Tonight? It is. Now, tomorrow night? Candlelit dinner for you, if you can find such a thing around here."

   "Why do you sound like you're working."

   "Probably because I am. We talked about this."

   "No. You talked about this. I listened."

   "How hard would it be for you to keep listening. Be a good little girl."

   "Hmm. I can be a cheap date. Pizza and a beer gets me, every time. But… if you want that. I could maybe be a good little girl for daddy. Just this one time."

   "That's my girl."

   "And you're not working late tonight."

   "When I get home? I'm yours."

   "Deal. I could maybe drag Lightning along to Lida's."

   "That would be great."

   We ended up going out and finding a place we could all eat at, and get a table in the back. To talk. I sometimes wondered who the leader was back in the MPs, or who held highest rank. I never asked outright, and it seemed like it hardly mattered. Target seemed to have leadership now. I didn't know if that was because he was FBI and everyone else was below him in LEO importance and jurisdictional authority. Perhaps it was because Wiz called him first. Maybe he was the leader back then, too. Could also be a matter of his personality and the fact he got results managing the group. Maybe any one of these things, maybe some and not others. Perhaps even all of them.

   "All right. Keep an eye out for the waitress, but… I was thinking we could discuss broad strokes."

   Elise tossed a tiny roll at him, and everyone giggled.

   "If you stroke this broad right? I kick my leg."

   "Elise. If all you do is kick your leg? You're not getting stroked right. Just trying to help you out."

   "And you'd know all about the stroke jobs, huh big boy?"

   "Well Elise. Why don't you start. Since you have ideas."

   "I'm not the big planner here, and I know it. But? I think I have one idea and I can back it up."

   "What's that?"

   "Being in the service. Whole idea is numerical superiority. Any great leader. It was all about getting enough men, into just the right place at the right time. Hannibal crossing the alps. Hero, almost defeated the Roman empire. Napoleon. Civil war generals. You always see them in movies standing around maps. Moving troops around. Even being an MP. You hold the fort down, and call on the radio. Help's coming."

   "What's the point."

   "Am I getting in trouble for being the bearer of bad news?"

   "We're not Greek. We don't shoot the messenger."

   Elise continued.

   "We were all military. Now? We're all cops, just about. We're all? Very used to calling in the troops. Now. Earlier, I just sat and listened to a very thorough, 45 minute long… sounded like an intelligence briefing. Who the players were. What the structure of the town's organization probably looked like. It was great to have an intelligence officer, by the way. Great job. But… 20 minutes of that? Was devoted to talk assuring that all our information we got, was untraceable. Not just that the bad guys wouldn't know who had it? But… that they couldn't even know anyone peeked on them."

   Target splayed his hands.

   "I work organized crime. By the time it gets to the FBI? Its coordinated across jurisdictions. Operational security is a must."

   "That's great. But the point I'm trying to make? You guys all tend to think in terms of troop movements. Locate the enemy. Find the weak spot. Move in. I haven't heard a word about anything official yet. Which means we don't have any troops to call in. We can't even go to the cops in town, for obvious reasons. In fact, if the cops showed up? I'd be more scared of them, than the bad guys. Which is quite an interesting feeling for a cop to have, by the way. All of which? Puts you all suddenly into my world."

   "Which is?"

   "I work alone. Always have. Its the nature of my beast. I walk around. Asking for it. There I am, the perfect victim. Drunk, alone, walking in the fog by the river. My backup? Has to be far enough away, that it won't spook a perpetrator. Which means, that I'm alone. Help is minutes away, when seconds count. I don't think any of you, has ever worked like that. At least you get a partner, or three other guys. Maybe its from spending 10 or 11 years being the worm on the hook, thrown out in the water all night? But… I think I'm the only one seeing it."

   Target stopped. Dropped his chin onto interlaced fingers. Thinking.

   "My first inclination? Was to say something cute. Quit being a Debbie Downer, bringing us all down. Turn the projector off, you're projecting your own situation onto all of us. But? I spent my whole life… ignoring my first impulse. Waiting, to see what would happen next, after I counted to ten. Because what you say after ten seconds? Is usually the better response."

   Elise wiggled her eyebrows at him.

   "And. After counting to ten…"

   "Maybe you got something. We all know what the problem is. Hell, a 14 year old goddamn girl knew what the fucking problem was, five years ago. And its still the problem now. Goddamn elephant in the room. Elise? Maybe this is why we're long on information, and short on ideas of how to get started. I want you to hold your thoughts? I'll get right back to you."

   He went back to gears turning.

   "Wiz…"

   "Yeah."

   "What does the… Sun Tzu, and… the Prince have to say about all this."

   Wiz sighed.

   "A warrior who fights on well chosen ground. Is a wise warrior, indeed. Whenever possible? Always choose to fight on terrain you know well."

   "Hmm. We can't do that, can we."

   "If you could lure ticks off a dog? They'd be a whole lot easier to pop. But as it is… hard to notice, hard to find. Harder to get out. The dog will bite you, if you're not careful. That town? Is a big dog. Its got ticks. Anyone in town, will potentially bite you. You successfully lure one away? They'll warn the rest. And small towns are funny animals. Cops from the outside go walking around? You'll stick out like you wouldn't believe."

   "Wiz. You're a bright guy. Are you impressed with what we're up against?"

   "Always credit your enemy with equal intelligence. Let's view this as a chess game. If I give my opponent too much time, doing nothing but waiting? He gets to arrange his side of the board just how he wants it. He'll go for something defensive. To make it so that coming in? I have to give up pieces to attack. I have to expose my attack and my forces. Thinking in these terms… you want me to go on?"

   "Go ahead."

   "This was all going on long before Little Lightning fell into hell. Its five years later, probably only gotten worse. I get a sense of… organization. I come from a town of dozens of thousands. If you go by zip code. But? My parent's house… was in what used to be its own zip code. Had its own tiny post office. Its own tiny police force. Still has its own little borough building. Still does its own streets and park. Still has its own little mayor, its own little council."

   "Continue."

   "As little as twenty votes? Can win you the mayor's election. As little as twelve votes? Can get you a seat on council. One year? Five votes got a new tax collector. You give that little place its police force back, its post office back… its not much bigger than a chess board. Think of every block of houses, like a chess square. A rich guy? Could easily control who was the mayor. Could easily get council members. Control who was police chief. You could fold up a list of every property owner, and their family members? And carry it around in your pocket."

   "Sounds familiar. Go on."

   "Everything is interlocked. Think. You strike the prostitution? Everything else shuts down until it blows over. You strike the dirty police? They just shut down temporarily, then go right about putting a new setup in. Council and mayor approves police chief, and new cops. You take out the police chief? The cop that bought a ticket to stand in line and rape the cute 14 year old dancer… will be the next police chief. You take out just Mister big? His kid steps up and assumes the reins of power. You take both out? I bet the police chief inherits the town. You arrest the madam and the girls? They'll bring in a new madam and girls within a year. You're the FBI? He's the state police. You guys can't go in and ask the cops anything without setting off alarm bells and Operation-Turtle goes into effect. Then? Operation-Snapping-Turtle gets put into effect. Or… am I overstating the danger."

   Target calculated. Looked at the state police investigator. Who was playing intelligence officer tonight. He tilted his head and upended his palms. Could be that way, the look and gesture said.

   "State police? Get these tips about towns like this, all the time. You typically find… drug dealing, prostitution, and gambling. Throw in liquor, too. You run drugs? Guys ask for hookers. Same guys wanna play numbers and games. Then? They want an after hours club. It always ends up being the whole ball of wax. And… he makes a surprisingly good assessment of… the nature of trying to investigate it. Wiz?"

   "Yeah."

   "Can I use your analogy of you're trying to help the dog, and the dog bites you because removing ticks is painful? Because if you want copyright on that story… I intend to use it in meetings."

   "Feel free."

   "Here we are. We keep identifying the problem. Elise? You might be right. Maybe you're the only one… equipped to think in terms we need. What do you think needs done."

   Elise sighed.

   "No one wants me to say a word. In fact? I get recruited. Hired. Do my work. Complete my work. Go on leave of absence, and get recruited by the next city. All? Without anyone actually talking about what I'm actually doing. Which is silly. Can I just say it out loud for once in my career?"

   "Go ahead. It doesn't leave the room."

   "Problem. Dead rape victims found the next morning. Oh, what do we do. We look bad. Hey. Boston had a problem. Call Boston mayor. Boston mayor, and the Boston police chief? Have an unscheduled dinner. With the new mayor with the problem. I'm sure my file folder gets handed over. Form a task unit. A small one. Guys who know what the score is. Make sure the DA's office is on board with a permanent solution, off the record handshake. Give this new hire? A gold shield and ask her how she wants to play it. One morning, you'll wake up to a dead rapist found with several steaming holes in his chest. She'll go on leave of absence, she'll refuse to talk to press. You? Agree to not put her face on the news. Put the task force on the news instead. She quietly goes on leave, and retires. Give her a good reference to the next city mayor."

   Everyone got quiet. Target spoke quietly first.

   "I always had a question. Why can't cities do this for themselves?"

   "Same reasons. When I started out being bait for a purse snatcher at Lackland. We didn't get anywhere. Criminals are predators. And the thing about predators? They're wary. I can't have a cop car a block away, following me block to block. Spooks the perpetrator. The further I put the backup? The more success I have being bait. Then hunting a rapist? I did the same thing. Backup needs to be well hidden, real far away. A rapist won't attack, a couple blocks from a car with four guys in it. A police radio squawking time calls out every 15 minutes. All he thinks is, cops are out looking for a guy they don't know. He just walks away. Not a good night to hunt."

   "So, you're saying… cities are putting too much backup, too close to the bait."

   "That's what I see. You got men. You got a female cop out, alone. Everyone is antsy. The lady cop? Wants to be reassured help is close and ready. The men? They mean well, but… they're too close, too ready to charge in and save her. The brass? Is worried how bad it looks to lose a female cop. They lose male cops all the time, and no one cries too long. You lose a girl cop? Whole city wears black and the newspapers have a field day. I spend all my prep time? Getting cops to not look like off duty cops. Explaining myself how far back they need to be. I don't go out hunting, until they agree."

   "Then, you get success."

   "Look. I know what my name is. And I'm aware of what my true occupation, really is. No one says it. But everyone knows. The mayor, the police chief? Even the DA meets with me. No one says the words, they just him and haw around about it. We want you to understand? You have everyone's full cooperation. My office? Will extend you every courtesy after the fact. Cities spend millions of dollars a year, on big task forces to work these cases. Instead? Cheaper, quicker and more effective… to simply locate and hire the Black Widow. For 100 grand and some change a year. I know what I am. I'm a goddamn assassin, in everything but name. Its what everyone wants. Its what no one can say. And I think, no… I know. My track record of never talking to the media. My demanding up front, when being recruited? That I don't get any credit? Makes everyone comfortable that I can be trusted not to spill the beans what's really going on. The city? Is hiring a professional assassin. My gold shield? Is just a hunting license. And before you ask? I sleep good at night. I'm comfortable with who I am, and what I really do. I just wish everyone else could get on board and quit using cute phrases. Instead? Maybe try just saying it out loud for once."

   "Well. What does your… unique perspective give you in terms of… how to plan."

   "We talked about this. We have three main targets. Police force? Secondary targets. The men that bought tickets and stood in line? Are the minnows that you want to scoop up with a net, last. But… those three main targets? You need to quit thinking in terms of how to coordinate an investigation, get evidence, all without one hand spooking the other… and just take out three targets."

   "Elise? I appreciate where you're coming from. But… we can't just go in at zero dark thirty, and kill three people."

   "No. You can't. But… you could do a lot worse? Than to just start thinking like that. Not how to catch them doing what they do. Their setup? Is designed to provide layers of protection. Just… bypass those layers. Go in, and get them. Set them up. Figure out how many years they should get, for their true crimes. Then? Make sure what you can catch them at, hint hint, gets you a similar number of years. See… you guys are all thinking in terms of catching them doing what they do. Which is what they're very good at guarding against. Now… they don't know, to watch out for what they're not doing. Which is what you catch them for."

   "My first response… is that sounds crazy."

   Elise gave him her little smile.

   "And after you count to ten…"

   "Well. Up front. We could find ourselves, stating and restating the problem, over and over again, and not getting anywhere. What does the state police investigative unit think of that?"

   "Uh… we get a lot of reports about… that little town. Quite a few, actually. We actually go in on very, very few. We end up getting only the very worst apples. We'll sit here and spin our wheels forever. And we don't have the advantage of… official recognition. I'm thinking this reminds me of whatever meeting took place, when some young kid said why don't we bust Al Capone for tax evasion. I'm sure everyone laughed, but… its where he was soft in the underbelly."

   "Okay. So, the idea in general makes sense to us. Maybe. What… experience does anyone have doing this."

   "Um. The state police? Would never, ever, in a million years? Set up a criminal, to create a way in to get the ball rolling. Then… suddenly find what you were really looking for. Using the set up as a wedge, to crack the door open… so you could go in and locate what you were really looking for. No way. We would never do that. And if anyone did? You would be smart and drop that whole set of charges, in favor of what you were really going in for."

   Target chuckled.

   "You sound like you're voting in favor of this plan. You're with Elise."

   "I didn't say that. But… are you going to sit there and tell me, that the FBI? Never once, ever saw fit to drop some drugs in a trunk. Then stop the car coming home from the bar, to get the DUI you knew you were getting. And use the DUI stop, to find the drugs in the trunk? Then… the FBI comes in, and offers a solution. Hey. We don't want you… we want your boss."

   Target made a dramatic show of looking around.

   "Oh. I'm sure we never, ever did that before."

   "Yeah. We don't do that either. But interestingly enough that we don't do it? The whole plot line, even has a name."

   Target laughed.

   "Oh. What no one does, happens often enough you have a name for it?"

   "Its called… the dead hooker in the trunk."

   "Really."

   "Yeah. The joke is. There's a lot of things that a person can explain. And a person with money and power, can explain away a lot more than the average person. But, the one thing no one has ever once been able to explain? Is how there's a dead hooker in their trunk."

   "I suppose I don't have to ask how this got that particular name."

   "Its said to be a mafia trick… a CIA dirty trick… its used all the time, and you don't see it."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah. How many times have you seen the scenario. Some politician. The young girlfriend, the secret mistress, the young intern that works so closely with him. Found dead. Even if they don't go down for it? The stink of it, never leaves them. Your political opponent? Keeps mentioning it on the campaign trail. Next thing you know? New sheriff in town. I'm not saying big guys don't sometimes kill their little girlfriends. I'm saying, it happens way too often. Its too convenient, to be a coincidence."

   "Just to be clear. We're not using a dead hooker."

   "No. But, when you plant drugs in the trunk, then chalk the tire and stop the car on Friday night home from drinks with dinner? Its called the… dead hooker in the trunk job. Its a small, effective operation. You need at least one person to do the planting. That you trust. You need one cop, who agrees to sit in the right place, and stop the right car when it comes along. He's just doing his job, he gets lucky on accident. Think of it as the can opener, for the can of worms."

   "Wiz… Sun Tzu says…"

   "A small force, against a bigger enemy. This has been happening since the beginning of time. Never stand and fight in the open. Stick and move. If the larger enemy attacks? Retreat, disperse, and relocate and then regroup. If the larger enemy won't attack? Make them. Relocate, and make them attack you in the new, far away location. Then retreat and do it again. The larger enemy, will waste all its time and resources moving around. You can't win, but you never lose. You need virtually no resources to do this, beyond a small force with determination. You incur very few losses of what you have little of… men. The big enemy? Slowly loses resources and morale. Its not about bravery. Its about fighting smart. You check your morality and pride at the door, when you just want results."

   The waitress came and checked on soft drinks, then retreated after bringing them. Target continued.

   "I'm not for anything. I'm not against anything. We spend a lot of time talking about the problem, and no time coming up with solutions. I just heard… possible solutions. Smells like an air freshener opened up in the bathroom after taco night. A real breath of fresh air. Now? We at least have something to do. Something to talk about. We have an idea, of what kind of ideas, to come up with. That? Sounds like progress to me. Does anyone disagree with me?"

   No one said anything against that.

   "For now? Motion carries. The state police? Has experience dealing in these matters. What does the usual small town like this look like."

   "You know how you take a cookie cutter, and all the cookies look the same?"

   "Yeah."

   "Pretty much like that. Its always the same story. They all start with one crime. Usually gambling, or drugs. Next thing you know, there's drugs, gambling, prostitution. The occasional chop shop or stolen goods ring. You always find… a police chief, a mayor, and some dirty business or crime guy… that's who's in cahoots. Every damn time. I'm telling you, I done this enough times? I already know what I'm going to find before I go in and look around. I could just… go in and scoop a few people up? I already know who's running stuff."

   "So… why don't more of these places go down? You already know they're there… you already know what they're doing… hell, you already know who's doing it. What the hell."

   He sighed before answering.

   "You're FBI. How do you figure out you have a ring operating?"

   "Well. At the interstate level. Things are big enough you always end up with a murder. You investigate? You see connections across jurisdictions and states. Hello feds. Its what we were invented for."

   "And there you go. In a tiny town? Typically no one gets murdered. The numbers racket. Christ. Everyone wants to get a betting slip, to play the games. The guy that can get those slips? Is a great guy. He's helping his buddies out. There's a local coffee shop, everyone gets breakfast at. The cops come in and want their bet slips. Grandma? Gets 700 to one, playing the daily three digit lottery. Instead of the state's 500 to 1. We call it a victimless crime, for a reason. If you don't have this going on? You ask for it. Its… like asking where the gas station is."

   "Go on."

   "As long as Guido and the boys aren't roughing people up to pay on the losing ponies. Guido and the boys aren't breaking thumbs on loansharking. Who the hell's going to call for help? No one. The grandma that goes to church? Gets 700 to 1 on the daily number. She brags and gets the church ladies to play with her guy. The priest wants to try to pick 11 winning teams on the point spreads. No one sees a crime being committed."

   "Keep going."

   "You ever play poker?"

   "Sure."

   "You play for candy, like little kids? Or… is there money on the table."

   "Only a cash game is any fun. Hell, we had a poker game at the substation once a month. We got paid monthly. And? You were there, motherfucker. Don't be coy. I seem to recall you? Being good at cleaning out new guys. Doubled your monthly pay, more than once."

   "There you go. All the boys want to have poker games. Smoke cigars. Get comped drinks while playing. You give them a place to have it. Now? They bring the new guy who wants to play poker, feel like one of the boys. Hell, where's that guy at? That guy… the one who will take a hundred dollar bet on that game. Here he comes."

   "I'm seeing it. And… as a guy in that town? Yeah. Crime isn't being committed. Its… just guys having fun."

   "Now… you already got barflies running around. Fucking guys for drinks and dinner and putting out anyways. You get just one of those whores… to flash a grand around town? She recruits the other barflies. You eventually get a cute mom in on the action, for the high end market. Now I ask you… who's calling the cops yet?"

   "Hmm."

   "The guys playing poker? The guys getting bet slips? The barfly, that gets paid to do what she normally does for dinner and drinks? The guy… that gets fucked for once. Name me one person, who's calling the cops. Just one."

   "Victimless crime."

   "Best you get, is maybe some wife-y, complains to the cops. She thinks there's girls hooking."

   "Cops tell her… we'll look into that."

   "Yeah. They laugh about it. While playing cards. Betting the game. While smiling at the cute cocktail waitress they're going to get a half price blowjob from that weekend. If there's not bodies turning up? No one cares."

   "Drug sales start. You already got gambling, girls… why not."

   "There you go, Target. Another service provided."

   "How does it go bad?"

   "Most of the time? Its what I'm trying to explain. It doesn't. You need friction. Example… some out of town guy blows into town. Starts dealing coke. He's got his own supplier from somewhere. That friction, can lead to fire."

   Target smiled.

   "You send the local cops to bust him."

   "Exactly. Now, Target's on target. Say some girl blows into town. Starts hooking at the bars and clubs."

   "She either gets recruited, or arrested."

   "Now. Everything works perfect. Any outside agencies come in? County Drug Task Force… the police provide cover, and… warn everyone. The whole thing? Works too perfect. In fact, the only time a problem happens? Is a couple ways… some other actual organized crime can see it, and muscle in. Friction. Bodies. Or? Someone goes too far…"

   Target pointed at me.

   "Lightning. They went too far."

   "My thoughts exactly. We wouldn't even be here without her case. Lightning? Is the friction. She's the body that turned up. She's just alive, is all."

   "You've all watched the videos. Can we all agree, they went too goddamn far? They were drugging and gang raping a 14 year old, for Christ's sake."

   The state police investigator sighed, and waved his hand out, palm up.

   "There you are. They went way too far. It created friction. The girl eventually? We all know what happened."

   "So. We're all in agreement. They went over the line."

   "The mother? Kicking her own daughter around, like you kick a regular whore around. I can't… then offering her up, to the big guy's son? Who drugs and rapes her. Then… everybody. The mom, the dad, the son… drugging her and offering her up, at 14, to the town to buy tickets to it? Then… what the mother did to her afterwards? I'm so pissed off, I wanna go in with Elise and go hunting. Go poaching. Three body bags come back tied to the hood of my car."

   "I hate to say it. The biggest crime here, to me. And anyone here is free to educate me otherwise. But, as I see it… if the girl would have been given a choice. If the mother didn't kick her around and make her keep… dating the son… who smacked her and date raped her. If the son didn't view the 14 year old as a product… if the dad would have told his son, look. We're criminals, but we're not bad guys, not like that. No. All three of them? Made money off of her. Knew what they were doing was horrible. And plum didn't care."

   "And the rest of the town?"

   Target made a face.

   "They got so used to 18 plus aged hookers? They bought tickets and lined up to the 14 year old. Not some… out of town talent. One of their own. You saw the videos. That girl didn't know. She didn't have a choice. She wouldn't have 1/10th the problems she has, if she had a choice and decided to do it."

   The state police weighed in.

   "How do we handle this. It has to be done right. Mister Big gets one whiff of anything? He's going to tie up that loose end. I think Wiz is right about that one. Hurry? My apologies for saying it in front of you."

   I looked at Elise.

   "No apologies necessary. I hate to say it, but… its the obvious… solution, to their problem."

   Target calculated.

   "You know about these cookies, that come out of the good old American vice cookie cutter. You get the picture, what was going on five years ago. What's going on now. Today. Wave your hands over the State Police crystal ball on this one, what I'm going to find there. After the dead hooker is found in the trunk that pops open, that is."

   The investigator rubbed his chin.

   "Its like… a tree that grows. Little saplings all sprout and grow up together. The betting slips? You start taking larger bets. If you're smart? Cash only, no credit. That eliminates the Guido and crew breaking thumbs. The basic gambling grows. You'll by now? Find… more gambling. You'll find someplace you go, for a one stop gambling central. Its usually a private club. The prostitution? Gets more organized, more outside clients coming in. The drug operation grows. It goes wholesale, and they ship out. You get a great deal in town? So you never go anywhere else to look."

   I raised my hand.

   "Yes?"

   "The… mysterious bar the mother worked at. That the daughter was never allowed to see. Not once. Does that sound like the place?"

   The investigator nodded.

   "Okay. You jogged my memory on that tidbit. Yeah. That'll be it. It'll be… the Loyal Order of River Otters, or some silly shit like that. You'll have a poker games room. Lots of gambling machines around. Guy comes in at a set time, and takes all bets."

   "I've seen those videos more than once, is why I know them front to back. But… how do we find it?"

   The investigator laughed.

   "Oh. That's the easy part. You just follow the cops on the weekend. It'll be where all the cops drink. See, every small town has a place, and that's where all the cops go. The firemen go too, the ambulance guys go. Its the one place? Where drinks are reasonable, and… like magic? You just can't get a DUI on the way home. As long as you spend your money there. There's going to be some rooms out back, or up on the second floor… that's where the working girls, perform their work. Your nail salon girls? Also work there. In fact, all you have to do? Is breeze into town, with any excuse. Flash a wad of cash, and be drinking. Buy a few rounds… you're good time Charlie. You'll be at the after hours club? In no time. The poker boys want a new drunk fish. The place wants you to make bets, they want you to buy a hooker. And hey, why not buy some coke to enjoy with the hooker."

   I asked him what the address and telephone number was there. He laughed more.

   "I can tell you, its almost always a private club. It will be men only. No wife or girl otters allowed. Honey, me and the boys have to have a place to play cards and smoke cigars. Like that. In fact, the only girls, will be all the little girls that work the bar and kitchen. And? The upstairs rooms. The tree? Grows. By now? There's one brand of beer, on tap… some cheap off brand shit beer… its a great deal, by the pitcher. That? Will be the beer the rich guy is making and putting into kegs at his lumber business. There will also be surprisingly good deals, on certain bottles of vodka. He used to have a small still, and now he has a bigger one."

   I asked him for a price list, and he giggled.

   "Every operation? Grows. Take the drugs. I already know what you'll find. Half decent pot, decent prices. The coke? Same deal. Now, the coke is special. You put a small amount of methamphetamine in with the coke? Wow. As soon as you snort it, you feel a nice big blast. Wow, is that good coke. Its really not, its shit bar coke been stomped on and sugared up too many times. But… has this zing to it, hey, this is great stuff. By now? They're shipping their own brand of coke out. Customers are being brought in. Hey… we got gambling, cute hookers, cocaine at great prices… little Las Vegas, baby. They're shipping the cheap home made beer and wine and vodka out, too. Actually, people come in to buy it. And while you're in, you should stop at the club."

   Target came back onto the conversation.

   "As you can see? The state police have no idea how these operations are worked. And, to a lot of the people in town? Things are marvelous. I'm sure Mister Big? Has no problem helping out with a few donations to a few key things, and he gets the publicity for his public good will and charity. Take the owner of the local diner. More business. Gas station? Same thing. Now, you bring in one. Just one customer from out of town? He comes back with three of his drinking buddies. Guys, you gotta see this place to believe it. Its heaven."

   I couldn't watch my mouth.

   "Yeah. And wait till you see the 14 year old dancer. Tall, professionally trained to dance… and you can buy tickets to ride that ride on the weekends."

   Elise smiled.

   "I think it goes without saying. You pick one of those three? I'll shoot them right in the face. Better yet, you want a real hooker to put in the trunk? I'll give you the mom."

   Target smiled back.

   "As entertaining, and as appropriate as that would be? I was looking for something just a hair more subtle."

   Elise shrugged.

   "Hey. Its my thing. Check my resume."

   Target laughed.

   "I think you're more of a consultant on this one, dear."

   The investigator was digging through one of the stapled reports he had printed up.

   "There we go…"

   Target wanted to know what it was, by the look on his face.

   "You know how something bugs you, and you can't rest until you figure it out? Like that last word in the crossword puzzle."

   "Hey. Tell us. No secrets."

   "The videos. The girl said, two or three times. Its lumber. And she kept calling it a womanizing plant. Which… I admit, sounded funny. On account of this all centers around prostitution. Which is a funny joke in my head, and it keeps me thinking. Now… the guy made his mark, landing the big contract. With the only big patch of trees, which is the state forest."

   "Yeah. He has the exclusive logging contract. What trees can be taken, go to him. Its a nice plum."

   "Right. Womanizing plant. That? Is a… Wolmanizing plant. Wolmanized lumber. You treat it, and it makes it twice as heavy, and its water and rot proof. Its what you build your deck outside with. He gets raw lumber from the contract. He also brings in regular lumber from other sources, and treats it."

   Target looked confused.

   "So?"

   "As a state police investigator? Certain businesses always peak my interest. Body shop? I start thinking chop shop. Chopping and selling engines and other parts. Now. Anything to do with chemicals? Certain chemicals, anyways. I start thinking drug labs. This wolmanizing plant? Would give him access to things he needs. Legitimately, mind you. To manufacture methamphetamine. Its not hard. Any idiot sees someone cook? They can pick it up. Now, you add in good equipment? Access to the proper chemicals? You can make it clean. Not to mention… if you're already used to dealing with solvents and epoxies… which wolmanizing requires? You have great ventilation and you can make it safely. No boom boom, like the basement labs in every suburb."

   Target was calculating.

   "Interesting."

   "I'll go you more. You're shipping lumber in, lumber out. You already have chemicals in barrels. Its perfect for shipping drugs and alcohol out. Its fucking perfect? For a place to make beer, wine, vodka. In bulk. The smell is the big thing that gives away a still when the mash is brewing… not here. The stink of the epoxy? It would fit right in."

   "You're telling me, he's got a lumber company, and everyone is helping make meth and illegal liquor… thin."

   "No. Regular plant. Regular employees. But… there's an outbuilding out back somewhere. He has access to everything he could need, want, or wish for. To do all this? Perfect."

   "Would we know it if we saw it?"

   "Only if you knew what you were looking for. Fairly small cement block building. One heavy steel door, with great locks and security. Just there would be a really great ventilation system. That would give it away. This would pass for the place where the plant… tests new lumber, then stress tests the wolmanized. Tests it for how waterproof it is. The smell of the mash, the smell from the solvents making meth? Would fit right in with the overall smells coming from a big wolmanizing plant."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah. And I'll go you one better."

   "What's that."

   "This… whole, big, stinking mess. It starts with one girl."

   "It does."

   He smiled. He had something good.

   "What was the most curious thing we saw on those videos. The… unique thing, to this case."

   Target looked up and away, thinking.

   "Honestly? For me, it was the whole… underage, date rape drug, selling tickets to the gang bang. That? Was just… over the top for me."

   "Same here. Now honestly. How often do you really run across, date rape drugs? Admit it. Not much. There was a little rage of it, many many years back. Now? You don't hear about it much."

   "No. Your point?"

   "Remember the cranberry juice. It… was the magic clean out, and it led to all this."

   "Okay."

   "Cranberry juice, does not counteract and lessen the effects of all date rape drugs. It acts only on one, very specific date rape drug. Gamma Hydroxyl Butyrol. Now. Drug history lesson. GHB, was a popular date rape drug, for a brief period… then it goes away. Do you know why?"

   "No. I get my blowjobs the old fashioned way. I pay for dinner and a couple top shelf drinks."

   "Well. Way back in the day? GHB is actually a legitimate chemical all on its own. Its used to make other various chemicals. Actually cheap. Chemical prices wise. A drop or two? Used to be the dance drug of choice. At gay dance clubs, it was the original rave drug. Makes you all warm and loose, and you wanna just sweat and dance all night. You take a drop or two every so often, and everybody has fun. It was virtually unknown, outside of gay dance clubs."

   "I'm questioning how you have such extensive knowledge, of gay dance clubs. But… continue…"

   "Now. Way back when? Shitty little porn shops, used to sell… tape head cleaner. It really wasn't. It worked for that. But… it was really… GHB. Back before the internet? Back before all the cell phone dating. The porn shops, were the go to place for gay guys to hook up. The… ahem… tape head cleaner? All the shops sold it, it was a popular item."

   "You have obviously, done extensive research in this field. Pray continue."

   "GHB? Was perfectly legal. For, forever. Until? The internet became a thing. Word got out. Also, it became a date rape drug. Then… it got controlled. Then? Molly became the new dance drug of choice. Rave culture hit. GHB, was forgotten. You see it now, in kidnap cases. Its a weird, old fashioned chemical to have around. Also? Perfectly legitimate, given a place buying chemicals by the barrel. Its not the hardest chemical in the world to make, if you got a cookbook made for it. In fact, if you had a professional meth lab going? It would… fit right in."

   "How would we know it when we saw it?"

   "Clear liquid. Smells… chemically funny. Test kits used to be around. I could scare some up."

   "Okay. What about the dirty cops. What do you have on them."

   "Well, that's the good news. As long as its in my state? Dirty cops is an ongoing problem for every state police force across the great nation. As an investigator for the state police at my pay grade? I have unfettered access to… tax records. Monthly bills. Loans. Credit cards. Property owned. Some of its public information, some of it? Is semi public. When police sign up, one of the many forms they sign… is an ongoing agreement to look into the background. The fine print, states that its ongoing."

   "What does that give you."

   "It gives me raw numbers to work with. Its a slow and painful process, all drudge work. You take one cop. You get his yearly income. You divide by 12. You put his monthly bills, against that. You start subtracting, off of that monthly income. When you hit negative numbers? You realize there's money coming from somewhere. Unfortunately? Cops are great at finding extra money. Fortunately? They're not really so great at hiding it."

   "How many dimwits on that force, can't use a calculator."

   "A couple. Now. Smart cops? And I use that term loosely. You buy a hunting camp? Oh, that's in my brother's name. My wife? Gets a brand new SUV. In her name. I just make the monthly payments. The brother in law? His name is on the expensive fishing boat and off road vehicle, paid cash for. Cop has the toys in his garage. Problem is, I have to run all their financial-s, and see this. The wife for instance? Working part time at some coffee shop? Should not be making 900 dollar a month payments on a brand spanking new SUV. And still having credit cards and getting her hair done and buying stuff on the internet."

   "But so far…"

   "Small force. Looks like the entire force. The chief? Is the most… interesting, we'll say. Financially."

   "That's great. I can give us emails and phone texts. FBI has a program, called Carnivore. Its a homeland security thing. But, you have financial proof, on the police."

   "I do. Back to timing, though. This all has to come together at once."

   "Step one. We continue to gather information. She? Continues to prep the victim. Gets more details and more names. But, we now have a road to go down. We want a dead hooker in a trunk. Then? We use that like a foot in the door. That puts us right in the middle of everything. Then? We just magically show up. Hey, we were working this case quietly… when…"

   "The dead hooker showed up. Here we are."

   "I like it. Does the state police like it?"

   "I like it. Wiz?"

   "The wizard is very happy with this magic potion being brewed. Hurry? How's your comfort level, honey."

   "I'm very impressed. The victim's well being is being looked after as the first thing."

   We finally ordered. We ate. We made small talk, we laughed, we rolled our eyes at old funny stories everyone had and shared. We went back home. Light gravitated to me and Wiz. Right, was pulled in by her own tractor beam to Target. The state police investigator stayed the night and the next day, before leaving for home.

   Right seemed thoroughly entranced by Agent Target. She took some delight in pointing out that she had gotten a real bargain. She only had to learn how to make pastrami on rye with Swiss and beer mustard sandwiches, and yet got full and complete credit for being labeled a "great cook". I'm sure being 19 and having a long set of rather fit and muscular legs played no small part in Agent Target's fascination with her. As I'm also sure that his personal life being what it was, again played no part whatsoever.

   I do know that many girls each like to think they have their own special trick, to bewitch and entice their men in. Little Lightning, for example. Her personal creed in the bedroom is fairly straightforward. She'll give you more and better than you can pay for at any price, all while refusing to take even so much as dinner or the smallest present. Around the world, and around it twice if she really likes you. Plus, nearly any fun "hot game" you wanna try thrown in as well. That's quite a meal offered for nothing in return, and dessert is being swallowed whole, just like the male porn star gets. The guy is allowed and even encouraged to brag about these things.

   My own trick? I try to be the best of both worlds. In public? I'm sweet and demure, and I don't have a track record to speak of. Practically a nun compared to other girls around campus. But in private, behind closed doors? I transform. I'm positively naughty, downright kinky, and as adventurous as I can possibly be.

   Right has her own way. She must think of sex as the cake, then she puts icing on it. Giving her guy a piece of ass, well, she takes that literally. Bum fun. Park it in my rear, its another service I offer. I once heard her make the joke that any girl can give her guy a piece of ass, she gives him the whole thing.

   Right seems to have quite quickly found a guy and latched on and dug her hooks in. By college standards? She's dating a rich guy. She definitely gets to brag. She gets to have this through a little less than three more years to get her degree, if things stay on an even keel. She can likely no doubt walk right into a marriage the day she graduates. A predictable, good and decent life for a girl to have. I mean, the very day she graduates? She waltzes right into a decent apartment in a city, and can look for work in her field. Human Resources highly favors women, and those with women's studies are right up there for the politically correct factor. Being a sports star in college? Simply adds to her liberal "street cred".

   Or? She can be a stay at home wife. Its basically just a little more food bought, if she isn't demanding any extravagances. She can have a kid, he's childless so far. She can work and have a kid, not work and have the kid. Have work and no kid. Have no work and no kid. Anything's possible. All she has to do? Basically just not hate him and torture him.

   The fact that she seems to be paying mere lip service to all her patriarchy bullshit surrounding her degree? Gives me some high hopes for her continued personal success. I'm enjoying a plan for me and Wiz that seems like its well thought out. About the only person in my life now that doesn't seem to be enjoying an "optimum outcome" is Little Lightning. Though she does seem to be on an even keel now, and her rudder straightening out. She still clings to Wiz, and me, and the shared relationship. But, its still early in her recovery, and honestly she's actually doing "optimum" given everything that befell her and the fact she's only just into coming out of it.

   My god, but you should see her practicing.

   Before Elise and Target left, I got to see her "play" with Wiz. And the Army guys. Fighting practice. Wiz had fun with it, and told the guys he wanted them to really see something for a demonstration. The game was best out of three falls. The object of the game? Pull and push the other person onto the ground, by whatever means necessary. A knee or a hand touching the ground are each a point, because you're "down". The more hands or knees on the ground? The more points.

   With punching and kicking off the table, she took every fighting student with ease. Sport Judo. For points. It doesn't even look like fighting to me. Nor to Wiz's fighting students. She stands there. She waits for them to come at her. She grabs at a wrist, above an elbow, or sometimes behind a neck when they dip low. She looks like she's just pulling and pushing. Yet, they can't get a hold of her. She has them queerly off balance right from the get go, and never lets them regain their bearing.

   Her feet are as magical as Little Lightning's are at kicking a ball. She seems to know how to stand ever so perfectly and shuffle or step around so as to always have a superior balanced position. She places a knee sometimes against a leg, or more often a foot on their foot, their shin, their thigh. Sometimes she pulls with her foot, either at their ankle or behind their knee.

   She's effortless and graceful doing it. She looks like she's expending absolutely no energy no matter how long she does it. When the game had gone through every guy, she had scored points at will on all of them, and none of them could get a fall and score a single point on her. Two falls took every guy, one after another. They restarted the game again, and she did it all over again. The harder they came at her, the shorter a period of time it took her to score points getting one or two hands, one or two knees to touch the ground.

   Their only option? Was to stay away from her and try to avoid her scoring points. Now, she's stalking them and they're tripping over their own two feet as she starts coming in, to force that initial grab and push. She had that little smile on her face the entire time, too. I remember that one, when she initiated our conversation. If I would have tried to get physical with her, and use my strength? I would have gotten fumbled around on the floor, until I wore myself out. The little smile, I remember it. As if she knew something I didn't. Indeed.

   I had thought not being able to have sex with men after her rape had been the thing she knew that I didn't, that I was planning a speech for a situation that couldn't happen. Added to that I now saw? She was protecting me, by explaining it to me. So I wouldn't be tempted to push or shove to punctuate my "that's my guy" speech. She was like Wiz. She had great personal power, and tried like hell not to have to use it.

   After twice ran through, Wiz told them she was going to give them some pointers now, it was her class. She told some of them to throw a planned punch or kick, to show them what would happen. I saw a little bit of what Wiz did that was so magical. He would suddenly come in on opponents that were swinging on him, right up inside their grip. He would touch and push their shoulders and take all the sting out of their punches. She did this.

   Actually, once you've seen my boyfriend's fighting shtick several times, and now you see Elise doing her little instructional time? I see lots of "little things" I now realize he got off of Elise. Or, they both got them off the same place.

   Wiz had a "weird" counting lecture to his Army students. One or two had trouble "coming in". They asked, how do you simply "come in". I hear similar in soccer. Girls asking how to pull the trigger on a goal shot, initiate a steal, anything. Uncharitable answers? You have to be better, you have to have balls, etc. Naturally Wiz had the charitable answer.

   He had them count in their head for moves. His sets of moves? Had several one two three four situations. They were attacking, poking, prodding… on four. He had them decide to suddenly come in on the three or the two. It was timing, and it was shifting and disrupting timing. Get the opponent used to a "big four" several times, make it smooth. Then deliver the goods on the two or the three. Or, on the four followed by another on the one.

   He alternately divided things, and everything mind you, up into "threes". Same principle, they could attack on the "three" several times smoothly, then on different internal head counts. Now, they were initiating. Now, they were deciding when attacks happened. It taught them to set the pace, to change the pace. Set timing then break it for an effect. If you practiced going into "double timing" it, twice as fast? Equally a surprise.

   He would explode into what everyone must have decided to call "rabbit punches". He did them in "fours" and in "threes". Looked like little pity-pat punches. Fists close together, about throat level. He leaned around, throwing tight fast little punches.

   Elise dropped all their jaws open when they saw that she could shut down nearly his entire punching game. Their own fighting instructor had to watch carefully that this girl didn't grab his wrist or sleeve even casually and step near his feet. And if you threw the same little exploratory jab several times, like all boxers do? She was getting that wrist or sleeve. It made her the oddly supreme king of the hill, at any grabbing and twisting game. You didn't want to "fight" over the remote or the last beer with her. The instant you tried to apply any real "boy pressure" into it? You got tossed or dropped, and you were lucky if she was doing it gentle.

   I saw Wiz's footwork in her description, bits of it. Pieces of his hand work, various things all through it. Wiz thought different from almost all other guys. Other guys were probably trying to out force her practicing with her; Wiz got intrigued and she shared the basics of Judo with him. He gave her tips and tricks to lasting longer during periods of dirty fighting and dirty wrestling with the boys.

   About the closest I ever came to this, instructing a boy? Maybe dirt bike riding. An older boy had taken pity on me when I was little, and had little "games" I could play to get me dirt bike riding like a savvy older pro and keep up with the pack. I had a little girl's "whee!" trick. Lock the back brake up, and enjoy skidding to a wobbly stop.

   This older boy, with no weirdness beyond a smile, had given me another game to add with my "whee!" slide. Do a doughnut. I leaned over, popped the clutch out and gunned my back tire. Then the bike chewed in a little circle, back tire coughing up clouds of mud or dry dust, whichever was in season. He did "whee" and "doughnut" with the grade school tall girl who had an 80cc instead of a 50cc because of her height on her little two stroke dirt bike.

   He took "heat" from the other big boys on big bikes, doing his "whee" and "doughnut" games with the toddler. Next? The big boys did yet another big couple miles loop, and he told me what "secret" we would do next. We were going to go up there, where we could disappear around the tight bend in the trail. He would show me the disappearing trick.

   "Whee" into the sliding skid, almost stopped at the tight turn. Into the fun "doughnut", rear tire chugging into the quarter turn. Those two simple little toddler tricks, put together for that turning demonstration? Had me sliding around turns, and goosing the throttle into the turns. He showed me up a steep hill and down a steep hill on really steep tiny ones; then I knew what to do on real big hills.

   If I had a problem coming down a steep hill? I could just slide sideways without getting hurt. Going up, I could stop if I had to, though it was preferable to goose the throttle until the last second to try not to get stuck. The confidence knowing I could harmlessly ditch if I had to? Allowed me the confidence to crack the throttle in first gear and gun it up, tossing mud and dust and rocks skidding around.

   Now I can't get hurt flying sideways off of big bends. I just skid out from under the bike, pooh. I can try to go up or down anything, because I know how to slide the bike down. By the end of high noon approaching? He now followed the pack of big boys at the rear of it. I could follow him.

   What he had done for me, teaching me to ride a dirt bike? Wiz had done for Elise to make her better at fighting with the men. She had actively shared back the basic elements of Judo and working them into his own thing.

   When you have a "special" friend helping you out like that, you can quickly flower. My older dirt bike friend? Was one of the bigger farm boys around. One of the ones that went around baling hay to the farms that needed it. I saw him out the window on our own farm? I ran out in my first or second grade super hero PJ's and kid's show themed gum boots to excitedly jump up and down and tug on my buddy. My mom was aghast; my dad was smiling and happy about my dirt bike lessons.

   I got him alone riding late that season, and wanted him to show me "jumps". My new "whee" was going over little bumps, getting the couple inches of air. He took me to where he had two stout wooden ramps, on the edge of his own family's farm. The ramps together, you buzzed up and felt the gentle "k-doosh" as you dropped a couple to several inches going off one, and down onto the littler one.

   He separated them a couple inches. Nothing. The faster you go up the first higher ramp, the farther you land down the little one. He had a foot then two feet, its nothing. In no time at all, anyone can do eight, ten, twelve feet. Then? He warned me. If I muffed it going any faster? I would get broken arms and legs. When he switched back to a single jump of a dirt mound? Suddenly it was very safe to jump and fly ten feet across obstacles instead of babying up and over every one.

   Eventually my time came, and I got to be the smiling older teenager, showing a young first or second grade boy. Whee, and doughnut. Up and down the hill. Then a safe jumping practice, so they could jump the mud puddles and little streams and logs and rocks and stumps.

   Elise's time had come now as well. She was guest hosting an all male fighting class, and had their complete attention.

   Also, with punches planned, Elise showed them how she grabbed a wrist or above an elbow, and in conjunction with pushing with her foot or even pulling with it? They would go even quicker to the ground. For her class finishing big finish? She selected two guys, and let them both play the falls game. They got in each other's way more than onto her. She was still scoring points. With two big strong guys trying to throw her down. True, she selected the biggest and possibly least technically skilled. But still.

   The final demonstration, was Wiz wanted her to show them some sweeps. She wanted to know which was best at falling practice. Wiz shook his head and said he'd take one for the team, and be the practice dummy. It looked like she was able to throw him around. Then in slow motion, she showed how it worked. How his own momentum coming in was the power, she just provided the balance point off of her hip to let him basically throw himself.

   They both reminded the students, that a person's natural inclination to "post" an arm or a leg out straight? Would break their own wrist, tear their own shoulder, sprain or dislocate their own hip or ankle. And, that the bigger and heavier the person? The more weight was impacting the posted arm or leg. She claimed, this sport was where the very phrase the bigger they are, the harder they fall came from originally.

   After impressing them with sweeps, where Wiz's feet came off the ground and he was twirled and thrown down with the wind knocked out of him? She demonstrated some of her other tricks. For one she initiated a fall. As he fell, she simply grabbed and slapped at his elbow and ended up seizing his wrist. He more or less stretched his own arm out for her. She didn't have to muscle his arm into the stretched out position she wanted, the way the boy's muscled each others arms into position for grappling moves. She had this effortless grace and made everything look simple and easy.

   Once she had that arm, she could do all manner of things. She could twist one way or the other, and flop him around. Face down, face up. Once again, it cost her neither strength nor effort. It did make it appear though, as if she could throw him around like a cartoon character. As if she were a super heroine and he was a lot smaller and lighter than he was. It went without saying, that she could kick the opponent in the ribs or face, at will. She touched him lightly with her foot to demonstrate it, she whipped her knee to his head and stopped and just kind of nudged it.

   If she had an arm held and twisted up just right? Once there if she managed to get to that point? Well, that was it. She could break the wrist or arm or shoulder, or kick them to death. One fall ended with a twist of the wrist that flopped Wiz face down, his arm straight up and back. She stood with one foot on the small of his back, and could stomp his neck from behind at will. She made a little kiss sound, and she lightly touched her heel down onto his neck to show it. Tapped his elbow of the back straightened out and twisted arm? With her knee to demonstrate the arm would snap in two easily.

   She did similar things with his head and neck. Wiz always did have the magical ability to suddenly seize a guy by the head and simply place the head where he wanted it to be, the opponent's body followed it. But this was different. With a bigger and stronger opponent face to face with her? She moved him around at will.

   Then, reverse "playtime". It was Wiz's turn to instruct her. She was interested in grappling. Dirty wrestling. They stopped and restarted at least a hundred times. She had her own style on the ground, and he had his. They were at odds with one another, a complete clash of styles. Each did things the other would never suspect, and each fell for some of the other's simplest tricks.

   The fighting students? After figuring out what she could do in the falls for points game, well… they were simply in awe. Wiz constantly pointed out. This is a girl. You're bigger and you're definitely stronger. Imagine if a guy your own strength and size, had this level of ability, what would he be capable of doing to you.

   She finished up with what she called surprise moves. She would stand next to a guy, and suddenly without warning attack. One of her favorite tricks, seemed to be simply pushing on the back of the knee, then standing on the calf. It pinned them to the ground, and they couldn't get up, turn, or move away. With a neck or a wrist, they were helpless. She could stand there where they couldn't reach her and put pressure on joints, or choke them with the neck of their own T shirt.

   It was now easy as hell to imagine her alone in a dark alley, or on a dark and winding lonely river walking path. Unlit cigarette hanging out of her mouth, she had her fake drunk stumbling down to a science. Dressed in I suppose a wham bam tiny miniskirt, and a shredded get lucky T shirt. Face painted up, hair dolled up, some flashy jewelry on. Easy prey. Completely helpless. A tall, strong, athletic looking girl… but a helpless drunk one. Easy to grab and control, easy to abuse and torture to enjoy power over her. The exact sort of "girl power" girly girl, that a rapist would get off on overpowering and having fun with.

   They would never expect it in a million years, what they were in for. Not at all drunk, and anything but helpless. She had every chance of surprise in the world, and the odds of the guy being some kind of expert fighter fairly low. She probably did have a sixth sense for blitz attacks coming out of those dark corners. She probably did have the ability to just sense she was being tracked from bar to bar as she made her rounds.

   Now, seeing her demonstrate her effortless prowess? Yeah. She could hold the guy off for a while until help arrived. And even once he got a hold of her and things started to go ugly for her, she could slow him down and lose slowly. And, she already knew what kind of rapist she was facing. If it was a perpetrator that left a trail of dead or dying women behind his passing? He got ventilation holes. She showed me her gun. 14 rounds, and she said rapists typically work alone. Also, crime scenes let you know if they were alone or not. Lone perpetrator? She dumped all 14 rounds plus the one in the chamber into his chest. Then she reloads and if he's still moving? Coup de grace.

   Target and Wiz already knew about her magical transformation act. It was for my benefit. She agreed to do a "quickie" and meet us where we were going out to eat. I was supposed to figure out which person in the crowded restaurant was her. It was a big place, with several rectangular connected rooms, and I was scanning farther and farther away. She was quite near, in her own booth. She had to throw balled up napkins and sugar packets at me to get my attention and wave. It… well? It was a completely different woman. The casually dressed down woman had disappeared. The girl next door, sort of pretty but very plain Jane? Gone. This was a man eater out on the prowl. She reminded me, this was a quickie job. More time painting and outlining her face? Did more.

   When we were sure we were alone and talking about it a little, Wiz always has a way with words. He reminded me, that unless I was lying about my history and love life? That woman had killed more men, than I have ever fucked. Which for some reason, was the most sobering way to look at it. She really was a Black Widow. She had a little list to cross off mentally. Hunting license that resembles a gold shield? Check. My hunting license is for a perpetrator that leaves dead or almost dead women behind as his calling card? Check. Some guy attacking me when I'm out being bait? Check.

   That's three checks, you're dead. The one in the chamber went off, then 14 more times. If he was still breathing or twitching, if so much as a pinkie finger wiggled a hair? She calmly and dispassionately stood over him and pumped the last round into… I assumed the forehead or whatever. She probably did it like she fought. With no effort, painted in graceful easy movements. Then what. Probably just stood there and waited the rest of the time for backup to get there. Someone else had to clean up the mess she made. There would be a perfunctory going over of a crime scene, but everyone just knew there was no other conclusion than… yeah. There would be the obligatory "hearing" because there had been a fatal shooting, but… when the rape bait is attacked, and the attacker is known to be a serial murderer? Pffft.

   After the fatal shooting, it wouldn't take long for the proof of her actions to materialize. Pretty easy. No more dead rape victims popped up in the mornings in dark alleys. Yeah. Once again, she got the right one. Money well spent, right there. No multi million dollars a year spent on a big task force. Not even a multi million dollars a year spent on a long court case, then what everyone knew was a guilty verdict anyways. Just… a "mere" 100 and some grand a year, and there you go. With an optimum outcome, too.

   Christ almighty. This woman was death incarnate.

   Oh. You're a city. You have a monster running around, right? Yeah. Sure we do. Okay. Not a big deal. I need a gold shield hunting license. I need a backup team, a little one. They do what I say. I'll take care of your problem for you. I promise. I'll wrap it up with a pretty little bow on it for you. Dead murder-rapist. Hey? I'm on leave now.

   Fuck me. The half of it, was Elise's easy calm about her job. The other half? Holy shit on a slice of bread. My boyfriend's… what was that, approval? Yeah, approval. No. More than approval, it moved beyond that. Not quite into worship, but close. He was clearly jealous that she had a license to ply her trade. She all but lorded it over him.

   She goaded him. Come over. Come to my side. I'll make it okay. I'll give you a license to kill. I'll make it legal. Come on over baby, you'll goddamn love it. I could see the lure in his eyes. He goddamn craved it. He wanted a license to kill bad guys and get a medal for it, get the pat on the back for it. I then watched him stop himself. Take a deep breath, exhale, and say no.

   She shook her head and laughed.

   We went to a party. College kids all around, but Elise and Wiz stood alone. I was near enough to hear them.

   "What, Wiz. You think you're what… one of them? We both know you're not. Come with me. We'll be a team. I want you, babe. About three steps behind me. You're a fucking predator, and we both know it." 

   "Elise? No. You? Got sixteen other guys that are better at that, than me. Get any one of them…"

   "Wiz. Don't you dare deny it. Don't you even try. I've seen you. Goddamn enjoy it. Me… you… we can do it again."

   He sighed.

   "No, Elise. We can't."

   "You… bastard…"

   "Whatever, I'm here to work on my head. Told you too many times. I have too much invested in my head."

   She sighed.

   "Okay, Wiz…"

   I felt my pussy emit wetness. He would turn it all down, to stay here with me. Well, to be fair about it, it was to get his degrees. Which was what he was here for before I happened along, but still. I was part of the package deal now.

   Right decided to spend what would be her last 20 days possible, before we had a few high school kids soccer camps start running. Then? A brief break and… the grueling preseason camp. A couple weeks of hell. Then a tiny break, and… semester starts, and the season kicks off. Practices and games, with few breaks other than Sunday. Or, a day or two after a game.

   With Right gone? This would be me and Wiz's last sexual vacation together, and Little Lightning was no impediment to that. For the first several days, we both more or less took turns having sex with him. Sharing him. One day I dressed as Lady Vaquera, and she did her thing with him. Lightning got to watch as I dominated and fucked him into teary eyed submission and he went to his place, where he begged for more. The look on her face? I suppose resembled a young kid watching barn animals fuck for the first time. How we must appear to her during that kind of flagrante delicto? I don't know.

   Her around the world plus one? Is a sort of slow or fast at any time, ultimate vanilla kind of thing. The swallowed whole for as long as it takes face fucking, crowned all. A gigantic dish of four different flavors of vanilla, topped with that sweet cherry of a deep throat. She at some times hammered her sex out, getting sweaty like an athlete doing cardio. She at other times did it so slow it was like slow motion instant replay. She "danced" her twat on his cock when it was that hole's turn. When she made the main slit her last port of call on her around the world plus one trip? The last hole is the longest one. She undulated and slithered as only a professionally trained dancer could possibly perform it.

   A couple hours off and on, to finish that hole off and complete the trip. His cock ring on tight, complaining he was over full and needed release. But after three, this would take forever. Such a sweet torture to watch her go from pose to pose, adjusting dance styles and rhythms she fucked with, to her blaring music. It was mesmerizing.

   She explained during our idle talk time laying in bed? It was all about the order of the holes. Twat slit last was a favorite of hers. That last couple of hours of cock dancing, and she knew guys loved that. Once she left her bum for last, and bit down on bedclothes, and gripped and tore at sheets through the marathon of having her rear end taken at such great length. When his hand job was last? She made sure he was fairly full and ringed up, then teased for a couple hours through a thorough milking. Another sweet and lengthy torture for him. She pouted and shrugged. This could take all night, no way to tell, we'll just have to see. He begged and all but screamed for release that was postponed for a couple hours of being hand milked and teased.

   She had yet to grant him face fucking last, she admitted that would be a gift for him to enjoy, and a great deal of effort on her part. But, it was a coming attraction, coming soon to a girlfriend near you. She did nothing but vanilla? And had him bewitched, entranced, in her power and eating out of her hand. Yet, she demanded nothing for it. Would barely take anything in return for it. It took planned therapy for her to accept a cheap food date, or the tiniest gift.

   She pointed out that the ordering was everything. What was first, what was last… those were the two main decisions. But the second and third? Determined a lot, too. I introduced her to morning and evening "kisses" after and before bed. She smiled and marveled at these. I showed her how to snap her fingers and point, to get the eyes down, that don't you dare look at me extra submissive groveling into it. She giggled and had a girly point after her finger snap. Mine was authoritative and demanding, an expression of ownership. Hers? Oh. Another fun game.

   I finally decided it was time. I did my thing where he woke up. Leather buckling wrists behind his back and ankles tight. The strap above his knees and the one around his waist. My two hand holds while I fucked a gagged helpless fuck toy gently without waking the sleeping girl next to him in the middle of the night.

   I whispered in his ear that "it was time"… then amid neck chewing and licking, I chuckled out hoarsely, wet and moist words in his ear.

   "Yeah, its time. You like it, you know you love it. She's your girlfriend now, too. She gets to see. And maybe? Who knows…"

   I did it rougher than the slow lovemaking when I didn't want to rouse her from sleep, merely to make it hot for him to be always on the verge of being caught, shushing him to keep quiet. I simply got rougher and rougher until the vibrations and the noise awoke her. She came awake and smiled, watching. She peeked over his hip to see… I laughed and told her it was basically my "champagne bottle", but that it was a better tool for the job. She was amused, pouted, smiled, giggled, poked fun and teased. I showed her the two handholds. The leather strap around his waist, and the one above his knees. Then I began to administer myself to him with much greater authority. I hurt him a little for her benefit. I ended with quite authoritative strokes and filthy comments.

   When I was done for the moment? I winked at her and shoved him with my foot on his hip to roll over a little towards her. It said it easily with no words. Here. Yours, if you want some. I pointed at my toy, I gestured to her, did she… and she shook her head no. The best I could get out of her, was her whispering in his ear. That if he liked it like this? To just ask, and she would do it for him.

   I tried to explain the principle of what was going on, the dynamic we had. I explained that our preferences were dominant and submissive, and what it meant, how that was only our relationship and during sex personas. The rest of our lives we were fairly well the opposite, or equals. I explained that I showed ownership and love, by controlling and possessing my favorite thing. The thing, which was him? Felt loved and needed the more it was controlled and held onto.

   She said he was basically my "Teddy Ball".

   I tried explaining that we both got off, because of the way we meshed? With me doing, not asking or being asked. The inherent thrill for him. Would it be slow and sweet? Or rough and scary. All I could get her on board with at all, was that if he liked something? She would do it for him. She reminded him, she would play nearly any game he wanted.

   She's definitely not dominant sexually or relationship wise. She's clearly submissive. She's as adventurous as a vanilla person can be, but its just a fun game. I have a naughty compulsion that drives ongoing fantasy fulfillment, and his matches mine in reverse polarity. She doesn't really have that. Her fantasy comes from without. She learns of something new. Oh. I can try that. Or, the partner asks. Oh, you want that? Hmm. Okay, I will.

   I had been letting him go during the talk, then almost comically? He rolled over and joined the conversation like I hadn't just got done raping him fairly aggressively. She was laying back, crossed ankles, interlaced fingers behind her head. The pose of a 14 and some year old watching the clouds, supposing to her friends talking.

   "Well. I feel like he's, you know, sort of my boyfriend and all. I'm supposed to please him. That's just my take on it. I mean, Its not like I'm supposed to try not to please him, that wouldn't make any sense."

   He shook her tummy gently.

   "Lightning? I'm not sort of your boyfriend. I just am, your boyfriend. I told you before, and I'll tell you again. You? Get all the… rights and privileges thereunto, of being my girlfriend. There's no sort of. You? Are actually loved and cared for. I don't just pretend to. If… you actually love and care for me? That's great. But, there's no sort of to it."

   "Hmm. Thanks. But… I'm thinking about, you know, how a relationship should go. And like I said. I can try to please my boyfriend, or try not to please him. That would be silly. So, I want to please you. And… I'm seeing more of… this stuff. Its obviously what you really really like. If I don't do that stuff? I'm not pleasing you."

   "How do I explain this…"

   "You… want her to please you, but, you don't want me to please you?"

   "No, no, and hell no. Its not like that. Let me try to explain…"

   I cut in gently.

   "Honey? Let's pretend you and her were the boyfriend and girlfriend. You two met, and had our relationship instead of me. I bet you can guess how it would go with… this stuff. She's got me curious now."

   "Okay… Lightning, you okay with this game?"

   "Sure. Sounds like fun. I get to pretend, I had you all to myself. Hmm."

   I interjected parameters.

   "Okay. We pretend you… didn't go through hell when young. So, you don't have the car and gift phobias. And… you could bring a boy back to your room."

   "Hmm. So… you would have asked me out for coffee. And, I would have said yes."

   "Would have been about it."

   "Oh. Do I have to pretend to be a good girl? Or… can I be like I am."

   "Like you are is fine."

   "Okay… Wiz? I guess, you would have wanted to go out for coffee again. And… I would have… showed up at your room, and… we both know what comes next when I do that."

   "Lightning? Imagine a cement basement. Not a nice one like we have here, a poorly made cement basement, and there's this… cement closet in the back corner? With a dirt floor. You would have been coming to a dirt hole to fuck me."

   "Hmm. You had a bed or something, right?"

   "A cot. A metal military cot."

   "Hmm. I'd have gone around the world, plus one, on that cot then. And? I really really like you, so, twice. Then… eat you alive like I can."

   "Hmm, yes. I remember. Go to the boys room? Rock his little world silly."

   "Uh huh. But… I wouldn't have really been pleasing you though. You like… this stuff."

   "Oh, flag on the play. I had barely done any of this, before her."

   "Really?"

   I told her it was true, and the same for me. Barely touched this stuff before him.

   "Well. What had you done? That way."

   He explained the nature of… being fascinated with the idea of birthday swats. That he had basically got birthday, then Christmas… love pats. Liked it, but… never again.

   "Oh. Why didn't you ask her for it, if you liked your first time?"

   He explained how she wasn't really into it, it was just to say she had done "stuff". Plus, he was a show boyfriend. He was lucky to get anything, and this was just a "no fuck" thing to act like he was getting something cool for his birthday and Christmas.

   "Yeah. I forgot you had to date cunts like that in high school. So… you would now be with me though. And, you liked your two little first times, right?"

   "Yeah. I definitely knew I liked it."

   "So… we'd have been going around the world, and… you'd be getting swallowed alive. Then. I always ask… any fun games you wanna play or try out, I do practically anything. Wouldn't you have suggested that? Hey. Had this fun thing once for a birthday, got it again on Christmas. That was it, liked it though. Would you do that? I'd have said yes."

   "So. I would have got the love pats I had once or twice, and missed. And remember… I didn't meet Hurry. You? Just equaled one of my favorite experiences, after doing it twice. You did it a third time? You broke my record."

   "Well, at first. But, you guys are so bad…"

   "Lightning? A good bit of that came about. With me and Hurry? Because we were both making little jokes about that stuff. Little jokes no one else would get or appreciate. We both picked up on it in each other. She had a secret desire to do it, I had a secret desire to get it… I wanted desperately to please this girl, she wanted desperately to please me… it just exploded into what you see now."

   I added in.

   "Remember. He's submissive under normal circumstances in a relationship and in bed. I'm dominant in a relationship and in bed. I really pushed the issue on that stuff, trust me. I'm dominant. I bring things like that right up. I suggest it, he goes for it. You two? He hadn't gotten to that point ever. He's submissive, you're submissive. You two would have just been… both trying to please one another. That stuff really took off? Because of a dynamic between us."

   "So… I wouldn't have been… dynamic with him. He wouldn't be happy with me. Not really."

   "Light? Remember pre med boy? He wasn't kinky. He was submissive, but wasn't into that at all. I was very happy with him."

   "A dominant needs a submissive. A submissive… needs a dominant."

   "No. Two submissive-s? Make a great pairing. Lots of those across America. In fact, you know the… TV love movie, the romance stories? Two people, so in love, each trying so hard to please the other? Its describing that pairing up. That's what you two would have had."

   "Oh. We'd of had… my sweet thing I described. Cool. And, he wouldn't have ever had that stuff, not like that, so… it would have happened once in a while, if he brought it up. And because if he didn't know from you, it would have been fine. Right?"

   "I think so."

   "Okay. So, stuff doesn't have to match. What would two dominants be like?"

   "Oh. That's the only one I think wouldn't work. Both would be butting heads, neither one giving up, both trying to be in charge… chaos and hell."

   "Yeah… I could see that. But, this means I need a dominant guy."

   "As a submissive person in a relationship? And not particularly driven to be kinky? You… will be happy with another submissive person, or with a dominant person. And I mean dominant relationship person, not someone who smacks your bottom. Don't confuse dominant and submissive? With kinky."

   "Oh. Okay… I keep forgetting they're separate things. All right. I think I get it. Wiz, just wants to please me, whatever it is I think I want. I want to just please him, and any way that may be. He's only really really bad with you? Because that's what you want and need."

   "Hmm. Yes."

   "Oh. Thanks. I feel better then. Wizzy?"

   "Yes, Light."

   "I really… please you?"

   "Yes. Very much."

   "Good. You please me, you know."

   "I'm glad."

   "And… if you ever want… something like that? Just say something. I'll try some. I mean, I tried some of that a few times. Its fun."

   "Just remember, Light. We have that… thing and we feed off of each other. You don't feel that need, to do that. So… you don't have to imitate what we do, to make me happy."

   "Okay. Hmm. I'm not used to thinking in terms, of what I want. Its always about what the boy wants. Of course, I always ask if there's a fun game they want, and its fun to try new stuff. So… I can see me wanting to try a little of it. For fun. I don't think I want… that much. Like, a little bad? Would do me fine. I don't have the need to be… really really bad."

   "And that's fine. Light, I think its important for you to recognize what you want, what you like. Not just… anything they want. Maybe Hurry will back me up on this? But sex can sometimes be a one way street. Someone taking and someone giving. But, love? Has to go both ways."

   "Okay. Look, guys. I… know how silly I must be. I'm like some kind of ten year old asking about this obvious stuff everyone else knows. I'm… you guys are really really nice to me. Real patient. I… really appreciate it."

   "Its fine, Light. Look at it this way. Let's say… you got hit in the head with a hammer when you were six years old. You just quit growing. Body, the way you acted, everything. Now… I know you got hit in the head with a hammer, so… I'd never make fun of you for it. I know its not your fault."

   "Okay. So… I shouldn't be too too mad at people, if they… get funny with me."

   "You don't have to be made fun of. And no one will do it when one of us is around, I guarantee it."

   "Thanks. Now. You want me, to think of something I might like, right?"

   "Oh. Definitely."

   "Okay. I haven't worn my soccer game uniform yet. I gotta do that one. And… I'm thinking… pigtails. You know, like a little girl. Yeah, and I'm gonna get the big lollipop and everything. It'll be my… first time. I'm nervous, scared… what are you doing."

   I laughed. Wiz groaned and slapped his face with his palm.

   "What. Should be fun."

   He shrugged.

   "Okay."

   "Aw. What's the matter, Wizzy. Are you gonna be all… embarrassed, huh?"

   "A little."

   "Well? Good. I'm a little embarrassed about… the really really bad stuff you guys like."

   "Okay. That's fair."

   "Hmm. Oh. I knew I could do that, but… what are you putting it there for? Won't that hurt? Are you sure we can do it this way, too? I don't know…"

   She giggled and kicked her feet. Then she imitated the little girl voice more to tease him.

   "I'll try that, if you want. Do… I just lick it, like my lolly? Like this…"

   She licked her finger, pantomiming a little kid licking a big lollipop. Then she got a laughing fit. I have to admit, the honesty and innocent nature of her humor, dealing with adult relationship subject matter? Was… refreshing. In therapy, we learned too many couples deal and bargain, as if discussing pay raises and fringe benefits with the new boss. You don't just walk into the bedroom one day, all charged up, and decide to ask for that raise. Or else. Lightning was basically developing her own sexual identity, her own idea of what a real relationship was or should be. Normally, she would have done this from 14 to 18. It hasn't been that long she's been unstuck and doing this, and I might be thinking of assigning her age 15 emotionally soon if things keep improving.

   For instance? She never would have formulated her own little fantasy, picked it out, asked for it… then enjoyed the prospect. A 14 year old girl, just usually goes along with whatever the boy wants or expects. Wanting her own idea, was an important step towards fifteen or more. I'm thinking that after a while doing this more often, she'll have some experience at choosing, and can decide what she might like or want for herself. Combined with her natural desire to try new things, be spontaneous, and likes pleasing the partner? Should make for a fairly well rounded and normal enough sexual identity.

   Christ, listen to me. Like I have some kind of handle on what "normal" is. Well, I do. Normal is what I used to be, and normal is available in textbooks for me to make sure of for her.

   Part of me was secretly worried. The part that makes me feel selfish. I want that championship, and Lightning is a big part of how I might get it. I felt the inner tug of war. If Lightning starts to get better, will she lose her edge? Start to not drive herself so viciously. She's like Wiz that way. He'll read more and bigger books, and study them more than any teacher would ever think of assigning. He drives himself that way. She does it with soccer. If she gets better, I finally decided that it was okay. If she loses that extra drive to kill herself to be better than the best. I decided silently, that I couldn't very well expect from everyone else what I myself didn't follow. I must practice what I preach, or I'm some kind of fraud.

   But the better Little Lightning got? Her drive didn't seem to diminish. If anything, it got worse. It made me feel more selfishness and greed. I did my part. To assuage my inner guilt, I even tried to explain to her, that maybe this… self torture wasn't the best thing. It could be some left over product of the trauma. She'd still be a starter and a star, it was all right if she let up a couple notches. I asked her.

   "No way."

   "You…"

   "I don't get anything in this world. I get a few tiny shreds of memories. Being this little girl, running to this big tall daddy guy at the door when he came home. Next memory I know? I'm in preschool or kindergarten or something. That's it. Doubt I'd know the guy if I passed him on the street. I remember I liked to smell him. Mom yelling he's dirty, he just got home from work, he's dirty. But… I liked jumping in his arms. Yeah, he smelled funny. That's funny, really."

   "Why?"

   "Army boy. As short as that was, one day he came home from work when I was there. I thought he smelled like that. A little. Of course I asked what he did at work that was different. Because I can smell it. He said they were welding on a big truck. Dad was a welder. I guess they have some stink of burning metal on them. To me? That was cologne."

   "That's sweet."

   "I thought it was. I mean, I can't tell him that, but… I can show him. I shoved him in his room. No shower yet, I like the way you smell. Told him. You smell like a man. I made sure I… pleased him. And the next morning? What does he do, he starts calling me a whore."

   "He didn't know. Now you know where he was coming from. Women in the service. It was a huge misunderstanding."

   "Yeah. But… I don't get a dad in this world. A couple memories. A smell or two. Then nothing. Can't really say I had a mom, either. I had that… thing for a mom. I even had some happy memories, of growing up. Having fun. Even that was wrong. Thought I was the luckiest kid in the world. Eat what I wanted, do what I wanted. All those crayons… all those cable channels, and me and my little friends that came over could watch anything we wanted. Now I know that wasn't a childhood. I was neglected."

   "You're not supposed to be a little kid, left alone all day and night, every day and night. No, that's wrong. That's very wrong. Being neglected like that? I know its better then getting… abused… but."

   "You keeping score of this soccer game, Hurry? No dad. No mom. No real childhood. Dad did give me a gift, though. My legs. And, dancing. The dance instructor loved me, and my long legs. Dad gave me that. You ever seen little kids dancing for the little performances? Oh, its terrible. They kind of move around and bump into each other. I was the one that could dance like the older girls. They put me out front, and everyone watched me. While the others my age were… waddling into each other. Then, when they could do what I did? I was able to jump, and stay up. So, I was center front again. I loved that, while it lasted. And dad gave me that."

   I stayed silent.

   "Then? Can't enjoy dancing anymore. I'm down three to nothing. No mom, no dad, no childhood. Now? Its four to nothing. No dancing anymore. No more boys. No more friends. No dating, no nice cars. No pretty clothes. Can't have anything. What's the score of this game, Hurry? I lost track. Its a fucking whitewash."

   Don't say a word, don't you dare. You don't need your washrag anymore, to know when to just shut the fuck up and let them do your work for you.

   "What's a whitewash, Hurry. Is it twelve, or thirteen to nothing? They call the game, that's it. Everyone go home. Kids? Go play. Coaches? Go mow your lawn. Because we're not going to see anything else. Just… more losing. More errors. More scoring. More humiliation. There's no point. They… just call the game."

   I'll bite my tongue off before I say anything.

   "My life's a game, Hurry. And I'm losing. Big. They're gonna call the game, and send everyone home. My life's a game? And its about to end. Except I can't end the game. I wanted it to end, but… I couldn't do it. You know how you stop a whitewash, Hurry? You played baseball with the boys. How do you stop that whitewash. How do you at least finish the game, even if you're losing that bad."

   "You score just one point."

   "That's right. You still lose, you still lose big. You're still humiliated. But… you get that one point up on the board? The game continues. If every year in my life is a game? I'm 14. I'm down, 14 to nothing. You have to take the whitewash. You have to agree to it. I couldn't even do that. I couldn't end my game. Along comes Teddy Ball."

   Say nothing.

   "You think I don't know how… fucking psychotic it is, that an old soccer ball I found, was my only friend? Trust me, I know how pathetic that is. You want me to tell you, that I kicked him, and it wasn't… because my mom kicked me around, literally? It was. I kicked him, into the wall. And he comes back. Oh, you like being kicked huh? You keep coming back. You must like it…"

   Christ almighty. That's her mother kicking her, that's her mom's voice. You must like getting kicked, because you keep coming back for more. Mom of the year, had no further use for the girl. She wouldn't get pregnant, and double the income and welfare benefits. She wouldn't earn for her. She got her big payoff, and… just wanted rid of her. So, she kicked her and tried to make her leave.

   I know what calling the game is. She couldn't kill herself. Her mother was going to keep kicking her, until she either killed herself, or just wised up and left. Another runaway at 14. Another… well, we all know what would have happened. Ask any city cop, they all know how this game ends up.

   "So. Down 14 zip. I'm too stupid to call the game. And, Teddy Ball said he really does like it. Keep kicking me. I'm a ball. I'm supposed to get kicked. Yeah. Oh, I'm fucking crazy now. Its my voice, but… its like its him talking to me. I'm 14. It was early summer. Stay out here. With me. I like it. Kick me more. Stay out all night with me. I'm your best friend, I love you."

   Silence.

   "Just stay away from her. Stay with me. Mom had a schedule. I can get clothes and food when she's gone all day. In and out. There's no rules. Stay out all night. Its summer. Why get kicked more. Kick me instead. You're good at this. So? I did. Teddy Ball told me what to do, and I listened to him. He was always right. He invented games for me."

   "What kind of games."

   "A wall? From lower left, you kick me into that first block. I come back. Next time? The next block over. Then the next. If you didn't hit the block? You start over again. Until you can hit every block, going over. Then when you can do that? You go up a row. You have to do the bottom row, then the next row up, back over. You don't hit your block, you have to start over again. You have to do it perfect. When you can do the whole wall? Now you have to do it faster, you have to do it harder. You have to start at the other bottom corner, and mirror image it up, with your other foot. You can't go to the next game, until you can do both feet. All the way up. One, then the other. Then? I was ready for the next game."

   Silence.

   "At night? We'd talk, in that garage. Other games he had for me to do. I have to hit the cans. One after the other. You used both feet to dance, didn't you? You have to do this with your other foot. When you dance, you can't just have one good leg, you know that Hurry. You can't always land on that good one, or take off on it. Spin on your good one. You deliberately spend time on your bad leg. So, Teddy told me. Your other leg works. You're going to be better than all those other girls, you just watch."

   This is a kind of OCD setting in. Nothing else works, nothing else is right, but… you can control this one thing. You can make it… perfect. Some people count steps, squares on the floor. Avoid cracks. This was hers. Teddy just made it useful.

   "I didn't wanna quit when it got dark. Teddy let me kick him as it got dark. After a while… pinball. And, every night? There's a little less moon, until its pitch black. By the time it started getting cold at night? I could pinball and juggle in the dark, I could hit cans at night. And in the day? I could walk and juggle. I could head the ball as long as I wanted to. Then drop it, and hit any chalk mark I wanted to."

   I stayed silent. This was OCD. You control that one thing you know you can control, to make up for everything else that's out of your control. No one could see it, because it was a useful skill.

   "I could jog with a ball, not looking. Hit anything I wanted. When school started, Teddy said to go out for soccer. Teddy was right. Coach loved me. I'm still the town whore, right to my face. But… during practice? No one's allowed to say it. And in a game? I wasn't the whore anymore. I was Little Lightning. Still the town whore, still right to my face, but… for practice and especially for games? I'm Lightning."

   "And that was good."

   "Good? That was great. I'm down 14 zip. They want a whitewash called. But Teddy? He put that one point on the board. Its 14 to 1 now. The game doesn't have to end. The losing, the humiliation? Gets to continue. But, I got that point on the board. This was better, Teddy Ball was right about that. Found out? He's always right. Then the senior high team. Three more years. Three more years of Teddy teaching me. Three more years of his games."

   Silence.

   "14 to 2. 14 to 3. 14 to 4. I'm still the town whore, right to my face. But… when I play? I liked away games. That crowd, they don't know I'm just the town whore. A human toilet. To them? Those away announcers? Lightning Sturmer. There's a… Lightning Storm in the Midwest. Its an away game? And their announcer, knows who I am. He's talking about the Lightning Storm when I score, on the other team's loudspeakers. Their home crowd? Has to hear him."

   Hold that tongue. She's crying, but just tears. No jerking.

   "I got roller skates, and ice skates. My coaches gave me enough money, to go to the all stars when I got picked. Got me there for those two weeks, then that big series. I don't even remember winning. I lost the whole last quarter, its a big blank. I only know it happened, because I woke up in my hospital room? Saw it on TV. Some… nurse came and put it on my phone, the video clip that went around. And my coach? I think he slept in that chair, in my room. Every time I woke up, my coach was there in that chair. Said colleges were calling him. About me. Big colleges? Calling… about me. People finally wanted me."

   She had tears now, but no crying. Just, silent streaks that squeezed out one at a time.

   "Don't you know how great it is, to be wanted? For something good…"

   She wiped her nose and eyes on her hand.

   "It was just that damn town. Other places? Wanted me. They didn't know I was just the town whore. They wanted to try to get the Lightning Storm. If I escaped? I didn't have to be human garbage anymore. The town's public toilet. I listened to Teddy, he told me it was just like dancing. It had to be precise, it had to be perfect. Just no set routine, it was free dancing. Like… roller skating, or ice skating."

   "That coach, picked my school for me. Him and his wife? Played my parents for me, so I didn't have to be embarrassed, coming to see the school. Like some town whore runaway. Which I was. Mom wanted me gone anyways, I knew that. Why do you keep coming back, you like getting kicked? I guess so. Have some more. I packed my shit. Said goodbye to mom… just like Teddy Ball said it would go."

   "Its all okay now. Isn't it."

   "Only because of you, Hurry. When I first got here? If it wasn't for you… but, there you were. Never had a big sister take care of me, like some other kids got. Haven't had any kind of a friend, since 14. Just my Teddy Ball, that was it. You made it work."

   "You don't have to kill yourself working at it, Light. Most players, you worry they're gonna coast on their full ride. But you? Gotta drag you away from practicing. Its not going away, none of it."

   "Hurry? Weren't you listening? I was down 14 to zip. They wanted to call a whitewash. Game over. I was supposed to do a… bad Moody. Saying goodbye to mom? That was a point, to me. Finished the game, 14 to 5. Do less work, are you kidding me? I wanna win. I wanna remember it this time. Not just see it on some video clip. I get to actually be there this time. This… is the greatest thing ever. When I look up, and see it and hear it, on the big screen at the games? Hear that lightning strike and see that little clip up there. There's nothing better."

   "I like it too, Light. I just wanted to make sure you aren't…"

   "I'm not what?"

   "Punishing yourself, or… doing some kind of penance. Or…"

   "Dancing was something I was good at, and it made me feel good. The more I worked at it, the better I got, and the more I felt good. When that got taken away from me, in some ways… it felt as bad as everything else that happened. This replaced dancing. It… I used to be Sky. Then I was nothing, and it kind of happened overnight. Then? I'm Lightning. It made me feel good about myself again. I know I can't do this forever, but while I can? It feels like dancing made me feel. I knew dancing wouldn't last forever, either."

   "Are you ever going to go by your own name?"

   "You asking if I hate myself?"

   "Not quite like that."

   "Hmm. But some. Well… we both know I used to hate myself. Once I escaped, and I realized no one was coming to get me for saying goodbye like I did? I didn't hate myself as much. If there hadn't of been something obviously wrong… I think I might have actually gotten to like myself again. Now, with you and Wiz… yeah. I'm learning to like myself again."

   "You like being Lightning though. That's fine."

   "Hey. There's more to going by another name, than just liking yourself or not, you know."

   "Really?"

   "Hmm. We're alike that way. You don't hate yourself at all, do you."

   "I don't think so, no."

   "You know how you go to some fancy restaurant, and the menu is in another language? Someone has to explain it to you, or without pictures, you don't know what the hell you're even ordering."

   "I guess…"

   "Well, your name? Reads like a chunk of the menu in an Italian restaurant. I noticed, you're just fine going by Hurry, the Hurricane."

   I had to smile and laugh. It was true. There's nothing more irritating than people always having trouble saying it right, or even remembering it. Let alone spelling it correctly.

   "Long before anything bad happened. There was a time, when I thought I was the luckiest kid in the world. All those crayons, and colored pencils, and felt tip markers. Every color you can think of, and more colors you don't even know exist until you see them. I didn't have a bedtime, I didn't have to do homework. I could have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and ice cream for dinner, and watch anything I wanted. I didn't hate myself then. I thought life was great. And I still liked being called Sky. Szarabjorna is such a mouthful. They wanna shorten it to just Sarah? And that's completely wrong. I liked Sky. Now? I like Lightning just fine."

   "As long as you like yourself again, that's probably the most important thing."

   "Ha. Honestly? Wizzy… liked me more than… I liked myself. At first. But? I'm getting to. I can't lie to you. I think, I mean, I'm pretty sure… Wizzy talks about me and likes me more than I like myself? If that makes sense, but… I'm catching up slowly, to… Hurry?"

   "Yes, hun."

   "I'm not really, like Wizzy says, am I?"

   She crying silently now. Little tear streaks.

   "Like what."

   "That… girl. The… black dress, the pearls. The one… every guy wanted. That can't be me…"

   "Hun? I'm a girl, like you. Guys? Just know these things. If he says, you're just like that girl in the black dress with the pearls, at the officers club? Maybe you are…"

   She's crying freely now. Waterworks.

   "But… how? He… knows I'm garbage… he… he knows, I'm a toilet…"

   Jesus H. Christ. I'm not a violent person? I could just slit the throat and slowly mind you, with a dull butter knife, of the Little Asshole that did this to her. Will they kill some of these people? I was initially afraid they would. Right this second, dropping just the right human head in front of me? Would I think, be strangely satisfying.

   Which is very scary to me, to realize that suddenly. I've been coming up through the ranks of "scary" for a little while now. It was scary at first, to learn that the things in my rape counselor books, weren't just abstractions in some textbook. These scary things? Are now even more scary. They're very real, they definitely happen. And, they don't just happen in the places that you think they only happen in. The ghetto of some inner city, where you kind of expect it somehow. They can happen in Smalltown, USA. Light. To otherwise seemingly normal people. They can definitely happen to upscale people too. Elise.

   It makes that scary thing? Scarier. The scary movie? Well, this one can happen in real life. That scary thing? Doesn't seem to realize its not supposed to happen in idyllic small towns, in upscale suburbs.

   Then, I slowly came to realize what my sweet little "Wizzy" had in him, what he had done before. Probably more than once, too. He introduced me very slowly to it, so I had the time to come around and really see it. That was another level of scary, and I came through it. Then, there were people like Target and crew. And they had people on their side, like Wiz and Elise. They sucked it up, that fear. When the scared herd ran away from the scary thing? They ran towards it. That's scary, too. What would it even be like, to do that.

   Then, I came through that level of scary as well. Thank god they do it, because they're about the only thing we've all come up with, that can give the scary monsters in this world a moment's pause. Without that opposing them they could and would, simply run wild.

   Then, I was scared they would maybe kill people. Elise, is simply terrifying when talking so matter of fact like she does when she knows she's not in mixed company. Yet she's so sweet and nice, otherwise. Another level of scary, another time I overcame it.

   Now? It just flashed through my mind. And I didn't recoil in horror at the image. The thought was no longer a fright, that one of my own might actually, possibly… and my mind's reaction to it? I chuckled, just a little, internally. Just for a fleeting instant, and that was all it took. To scare me, for me to scare myself.

   No, I couldn't do it. And if I tried? I'd either fail, or screw it up. My mind puts a lot of things into sports terms naturally. Target, Wiz, Elise… they were the center, and the wings. I know I can't play those positions. Yet, I'm happy I have team mates that can. So, I support them and encourage them. I help them, any way I can. Its a team, or its supposed to be.

   Wow. I'm on that team now. And just like on my very own soccer team? I'm no star, I'm just a half decent support player. I can't score goals all game, but I'm tickled pink Right and Little Lightning can. I cheer for it. Likewise, I know I can't do… that. What Wiz or Elise can do. Yet just like Light and Right, I'm more than just "okay" with them being able to do it.

   I just scared myself. A little "jump scare", in my own little movie. That wasn't what was so scary about it. No, it certainly wasn't, was it. No. Not at all.

   What was scary? Was that I didn't recoil in horror. I didn't even jump. The flash of the image, was a sort of after party. Swellsville, as a case? All done. Me, Elise and the boys, Wizzy too. We’re having drinks and ordering takeout to be delivered. Wiz said they had a surprise for me, and… they put a box on the table. Downstairs. I just knew what was in that box. I guess it was because of the way Target had said it. If Wizzy is gone and someone is responsible? I take a human head back. It was just a flash, I didn’t see anything, there was just a box. It was that I knew what was in it. And everyone was looking at me. Like, go on. You have to open your present.

   I was strangely okay with the fleeting image.

   This is me now.

   I do what I can. I hold her crying. I remind her, she's beautiful. She's not human garbage, she's no pubic toilet. That's all a trick of the trauma. That's not real. What is real? What Wizzy sees, now… that? Is real. He? Has been to the officers club. He's seen the kinds of women the important up and coming officers have. And if he says she's one of those flawless women? Then she is. After all, its Wizzy. This is the calculus IV guy… he knows all.

   I take a break, from her crying.

   "Shh. Now. Has Wizzy ever lied to you? You tell me just once, he ever lied to you. You tell me once."

   She sobs out. Wizzy always tells the truth. Its his thing.

   "Shh. Then how is he lying about this, hmm? We just need some heels… a little black dress… some fake pearls… and you'll be that girl. Wizzy never lies, right?"

   All I can make out of the crying and the hot mess is the word… "toilet".

   Jesus H. Fucking Christ… if they do intend to kill any of these three principals? I hope they make one or more of them… simply suffer. I hope they know its coming, and they sweat and squeal. I hope they beg and plead, and someone smiles and ever so slowly… does… whatever. Its not enough? But, its a start in the right direction. Because what's needed, is for these three people to be put into a cage, and tortured publicly for four years? Then, and only then… allowed the mercy of death. And the rational part of my brain, knows that can't possibly happen, so… I can only hope that if one or more of them does die as part of the sausage experience? The person doing it, takes five or more minutes and has the stomach for it. Because these fuckers deserve it.

   I don't exactly know what that was. Is it that difficult to look into the mirror, and assess what she is, physically? She really is what her Wizzy describes, you can see it once he says it. You can look at her, in her panties and T shirt and just imagine her. I don't know exactly what an officer's club is? But, I know its the opposite of whatever an enlisted type club is. Enlisted? Beer. So, the officers would have wine or champagne. The enlisted men would be a sort of fun rabble. The officers? Classy. I'm sure there are a few women in the officer's club, that just walk in all dolled up and simply command the attention of every man in the room.

   I'm smoothing her dirty blonde hair now, in my lap. Yeah. Its that shade women are shooting for. Not too blonde, not too dirty. Can't you get the tint just right. She's my close friend, so I feel no jealousy, but… I can see where I could easily if I didn't know her? Get there.

   I'm looking down and drinking her in. I'm Italian. I have the darker tan, but I naturally have the skin to go with it. The bigger pores, the hairs on my skin. One day, I'm going to have to either shave my arms and my upper lip? Or better yet have it ripped out with cooling wax so it lessens each time. He called her… flawless. And yeah, I can see that.

   He was so… explicit in his description that night? He had to have been working off of memory. There had to be a woman he had in mind, that she reminded him of. He said open toed heels, to show that she had no flaws of any kind. I'm looking down at her feet. Well, yeah. It begins with her skin. He said no stockings. She does have that super smooth skin. You can't see pores, like you can mine. The baby hairs on her arms? So light and so fine, its like they aren't there.

   Perfect skin. Its tan and smooth. Not a freckle or mole anywhere. And open toed heels? Sure. There's ugly feet, and okay feet, and then cute feet. Some are I guess… beautiful. I can't come up with a flaw in hers looking down now, so… he's right. The skin, the feet, the hands? Perfect. She can't be the thickness of a credit card under 5'11".

   Some German expression of beauty, power, athleticism and grace. I've seen world war two documentaries, and there's a stadium full of beauties just like this, all working out in unison, showing off some kind of German perfection. I know ubermench is super man, I wonder what super girl is. Uberfrau, uberfraulein? I don't know German. But I can see this, picked to be in that stadium. Yeah, the Sturmer women back then, had their own little section.

   Yeah, flawless. Perfect skin. Those legs, too. You put her in open toed high heels? She'd command the room. Taller than all the other women, taller than probably many of the men, too. Everyone would have to look slightly up at her. Height of the eyes is natural dominance in the animal kingdom, and we're animals. She could dominate that officer's club, that room. Men would be stealing glances, and forgetting not to spill their own drink on their own wives. Coming back too late to see their own pretty wife glaring at them. You son of a bitch, you wait until I get you home, you bastard.

   Only the older men, that had control could approach and speak politely to her. Whatever handsome young man was fortunate enough to possess her? Yeah. He'd have that glow. She's with me. Younger men were trying to burn an image of her so they had something to pull their cocks off to later that night. Older men would smile and shake their heads. All the men there, would envy the one that had her for his own. And the women? Yeah. Jealousy.

   He had to have seen a woman like that, to give such a rich description. I'm mentally putting her in the tasteful but revealing black dress? Yeah. The peek a boo slit up the side of the legs. To the hip, because she can get away with it. At six foot even, I'm just a hair too tall and I'm simply a hair too muscular. She's got that lithe, rippled muscle. Dancer's muscle. The effortless grace it bestows upon you. Women would want a fistful of that never dyed perfect hair, and to drown her in the punch bowl to be rid of her. Men would smile and imagine what it was like to make her scream to cat Jesus.

   When the bold and confident 19 year old is chemically up? You could see it. That little half smirk. The backless dress, the hair up, some pearls and sparkly diamonds? Yeah. Flawless diamond studs in her ears. Definitely one dazzler on her ring finger, no handsome stud officer would let this finger not show ownership. Some little gold chains on wrists and ankles. Maybe a tennis bracelet.

   He said prawns. Yeah, I can see her perfect little white teeth working on shrimp. She could nibble? Or toss her head back and throw it in, it would all work for her. Oh, he simply had to have seen one of those beauties, the description was too vivid. Pearls. Backless dress, hair up. The taut bellybutton and tummy showing, too. Because she can get away with it.

   But you can't see that, you have to imagine it. Because she's broken. She's about cried out now, and those sobs still wrack and shudder through her. She's clutching for dear life onto my hips, her face buried in my thighs, in what would I suppose be an otherwise quite provocative pose. The sleeping T shirt ridden up, those long gorgeous dancer's legs on display. That tight little tan ass, shaking with sobs, ruining this perfect moment.

   She's trying to come to grips with reality. What she is physically. Then, there's what she feels like. The small town's garbage dump, the public urinal you just piss on and walk away. She knows men actually stood around and pissed on her, while the others laughed. A young cop, who was supposed to protect her? Instead stuck his cock up her ass, and wasn't satisfied with that humiliation, no. He walked around and grabbed a fist full of that perfect hair, and shoved it in her mouth afterwards. She had to spit a little piece of shit from her own ass out. Probably had to tongue it off her teeth and toot it out, to more laughter.

   Had to endure more humiliating laughter, as there was some blooping sound. As accumulated wads of hot white come exploded with a fart out of her ass and ran down her lithe young thighs. There's cell phone videos of this floating around, and guys beat off to it, probably to this day. Their treasured dirty secret.

   She can't square this memory, with the image her Wizzy has for her. Of her commanding and eating the room. She can sort of see it, but she can still see this image, too. The two pictures in her mind, at complete odds with one another. One, complete perfection. The other? Total and complete degradation and humiliation. How do those men live with themselves, knowing they took a 14 year old, tall and obviously going on to become that flawless beautiful creature? And enjoy ruining it. Like, scratching a CD so no one else can ever enjoy playing it.

   Just one of life's rare triumphs. Here's this young, perfect thing. Innocent and beautiful. A couple of quickies in sports cars, that's all. So quickly and gently used. Quick hole shots. The mother? Gorgeous and selling it. And this? Taller and prettier, and the mother is quick to sell that innocence. Does the mother watch, from afar? A drink in her hand, proud of herself for recognizing and packaging the innocence so astutely.

   Maybe hand in hand with the important businessman. We're so smart, we see this and put it on the market. Do they watch, as she looks up and men piss on her face, and another streams the hot piss on her back? Does mom of the year drag a perfectly manicured finger across the explosion of semen farted out of her ass, running down her young thighs, and flick it away? There you go. Enjoy. All loosened up for the next one, all natural lube.

   I'm a sigma female, and Wiz is a sigma male. Yeah, we have this super exaggerated sense of right and wrong. But… how do you stand around, waiting for your turn to piss on this, laugh at the white come exploding audibly out of her asshole, point and giggle as she spits that tiny bit of her own shit out. The numb face, drugged passing for drunk, opening her 14 year old mouth for the next cock. Tugging on pricks, simply because they were placed in her perfectly smooth tanned hands.

   Surely, even with the ordinary sense of right from wrong, you get some sense this is… wrong. You shouldn't do this. But no. Mom owns this, mom sells it, its fine. Buy a ticket, and wait your turn. Done serving 14, now serving 15 and 16 on each hand. 17 and 18 in twat and asshole. 19 in her mouth. Wait, okay, she spit that little bit of fecal matter out. Giggle and go ahead. 20 and 21? Piss on her. Does anyone want to take a shit on her? You can go last, don't want to ruin the fun for everyone else, you know.

   When you guys are done? We're going to drive her around for a few more parties. This went on, 10, 12, 14… who knows how many times. Some nights? I dance at the keg party. A couple drinks, everything's normal. But sometimes? I have the same couple drinks, then wake up… I can tell my boyfriend went around the world on me. I feel… used. Wow, must have gotten drunk, and really whore-d it up. He must have been drunk too, I can feel it in my bum the next morning.

   Mom of the year. Yes, dear. Men do that sometimes, its fine. Make sure you get a really expensive dinner, when you give them bum fun.

   Mom? Sometimes, my boyfriend… he has a few drinks, and… well he just backhands me across the mouth, and I get a fat lip and there's a trickle of blood. Then he bends me over, and really rams it in. Hard. He wants… you know mom. That hole. Is that okay?

   Yes, dear. A couple drinks, and some guys are… just all boy. That's normal. Sometimes the father of your boyfriend? Slaps me. It happens. Quality men? Those with that much money? You let them go.

   Mom? We're winning, right?

   Oh, certainly dear. Look at the house. Look at that line of sports cars, those luxury sedans. See the servants? We're the best. We're here. I? Landed the top man in town. You? Have the son. We're winning, honey. We're what winners, look like.

   How do you drug and whore your own daughter out? Pretty easily, I guess. Just a little "bloop" in her vodka and cranberry juice, and… there we go. Mom? Here's a designer purse full of cash, just for you. Such beauty, such innocence for sale. And all those dance lessons? Mm hmm. Yum.

   Mom? It was like a bad dream. It was a nightmare. Mom starts kicking her around the porch. You know. You stupid, fucking drunken whore. How? You ruined it. Mom. I'm never going out with him again. You ungrateful little spoiled bitch, I'll kick the ever loving shit out of you. You will sit at dinner, in that awesome house. You will keep your mouth shut. No mom, I just can't. I remember. Bitch, I'll take you in the back room. I'll kick the shit out of you? And you'll sit down and not ruin the rich people's dinner.

   Mom? Never again. I remember. I just can't. Why you ungrateful little cunt. Where do you think all those crayons came from? Huh? Why do you think we live in a nice house, hmm? The fuck do you think all those dance lessons were for. So you could feel good about yourself? You selfish little bitch. The fuck do you mean, you won't pull your weight around here.

   No mom. I can't. I'm telling the teacher. I'm telling the guidance counselor. This can't be the right thing. I'm telling… the cops. Then? Mom fixed her little red wagon. Got a suitcase full of cash. And kicked her across the floor. Got her in the corner, screaming and begging? And kicked her some more. Like you kick a whore. I fed you. I clothed you. I let you sleep indoors. Now, this is how you treat me? Fucking spoiled little cunt won't put the fuck out.

   Another kick. Yeah. You like that? Keep coming home. You must like it. Why aren't you smart enough to leave? You're 14. You're tall and pretty. Get the fuck out. You're of no use anymore. I made money off your innocent ass. Even hit the lottery when you found out. You like this? Keep coming back, you can have all you want. You'll figure out to leave soon. You can't be that dumb.

   I can just see it. Balled up in the corner of the room, getting kicked for an extended period of time. Begging. Mom laughing. This? Is what happens to ungrateful little cunts, that think their asshole is too special for all the cocks that are willing to pay for it. I'm all puked out. Wizzy? Puked years ago, and he's all puked out now too. He has nothing left for this, but anger.

   The god of karma? Is watching. Your mentor, is up there on some cloud, watching. Yes, grasshopper. Feel the anger. Let it flow through you. Become that anger. Accept it. Taste the bad karma. Swallow it. Feed that fire. Use the anger, as fuel. When you're all filled up, and can't take another drop? Become wrath. You? Are a god of karma. As any god, you can be merciful or wrathful. Go. Find the people that did these things. Show them what an angry god has in store for them.

   All I ever hear about, is how simply wonderful single moms are. Why, just the very bounty of nature itself. Its complete bullshit. This… is utter shit. You can't get to this point, with a father in the picture. Even a worthless, drunken bum of a father? Is better than this. No father would even entertain the first hint of this, let alone it gets carried to the point it ended up at.

   Honey? You know what I was thinking… and crack. A nice, hard backhand right across the mouth. Bitch, the fuck were you even thinking. That's my daughter, that's my flesh and blood. I might be a worthless, drunken bum. Not a pimple on a half a real father's ass? And I know not to do that. I get the real numbers, and a horrible two parents are statistically a better outcome on average. This, is why. Only a woman cold conceive and entertain such a plan for the daughter as this. It makes me ashamed to sport tits.

   This lasts for a time. Its a good, long cry. Eventually, she runs out of water, to feed the waterworks. The dry sobs are lessening now. The shuddering and wracking is ending. Slowly, yet surely. The sprinkler system runs low and she finally cries herself out, and cries herself to sleep. How bad a thing is this? Might not be bad at all. This is what's been bottled up for too long inside. Its out now. We slept on either side of her, with her crushed between us. In the morning? She's better. She's not a hundred percent, but… just a little tired and haggard from it. She's quieter than normal. Breakfast is a somber affair. She quietly shovels food into her face.

   She came into our room, to sit at the foot of the bed with me, and go through the dressing ritual. She's still got the look on her face, the pained expression. She's trying to square up the self imposed public toilet image of herself, the human garbage idea? With the care and love he bestows upon her daily. The sweet and loving care with which he puts her socks on for her, then arranges them just so. Carefully laces her soccer spikes up for her. Then kisses them, like you would for a little girl.

   Her workout was profound, and naturally I had to drag her away from it. She's just going through the motions of enjoying the shower. Lifting a foot at a time to get dried off. She fell asleep after her rubdown. When she woke up after an hour or two of nap? She seemed better, and we both got some more rubdown. A little bit more of that heaven. Still really quiet, and that's not like her. But… better. I suddenly realized, that the 14 and a half year old girl isn't here. This is foul weather. There should be a lot of little girl foot wiggling and hair twirling. There's none of that.

   We lay on towels as we get our rubdown and massage. He loads up mainly our legs with the liniment. She rolled over and looked down at her legs. Contemplating something, it seemed like. She hasn't spoken yet today, nor since crying herself to sleep last night.

   "Wizzy?"

   "Hmm."

   She sighed.

   "I'm really sore."

   "You had a hell of a workout, little one."

   She nodded.

   "Would you do my legs again? Please."

   He nodded, and rubbed and massaged her legs all over again. He held out the hot liniment, and she nodded. She's normally very non-shy about nudity, but curiously she covered up her front half by laying a towel to cover her breasts, and between her legs. She laid back, and held her legs up in turns, watching him massage them for her. Back and forth, each in turn. Again and again. She winced from so much hot liniment, but kept nodding at it, for more.

   She's talking so quietly, barely whispering.

   "You… really think I'm… pretty, don't you."

   "Not pretty. Gorgeous."

   "What was her name…"

   "Her who."

   "The… woman. The one… the officer's club."

   "Oh. I would always say… Gazelle. On account of her, legs she had. But, her real name was actually… Giselle."

   "Pretty name. Sounds all… classy."

   He smiled.

   "Oh. Class? Was her middle name, I think. Just… she just, reeked? Of class."

   "She was a blonde?"

   "Yeah. Not… bimbo blonde. That perfect… off shade of blonde. Like yours. I'm… a guy. I'm no expert, but… I don't think it came out of a bottle. If it did? The hair people were experts."

   "What was her man like?"

   "Tall guy. Ran a lot. He… didn't lift weights a lot? He ran long distance. And, he would swim. I mean… for hours. He looked like, one of those handsome beach bums? But, you would watch him swim, and you realized he was swim team, not some surfer."

   "Nice guy? Or some car dick."

   "No. One of those… perfect men. So good looking? I mean, I'm a guy. I don't know how to judge, how pretty or handsome some guy is, but… at some point? When I guess its really over the top? Yeah… a little jealous. You just know, this guy got more ass than a toilet seat in the ladies room. If he wanted it."

   "Was… she always with him? They were a package deal."

   "Um. No, he just… showed up one day, with this… gorgeous thing on his arm. And, that was it. They were the perfect… what do you call those beautiful, perfect people? Power couple, I think they call it."

   "What was he to you."

   "Oh. Freshly minted officers? That's a second lieutenant. We call them… butter bars. Two gold bars. Then, you gotta make first lieutenant. That's silver bars. Then? They itch to make captain. Lieutenants are a dime a dozen, you understand. Now… captains? Aren't exactly disposable. Two kinds of captain. One? After so many years, to graduate to it. But… when you get first Louie fast, then make captain real quick? That's a smart go get-er, that's going places. He was one of those."

   "You don't get jealous of guys much."

   "Well. You get a guy that smart, that handsome, that perfect? Yeah… I admit it. I was… a little jealous."

   "Was he a pretty boy? Sissy…"

   "No. You would think that. But… there's two kinds of officers. The one kind? Like a spoiled brat. Then, there's the other kind. Now, smart and capable is one thing. Handsome and pretty is another. Tough? Son of a bitch was tough, too."

   "Wow. You admit, this guy was tough?"

   "Yeah. I'm not the be all and end all, of fighters, Light. I'm actually, kind of run of the mill."

   "Wizzy. I thought… you were like one of those guys you see on TV… you train fighters, for god's sake…"

   He smiled.

   "Yeah. I just seem like that, Light. To regular people. In the world of actual, professional fighters? I'm actually a scrub. Best I could be, to those guys you see on TV? Maybe a sparring partner. Guy they beat up on, to get ready for a big fight. That's it. I'm really nothing special."

   "Wizzy? You're so… honest. No other guy would say that. Admit that."

   "I won't lie to you, Light. Yeah. Other guys, say they can bench press this much? You have to factor in the bullshit factor. Not me. Whatever I say I can do? I can do it twice, not once. So I know I can prove it."

   "You don't… it doesn't… hurt you? To admit, you're not the fighter on TV."

   He just worked her legs, massaging the shit out of them, adding hot liniment as he went.

   "Not in the least. You see, when I was young? I was… scared. Shy. Nervous. I'm excited as a pig in hot shit? To get to be the sparring partner. From where I started? I feel like, its more than I deserve."

   "So that guy. He was tough, too?"

   "Oh. Yeah. Second in command, of the… computer department. He wanted to come down, and… you know. Roughhouse, with the boys. Now, normally. An officer? A pretty boy? We gotta show him a good time, but… not hurt him, you understand."

   "He came from the officer's gym… to the enlisted guy's gym, huh?"

   "Yeah. He did. And not just the enlisted guy's gym, Light. This is the MP's gym."

   "You bounce him around a little, huh?"

   "Well. That was the plan. I mean, he's hinting around. The boys? They're looking at me. Go on, handle the light work for us."

   "Pretty boy gave you a fight, huh?"

   "A fight? No. That pretty boy son of a bitch, was lightning in a bottle. He was stronger than he looked, he was fast, and he was accurate. And, he had experience. Guy wants to box? You have to box. So, I can't kick him, I can't wrestle him down and put moves on him. I ended up fighting him, well… there's things I can do, to contain a guy better than me. Last longer. We were all surprised that night. He ran my gas tank out, and… proceeded to take it to me. My job, by that point? Is to contain him, as long as I can. Get enough licks in on him while I'm stretching my loss out? That he doesn't wanna do it again. So? That's what I did. I'm not embarrassed in front of my MPs. You get brownie points, for showing what they call… mettle. You know, you can take it and keep fighting."

   "Wow. You admit it, though."

   "What's the point in lying. Yeah. Jealousy? Christ. He's handsome, he's pretty, he's smart, he's on the fast track to becoming a one star general. And? He's tough to boot. Fuck it. You gotta shake the guy's hand when you're outclassed. And I was."

   "You were jealous? Really jealous…"

   "Yeah. He comes from a rich family. Has connections, to be on the fast track he was on. But… good looking, pretty, handsome… and tough as nails and could fight, too? He's just… perfect."

   "He say anything about… Giselle?"

   "Oh yeah. Pretty standard, that's my girl speech. You can look, but don't touch. Now, my nickname for her, behind her back? Was Gazelle. I told you that. Those legs, Gazelle made sense to me for a nickname. Yeah… someone else was calling her… Jizz. You know, Jizzelle. Pretty sure that's how he got the gumption to come to the MPs gym and work out with us that time."

   "This… guy had it all, huh? Total package."

   "Yeah. He did. And? He wasn't a dick about it, either. You couldn't help but like the kid. See… he deserved, his Giselle. A woman like that? Reeking of class, perfect in every way. And… he wasn't some spoiled brat. He had advantages, but… kid was all that and a bag of chips. Gotta hand it to him."

   "Wow. Power couple, huh. Perfect girl, perfect guy."

   "Yeah. She was… when she went around? Lots of women like that, would be all… don't touch me. You filthy dirty enlisted piece of shit. Not her. She would… grab your head, and kiss your hair. Its okay, I'm a regular girl. Just… the total package. Yeah. We all lusted after Giselle. Every man's dream on base."

   "And… she got prettied up, for parties, huh?"

   "Oh. Like she needed to. But yeah. Now, I don't know a designer dress, from the little black dress… I mean, I'm a straight man, you know? But god damn… when she shined up, like a new penny? Every woman in the room, was piss-y and jealous, and every man just… right there, just in case she needed something, you know? That little laugh. Ah, ha ha ha… some more prawn, Giselle? Ah, ha ha ha… champagne, Giselle? Guy's version of… giggle hair flip, I suppose."

   "She's living a fairy tale life."

   "I guess. Lightning, you know what the point of this is?"

   "No… how classy and pretty Giselle is, I guess."

   "Not really. A woman like that? You just know… its for guys like him. Men who are just… perfect. I'll never come from the right zip code, and hell. I thought I could be tougher than the rich pretty boy? I was wrong. She's… Giselle? Just… outta my league. I'm semi pro. That? That's reserved for the pros."

   "Wizzy. You… that's one of the things I like about you. So honest. No other guy, would admit that…"

   He was massaging a leg, and doing work at it.

   "So. Lightning. Then maybe you can believe me, when I tell you. I can't believe… I'm allowed to massage your legs after you work out. See you in the shower? Holy shit. Then… you actually like me. I'm… to me? You, are like Giselle, honey. Top fucking shelf. I… I'm lucky I'm allowed to rub your legs after you work out. And… I'm actually worried. That my girlfriend will hurt me? If I make her jealous. But… you're the kind of girl reserved for perfect guys, like him. I feel the same way about Hurry. Some kind of… Olympics girl. Why in the hell does she even slum it with me? But, thank god she does. I get two of you? Holy shit. Little Lightning? Honestly, you're not in my league."

   She shushed him, and brought him in. She blow-starred him. That sweet little mouth and tongue, opening and closing. As best and sweet as it could.

   She told him. She's not his Giselle. No good zip code, just the daughter of some small town whore. And, she feels lucky that he even looks at her, and knows everything, let alone still likes her. And he can have anything he wants. Anything at all.

   I don't feel jealous. I feel the exact opposite of jealousy. Whatever that even is. I watched her blow-star him, and get enough neurological toxin into him, to stop him embarrassing her. I'm just the daughter of a small town whore, and that's all. Giselle is retarded if she didn't want to fuck you twice, and that's her loss. Zip codes don't matter, she said. And thank god, or she'd never measure up. The blow-star opened and closed her mouth, danced her little tongue, scraped her little lips. She begged him, not to leave her. Softly, quietly. Because he made her feel as if she wasn't the public toilet. He deserved someone better than Giselle, and that wasn't her.

   She looked at me, and begged me, to let her have this. To not… make this go away. How she would give me anything she could, not to take this from her. Jealousy? As I said, I felt the exact opposite of jealousy. I sat and watched… love happen, I guess. She felt like the pubic toilet, and couldn't believe he held her in the same esteem as his precious Giselle. He seemed perfectly sincere, that she wasn't in his league. Except by some freak of circumstances, and would surely break his heart when she realized what she was worth. Then, her blow-star toxin worked its magic, and her long dancer's legs slowly wrapped around him. They each felt as if they had the absolute best they could possibly aspire to get and not have to hold on too tight.

   I felt lucky to get to watch. The smell of hot liniment oil in the air. Capsaicin, burning my nostrils. The Mentholatum smell. She sweetly begged to try to be half of his Giselle, and he continually professed she was out of his league. Out of her mind, for not realizing she could have any millionaire she wanted.

   I guess that's what love really is. Each thinks that they're punching above their weight. Each thinks, they're so lucky to enjoy this once, let alone more than once. He feels this with me. I'm his Olympics girl. She should feel this. Now she does. She's his pole vaulter calendar girl. I'm his naughty rodeo girl.

   The coupling they made? It was… sweet. The only way I can describe it. Simply sweet. She had said, that's what she wanted… sweet. With the smell of Capsaicin, and Mentholatum in the air? It was sweet. She continually swore, to all that was holy and unholy? That she wasn't out of his league. If all he wanted, was some broken down daughter of a small town whore… she would do absolutely anything he desired. And would feel lucky to have him. That he? Was out of her league. She didn't deserve a nice guy.

   He eventually grabbed her by the chin. Rough, like I did to him for fun. He told her to quit talking about herself like that. That he was scared to show her? But he would. Because it would make her go away, but she deserved better. She deserved that pretty, handsome, tough rich guy. From the right zip code. She looked over to me? And begged me, not to make her go away.

   When they were done fucking? She had a scared look on her face, and she begged him, to fuck me. Like he meant it, because if I felt ignored? She went away. Please, fuck Hurry like you really mean it, Wizzy.

   Are threesomes supposed to be like this? I thought they were supposed to be light, free things. Little Lightning, and her room mate Right. Sharing some lucky boy. Blowjob lessons. I didn't think it was supposed to have deep, meaningful impact. I can't get rid of her, if she doesn't want rid of. If things don't change? She'll be a treasured piece of our relationship. Its not what I intended, but… its how it is now. She actually is, his other girlfriend.

   She's actually falling deeply in love with him, and I'm okay with that. No other girl would have delivered him to me, but she did. That sense of honor and justice. I feel like I owe her. I started out making him be okay with it… but… he needs her now. We all need each other. We sleep together in a pile? And yeah. I can't possibly explain this to my parents, no fucking way. I have no choice, but to leave him here and have her fuck him soundly while I'm home on break.

   Wow. He's in good hands, while I'm gone. Holy shit. How did we get here? But… we're here. Two days later, after her breakdown? She was in a surprisingly even mood. I was amazed, because I had gotten used to the confident 19 year old, and the nervously excited 14 year old. I could predict which body chemistry would predominate and in which situation. This was something about between those two.

   At first, I thought I was seeing the 19 year old that was laden with confidence, just tired and worn out from the breakdown. That was at first. But, this new mood continued. I studied it idly, with constant mild attention. A tiny grin, just barely what I could call a smile. Quiet, soft voice. Yet, somewhat talkative. Very laid back and very frank and straightforward.

   It reminded me of the young girl that would lay and display all the nervous tics. The wiggling feet, the crossing and uncrossing and recrossing of the ankles. That fingers laced behind the head talking while watching the clouds sort of attitude? But… without the dancing nervous excitement. No laying face down and moving the legs constantly.

   It was a quite likable personality. Something that was very easy going, and always ready with a quiet smile and something that wasn't nearly a laugh, but was quite close. I could normally find depression or anxiety throughout her range of moods, but this one had nothing I could locate. Just… a quiet, easy calm.

   After her last breakdown, I temporarily halted therapy sessions. Now, I was interested in this seemingly new personality. Would or could it stay. It seemed to. When we went back to therapy, I was amazed. This new personality stayed all through her therapy session. She did have a slight depressive sort of something when she went through the whole story start to finish, but nothing resembling a breakdown and it dissipated quickly when her run through was completed.

   She even told me, that she felt different. That it was an odd feeling at first, but that she quickly got used to it. I asked her if she liked it, and she nodded her head yes. I asked her if it were possible that she could remember what it felt like to be young. Feelings wise.

   "What age."

   "When did you first feel good. You're a lucky kid. All those crayons, all those coloring books. Big TV with all those channels. You can have friends over, they're impressed. That felt good, right?"

   "Oh. I'm gonna say, definitely by first grade. Six, seven?"

   "That's a normal developmental milestone."

   "What is?"

   "Sense of self. A sense of self image. Am I lucky or unlucky. What do I have."

   "That the right age for it?"

   I nodded.

   "So… despite everything, at six or seven… I'm still a normal kid, and I feel good about myself?"

   "What's any little kid know, Light. For you, it was crayons."

   "You said I was neglected. It wasn't normal or good."

   "True. But, a kid? Doesn't know that. There's you, the other first graders. The other little girls that can come over and share your world. And they just said… wow. All those crayons. Did you let them play, too? You shared your crayons and coloring books and colored pencils?"

   "Yeah. Of course. You have to share."

   "Really? Says who."

   "Oh… I guess, the TV said so. You share your toys with the other kids. Hurry, come on. There's a giant yellow bird, some gay guy in a bird costume, and he's singing and dancing out the "sharing" song. So? I did. The couple of little girlfriends I had? They had their own shelf in the closet. There were… duplicates of coloring books, extras of crayons and colored pencils. I put them there. We put them there. When they came over? They had their own stuff. We shared the TV. When mom took me shopping? I would get what flavor of ice cream my friend wanted."

   "And you felt good. About yourself, about your situation."

   "Sure."

   "Did… you miss your dad?"

   "Mm. Not miss. I wondered where he was."

   "You talked about it with the other first graders."

   "Hmm. Yeah. Most of them didn't have a dad either. Or, they had some new dad. Our whole… concept, of a real dad? A permanent dad. That, was something off of TV."

   "When did you start to notice?"

   "Oh. When you danced. Some girls had two people that showed up, A mom and a dad. I was lucky if I just had my mom there. Usually, I'd just get picked up to get ready for a dance recital, by one of the other dance moms."

   "Now, as an adult? You talk a little about wondering where your dad got to. When does that start."

   "Hmm. Around ten. I started noticing. Some guy was… happy, his daughter did her dance recital. Or… watched her ice skate or roller skate. There was just this… guy. Ran up and hugged her. They're gonna go meet mom, have pizza or something. Its when I started noticing."

   "Did you ask your mom?"

   "Yeah."

   "How did that go."

   "Not good. Not bad. I'm not the only girl at school that has a single mom. Then, mom got me… a gift card. For the pizza shop. There you go. You want pizza. Take your rollerskating friend, to go get pizza afterwards."

   "Wasn't what you wanted, or were asking for."

   "No. Mom was always… oh. You want that? Okay. Here. Now? You have… that. All good."

   "That didn't do it, did it."

   "No. I saved my… pizza gift cards up. That mom got me. Then, when my rollerskating friend, had that dad guy show up? Take her to pizza. I asked if I could go with them."

   "Did they let you go?"

   "Yeah. It was weird. Guy wouldn't let me get my own pizza and pitcher of soft drinks. He… just put me on his bill. It felt a little weird."

   "How?"

   "Well. Anywhere you wanna go. Rollerskating. You need money to go there. If you have your own skates? Costs a lot less. You want snacks while you're there? You can use your skate rental money to get some snacks. Cause you have your own skates. So? It felt weird. Dads… like to pay for stuff for little girls. I mean, I'm ten. That's what I got out of it, mostly."

   "Anything else?"

   "Well. If boys tried to come up and talk to us, while we're there? Her dad would… kinda chase them off."

   "Yeah. Dad's are protective of daughters."

   "I remember he smelled my breath. Made sure I wasn't smoking cigarettes in the bathroom. He was all happy when I wasn't."

   "You didn't smoke?"

   "No. Dancing. No one smoked. Ruin you for dancing, was all we knew. I guess, one of her friends was sneaking cigarettes, and… as long as you weren't the girl smoking? You were okay to be around his daughter."

   "No smoking, no boys."

   She smiled.

   "Yeah. Hurry? What did I miss out on. What was it like for you, at ten."

   "Oh. Different world, Light. Horses and dirt bikes. I wanted to ride my horse with the other kids, in the woods. Instead of going to the roller rink and pizza? I guess I wanted to hang out at my grandparent's farm. Help grandma cook. Instead of dancing? I had sports."

   "No. I mean not being neglected. What did I miss there."

   "Oh. At age ten? As different of worlds as we lived in, I can see surprising similarities. What did you miss though? Well… you kind of raised yourself. Parents are typically supposed to be involved in your life, Light. In fact, a lot of parents make the mistake of being too involved. They make all the decisions for the kid. Poor kid never learns how to make a decision on their own. Then? 18 and out the door… no idea how to handle some stuff."

   "I didn't have a dad, but, what would an… involved mom do?"

   "Oh, everyone's different. It shows in different ways. When I was little? My mom would bath me. Shampoo my hair. Moisturizer. You name it. Then fix my hair. I mean, I'm going to bed, and she's fixing my hair."

   "That's it? Mom would have bathed me, she'd have been a good mom."

   "Its not the act of giving the bath itself. Its time spent with me. My mom would talk about everything, the whole time. Ask me questions, kind of quiz me on my day. Tell lots of little stories, to explain any questions I had. Both my parents were big about talking at the dinner table."

   "You were included in the conversation?"

   "Yeah. My dad would talk about his day on the farm, then they would ask me about school and other stuff."

   "So… they just spend time. Pretending to care about what happened to you all day. Making you feel included."

   "Not pretending, Light. Actually caring. Now, I grant you… my dad was bored hearing about me dealing with other ten year old girls at school? But, he was interested in that I was doing okay. Oh… and parents… well? There's discipline and boundaries."

   "Yeah. You got yelled at for stuff."

   "Light? Kids learn boundaries. Um. Bedtime. You have to go to bed at bedtime. You're not allowed up all night watching movies, tired for school the next day. Not paying attention to the teacher. My parents made sure I did my homework, and that I was getting good grades. You don't argue or swear with adults and authority figures. No smoking cigarettes. No boys until your parents decide its time."

   "Doesn't sound like fun."

   "Its not meant to be fun, Light. There has to be boundaries. Some kids will grow up to deal drugs and rob banks. I'm amazed you came out of everything that you went through? And you're not a… criminal."

   "I still had rules, Hurry. They were different rules than you had, in your black and white world. But, they were still there. If I left the house when I was little? When mom wasn't home. That cupboard with all the crayons and coloring books and all the good stuff? It got locked up."

   I sighed.

   "There's a big difference? And I'm trying to think of the best way to explain it. I'm pretty sure, that your rules? Were designed to allow your mom to be able to manage having a kid. To make her life easier. When a parent is involved? Those rules are designed to give the kid, a better outcome. Most of your rules seem designed to keep your mom out of trouble, not ever being there to raise her kid."

   "No. Mom cared a little bit. Stranger danger."

   I was quiet.

   "Light? Your mom was afraid someone would know her six year old was home alone all day and night, and she'd get in trouble. If you never answer the door, for anyone? No child welfare people can get a case. The police were almost never at the door for me growing up, but if they were? You invite them in, and see what they need. They're looking for… something important. A lost child, missing animals, stolen farm equipment. Teenagers out breaking stuff, raising hell."

   "Hmm. So, my mom was doing the right thing once in a while, just for the wrong reason."

   "Basically. Your mom was… she wasn't dumb. She was slick. She was always able to spin things, so that her story seemed good. Street smarts."

   "Yeah. That was mom. At least I didn't get abused when I was little. There was a girl at school, everyone knew the parents were beating her."

   "Light? Within reason, of course. Its not half as important exactly what you discipline your kid for. Or, exactly how you discipline them. The most important thing? Is that you're doing it for the kid’s own good, not to make your own life easier."

   "Seriously."

   "Yeah. Take a kid that gets grounded. For… sneaking out all night. You're grounded for a month. You can't watch TV, you don't get your phone and internet. You hate your parents, you wish they were dead… but, you talk to those kids older? They laugh about it. They have their own kids, they understand."

   "And the girl that had bruises in gym class?"

   "Some kids will tell you no. Defy you. Sneak out even when they're grounded. Parents are worried. How she'll turn out. Yeah, they might resort to beating her. Within reason? The reason is more important than how it goes down. You're a good case in point. You had practically no rules, and no discipline. Doesn't mean you had a good mom."

   "What would… good discipline have even looked like? Because what you're describing, is practically no discipline. Then? All of a sudden…"

   "That wasn't discipline. That was abuse. That… was beyond abuse. Good discipline? Similar to what you experienced, being around that other father. The one that took you with his own daughter for pizza. Rules. Boundaries."

   "No smoking. No boys for ten year old girls."

   "Exactly. Throw in a bedtime. You're going to eat healthy food, too. You can't live on peanut butter, ice cream, and cereal. Maybe… certain channels, certain programs on a big cable package? Aren't appropriate for young girls ten years old. You have to clean your room. Things like that."

   "So, you get yelled at for stuff."

   "Maybe. If yelling at you doesn't work? Maybe you get grounded. If you defy your parents? You might get backhanded. Maybe even beat, but… when you're older? You understand what good parents were trying to accomplish. Every kid has at least that one thing. Mine? I didn't want to clean my room. I got grounded, I got… I wasn't allowed to ride my horse or my dirt bike. Then? Like magic, I started cleaning my room. Now that I'm older? I laugh about it."

   "Hmm. I notice you still keep your room clean."

   "Yeah. I guess the idea is to start kids out right. Keep at it. Then, when they're older? They have good habits. My grandparents had a stock phrase. Start em like you're going to finish em. I figure dad, got it from them."

   "That's why you… clean your room, pick the townhouse up. Make sure the dishes get washed and stacked neatly."

   "I'm sure it does. Not to mention? I don't run around like crazy. I grew up working around the farm. You can't be lazy. There's things to do, you do them. You see me acting like that now that I'm an adult. I go to my classes. I do all my homework and assignments. I practice even in the off season. Playing soccer is my job, to be here and pay for this."

   "Am I that bad a person, Hurry?"

   "No. You're not. You're actually a very good person. And I sometimes can't believe you're that good of a person inside, even with everything that happened to you."

   "What. So, I'm just a couple spankings away, from being a good girl, huh?"

   "I'm joking, but if I thought spanking you would make you clean your room? I'd think about it."

   She laughed and said I would have to get Wizzy to handle that.

   "There's another side to a father. Not just… setting boundaries, and discipline."

   "What?"

   "Fathers are naturally protective of the wife and children. In particular daughters. Remember the father that chased boys away from two ten year old girls eating pizza?"

   "Yeah."

   "Do you think that friend, with that father… was going out on car dates to all hours of the night, with 20 year old boys at keg parties. When she was 12, 13, 14?"

   "No way in hell."

   "There. So, you see what fathers usually prevent. I used to kind of… hate my dad? Is a strong word for it, but… he chased off all boys that showed any interest in me. As best he could. I wasn't super happy about it."

   "Well. It prevented… what happened to me."

   "Yeah. It did. So… by ten you were noticing other girls had dads, some of them. What age did you start… actually thinking you missed out."

   "Around 14."

   "Oh… after…"

   "Yeah."

   "You know the saying about… daddy issues."

   "Lots of jokes on the internet."

   "They're not all jokes. I don't think, anyways. A dad provides very useful functions in the life of a kid. And I don't just mean making good money, and providing a good life for mom and the kids. Which is what a lot of people boil the dad down to these days. That's not right. The dad isn't just… some horse hooked to an apple cart. When you wear him out? Just… get another horse. Plenty more where that one came from. Dads have other functions, beyond making money to provide for the family."

   "Discipline. Be protective."

   "Dad's also are a second person in the house? That just unconditionally loves you. Boys suffer from not having a dad. They lack a male role model. And girls? If you have anything even half decent for a dad? You have some idea what a proper boyfriend or husband should be like some day."

   "I'm pretty sure I have… massive daddy issues?"

   "Once again, I don't have the experience I would need to make certain diagnoses. That said. You do seem to crave his… protective streak. I naturally mean Wiz."

   "Oh god, Hurry. When he put his arm around me? Claimed me. Stuck up for me… no one's ever done that."

   "And he seems like he loves you unconditionally. Doesn't he?"

   "I still can't believe he… knows. And still…"

   "If you had a father? He would… he probably wouldn't hate you because something bad happened to you."

   "Another daddy issue, with Wizzy. Your dad would have freaked, if… 14 happened to you, right?"

   "I think they'd be doing much better, if the cops got a hold of them, than my own father got them alone. Fathers aren't known for having the greatest self control in situations like that. Especially to… the extremes that your case went to."

   "Hmm. There's Wizzy playing daddy for me again."

   "Light? We could probably have a serious talk about… that."

   "About what? Wizzy worked with a bunch of cops. He got them together and has them investigating the case."

   "How to put this. Can you imagine, that if your own father was a police officer? He might… have more ways to… get the people, right?"

   "Well… yeah…"

   "How bad would you feel, if the people responsible, say, got twenty years in prison. Or… something bad just happened to them. Again. Imagining your own dad was a cop, and was trying to do anything he could, to… take revenge."

   "If you poured gasoline on them, in front of me? I'll toss the match on them. They deserve anything they get."

   I pouted, I waited.

   "Are you sure?"

   She locked eyes with me. She smiled.

   "You have no idea…"

   The smile? Had no mirth in it. Honestly, rather chilling. The dead calm of it. But, I accepted that. It was fair. I could accept that she would want revenge. Because what was done to her was monstrous? She thought a monster's response was appropriate.

   We had a number of days until everyone came back. Another sexual holiday for us. She surprised me, by forming more of her own sexual fantasy. Dressing in her soccer uniform. Pigtails. Acting like it was her first time for fun. She did more. She went over her earlier fantasy with him again, then furthered it.

   "I want more, Wizzy. Don't you wanna give me what I want?"

   He did.

   She had asked me beforehand. If asking for "bad" stuff? Would anger me. Nullify her status. Cause me to cast her out of our three way relationship. Of course I told her no. If she wanted to create her own unique sexual identity? That was wonderful. She asked… anything I want? I shrugged and said sure. Whatever you want.

   I watched the blow-star go to work. The mouth closed and opened. The tongue darted. The lips scraped slowly. They did this, for longer than normal. The blow-star claimed its routine victim. He was predictably within her power.

   "Mm. You, will do what I want?"

   He would. I mean, she wasn't fighting fair. She softened him up with blow-star toxin. Through the lips, through the cock, she used all avenues of toxin delivery. When he was soft and his muscle tissue was vulnerable? She struck.

   "I have daddy issues…"

   He didn't know how to answer her.

   "Will you be my daddy? Come on, I thought you loved me… be my daddy… I have daddy issues. I want you? To be my daddy…"

   The blow-star had skills. He would, as it turned out? Be her daddy… and, what did she want her daddy to do…

   As she had already stated. She wanted sex, with her in her game uniform. Pigtails. And, as she had already stated… I never did this before, blah blah. Do I have to lick that. Why do you want to do that, it hurts.

   She reiterated it again and again, with blow-star toxin. Trust me, it was agreed to. Soccer star. Great legs. Fit body. Astride him, begging this. He's primed and readied, to accept fit girls. Not to mention? This is one of his calendar girls on top of it.

   She looked at me. Would I get pissed, at her working him. I could see this look in her eye. No. I looked away. You can work him, for your purposes. You? Are allowed to take him, use him, whatever. From me to her, my eyes to her eyes. Yeah. My fucking property. Use it for what you want. I… give him to you.

   Then it happened.

   She exploded into it. She suddenly wanted "daddy" to discipline her. Why wouldn't he do it. And? He did. Well, he did eventually. When he initially refused or tried to talk her out of it? She used her arsenal on him. When he said no or otherwise wasn't agreeing, she put both palms on either side of his face. To stop the head shaking "no" at her. The darting, teasing tongue and scraping lips quieted all audible responses. As well as delivered more blow-star toxin. She gently moved his head up and down for him with those palms on his face while effectively gagging him with her tongue and lips. He had no defense against this. She wore him down. She made him agree, slowly.

   I watched her own version of the naughty bedtime story technique I used. She showed on the smartphone, what she had found. It was being nicknamed "brat sex", and guys supposedly loved it beyond measure. The girl dresses and acts like a young girl. Adopts the mannerisms of a younger girl in every way possible. For her, this would be uniquely easier for her to adopt the affectations. She would become a 14 year old girl, and it would be her first time. And? She would do "everything" and "anything" like big girls do.

   Then, nodding his head gently "yes" for him. She asked if he loved her. If he would do anything for her, in bed. She explained how she desperately needed to acquire discipline. Or she could never be a good girl. If he really loved her, he would correct her for being a bad girl. She wanted "caught" smoking pot in her room. And naturally taught a lesson. Informed that her sneaking out to be with boys all night hadn't gone unnoticed either. She needed taught a lesson about that, too. Then finally, made to clean her room and punished for not doing that, either.

   She had picked out and formed her own complex sexual fantasy. Then she carried it out, after "forcing" him to agree to meet her demands. She played the part of the brat up to the hilt. When he "caught" her smoking in her room, she was initially scared to be caught, but quickly argued and gave him lip. Naturally, she ended up over his knee. She played that act up for all it was worth too. "Mom" came down the hall, to see what all the commotion was. He made her tell "mom" what she said she had been doing. Sneaking out to be with boys all night.

   When she ended up back over his knee again? I told him he wasn't getting anywhere like that. He needed to use the belt, to put a stop to all this. Then, he dragged the whole story out of her. Now? She had just made the part about boys up, to make him mad, and she didn't even know why she did that. So, now she was either running around all night with boys? Or she was lying. So… this definitely needed addressed.

   When they finally got done, he told her that if she thought she was that grown up to either do that with boys? Or, to make up stories like that just to make him mad… either way she was going to need taught a very serious lesson. He would show her what it was like to be a bad girl, out with boys all night. The kinds of things that happened to those bad young girls.

   I even ended up getting in on the "act". When things started to quiet down eventually down the hall? I went and got in bed with them. The blow-star was in aftercare mode, the slow kissing. I was of course not entirely happy what my young, adopted daughter was doing with my husband. She told me she "saved some for me", and showed me the ring and pointed out his moaning. I told them this was my house, and mom's in charge, not dad. I swatted whichever naked ass was on top when I felt like it with the long thin switch.

   I had never planned on getting into a more "complete" threesome beyond sharing him with her, but somehow that ended up beginning to happen as well. Mom, dad and our adopted daughter? All got smoked up. I refused to take his ring off and had him begging for release that wouldn't come yet. I fucked him with my toy on, while he fucked her. I ended up cleaning it off thoroughly, and getting behind her. I fucked her with the much vaunted number four setting. It wasn't like he hadn't already loosened her up quite a bit already. After all, parking it in her rear end was definitely something bad little girls got forced to do, parking with boys all night.

   It didn't take long to be fully parked into her little rear end. I rolled her over on top of me, and got my ankles above her knees and kept her legs spread for him. Then he got to experience with her, what he had with me a little ways back. The sub virginal wet hole. I had the little rubber ring and I used it on her clit. To say she made noise was an understatement. I had to retract out to let him even get into her, then I entered her fully. Number four and the rubber ring on her clit required me to strap my free hand over her mouth to stifle the screams of a girl being murdered with pleasure.

   I remembered this well, and we took our time. She eventually hit Le Petit Mort and all but died. Later, when she was alive but beyond exhaustion. I finally addressed his ringed waiting and his noise he was making. I asked her about swallowing the payload, so she smiled lazily. Explaining when it was that far down? You didn't even have to taste it. I loosened his ring slowly and milked him. I had a filled up mouth. I easily "overpowered" her in her exhaustion and kissed her big. When I finally pinned her for the delivery of the full multiple release payload, I pinched her nose to make sure she got to experience all of them at once.

   The blushing, the shame, the faux humiliation all played on her face. In the course of falling asleep slowly, giggling and talking in the throes of equal portions of exhaustion and satisfaction, we had her in the middle. She was having fun going in and out of her character, for humor. During one such in character period, she kissed and talked. She thanked him for making sure she turned out to be a "good girl".

   Then during the process of falling asleep with her head buried in his neck, I heard her ask him. What would a good daddy do, to people that had done horrible things to his good little girl. He gave her a non answer, that none the less answered her question. That it wouldn't be the sort of talk an impressionable 14 year old girl would need to hear the details of. She begged him sweetly in whispers, to do that for her. She said she understood she didn't need to know the details, but would he make sure he got them. He assured her he would, as we were all beginning to fall asleep.

   I realized, that a while back? I had wondered about women that had gotten men to kill for them. Using sex and a relationship as their own weapon. I realized that I was now part and parcel of such a similar thing, that it staggered my imagination. The only difference, was huge and glaring. Those other women had set about getting a guy to basically commit cold blooded murder on their behalf. They manipulated their relationship and situation as surely as if they pulled the trigger themselves.

   My huge difference, our huge difference? It wasn't cold blooded murder. It wasn't even technically revenge. It was simply justice. In a way that might seem twisted and even perverse, to an outsider? It was essentially doing the right thing. When a father went and found and killed the person that brutally raped and violated his little girl, and killed them without a moment's hesitation? Most people were strangely sympathetic. Prosecuting them was inordinately difficult.

   The defense lawyer? Was armed to the teeth with weapons and ammunition. Once all the details about what had happened to daddy's little girl came out in court? Women on the jury, were prone to side with the father with blood on his hands. Men on the jury? Equally easy for them to put themselves into the defendant's shoes and not find fault with him. It was a prosecutor's nightmare of a situation to be in. They basically had to hand out such sweetheart deals to get a guilty plea it was unreal. It was hard to even keep such a father in prison for his reduced sentence. Parole boards were just as sympathetic as jurors. Prison inmates, wardens, guards? All had a soft spot in their heart.

   Many fathers that had gone this route? Refused to enter a guilty plea, because they could smell the jury's sympathetic feelings. Prosecutors had to work hard to get convictions. They had to put things on the table. Suspended sentences. Basically instant parole. Judges even knew their part in the jurisprudence dance recital. Minimum sentences allowable by law.

   The next morning, I told Light that a good little girl? Would cook breakfast for us. When she grabbed for her panties and T shirt, I stopped her. We had the townhouse to ourselves, and the front door was bolted. I sent her downstairs to get breakfast started, and she went humming and smiling.

   We both came down dressed normally for breakfast. He was in his boxers, and I was in the obligatory panties and big sleeping T shirt. We teased her about her little marks on her bottom, as she pranced naked around the kitchen. Blushing and smiling something fierce. She smiled with a blood red face, asking "mommy" how she wanted her eggs. She served me first. Then "daddy" was next. She finally served herself and got us juice and coffee and everything else.

   As you can imagine, this opened Pandora's box.

   There was no more pretense that he had two girlfriends, although he really did. The three of us were a unit. Lightning used a gift card and got next day shipping on basically my toy. Hers arrived with a different combinations of colors, but otherwise identical. We had a number of days until our little vacation of alone time ended, and we made use of it.

   We both raped him repeatedly to celebrate her getting her own version of my toy. Seeing her imitate my "style" and mannerisms was entertaining. Hearing her imitate my voice I used when I was in that zone was another entertainment. We had our own little "kitchen table club" with him. We took turns fucking him rough all over the townhouse. Seeing her wink or make a silly face to me, in between acting rough and mean with him? Priceless to me.

   It was obvious to me. She was primarily submissive to him, and he was primarily submissive to me. This made her sort of submissive to me as well. I rarely dealt with her directly for the most part although such did occur. Most of the time, I would direct him to do "X" with and to her. That is not to say we never came into sexual contact, me and Lightning. We definitely did.

   She started entertaining him, by kissing displays and making out with me. Dancing lewd while she did it. Kissing and touching. A lot of it was a little fake. It would look to him as if she was playing with me between my legs while making out with me. Her back was to him, and this hid her hand's true position. I naturally hammed it up for his benefit. I sometimes grabbed her rough by her dirty blond mane and seemed like I was "making" her do things with me. She played along and begged not to be "made" to do "that".

   I thought about it and decided I wasn't gay, and I wasn't a lesbian. It was only done to entertain him. Me and her never had sexual contact by ourselves to entertain ourselves. I talked privately with her before the first time I grabbed her by the hair and "forced" her to do things with me while she "begged" no, don't make me do that, please. The last thing I wanted to have her think was that I was forcing myself on her, and being a feminine version of Bootsie to her.

   She giggled and said it was fine, it was just a "hot game" to her. An advanced version to her, of her and Right sharing a boy. I "raped" her from behind in front of him and told him he was next, then followed through on my "threat". I was somewhat prone to use my toy on either one of them if their naked ass was pointed at me. They both got equal treatment when I did that. Every time he came back to take another stroke on her warm wet slit? He impaled himself on me and my toy. Every time she moved back riding him? She drove herself onto me.

   I didn't always know how things would go. One time I had her walking the doggy for me. Another time? I walked both doggies. Sometimes I had a partner to sit on the end of the bed and play fetch with. Then other times, she was prone to be the other doggy fetching. When two different times I fucked him brutally into tears and complete submission? Once I had a partner, and we took turns destroying him. Another time, well, I ended up with a second victim.

   My naughty compulsion had a field day. The naughty images and little movie clips that played unbidden in my mind's eye kept coming. Then I had a little attack of jealousy. It had been a while since I was ridden hard. Well, really hard. She had gotten the last Le Petit Mort, and now I wanted mine. So? We retired early that night, and… they put me in the middle. She had never quite seen me be completely submissive to him like that. Eating my bedclothes sandwich, fists full of sheet. She watched for a while, fascinated with the novelty of it all.

   Then she joined in and helped him. I got held down and ended up kicking and squealing in a warm, slick puddle of my own sex filth. They took turns on me, they traded off who was under me. Who was on top of me. Who was behind me. He showed her how to wind my hands up in my get lucky and set me to chewing on it, and to just shove my little wham bam denim mini up around my waist and go to it. It was a random pot luck of sexual assault. I could be struggling for breath face up or face down. Either one above, below, behind or in front of me.

   The extra shame and humiliation of having a second person grab me by my hair and rub my face in my drool. Of offering my ass up to get drilled more and getting roughly shoved down and my thighs pried apart. Of lifting my ass up to offer it again. They turned me around and my face was in my own warm puddle of filth. Now my knees scooted around in my drool pile. I tried to hide my face in the wetness I had created, the proof of the depths of my whoredom. My hair would get pulled and my face lifted up for his cock then allowed the mercy of hiding my face to chew on my wound up get lucky again.

   I finally screamed and died, and the assault continued. I heard her ask him if they had killed me, and he chuckled. No, we just fucked her up really good. The floating out of body experience. The dying that felt so wonderful. The separation of good and bad. The good girl that was the sex crime victim, used like a toy. And the bad girl that was an utter and complete proven slut. A whore that didn't even get paid beyond her own pleasure. Then, was I a slutty whore, or a whorish slut. It seemed to matter to me in my reverie. They snapped back together in me and I slowly came back around, over time.

   I didn't know or more importantly care who was touching me where anymore. Which I was offering my ass up for, or which was shoving me down and spreading me as they chose. Which tongue or finger was on me and where. I knew vaguely I was being taken turns with. They made a game of it. I was long since blindfolded, and I had long ago lost both less importantly the energy to credibly struggle, and more importantly the will to fight back. I figured out when it was her tongue on my clit, her hair brushing against my thigh told me. Which finger held the little vibrating rubber ball was more difficult. I eventually started guessing correctly, based on how the finger moved on me and made me squeal and kick.

   When I was completely spent and utterly played out, I could barely move in afterglow exhaustion. They both had me in the middle and gave me Stockholm after care, in turns. They had been saying the filthiest things to me the whole time, and had me in the state I would say anything back. I found myself being bidden to tell her I loved her, and I repeated it back. I meant it, and I was incapable of lying. I felt a belt go around my waist. It wasn't mine. Then my hands were suddenly attached to my sides. The belt had little belts on it, and they captured my wrists and securely buckled them in. I didn't have the energy to struggle, and had lost the willpower to try somewhere back in time. I begged them pitifully, to be gentle with me. I knew they wouldn't, that it was a dance. I knew I really didn't want them to be gentle. I knew I wanted to be used for a complete whore. A complete slut. Used for my holes, and all of them.

   Then, it was like the belt was being undone. Which made no sense to me. But, the belt stayed on, and my wrists stayed securely buckled above my hips at my sides. A smaller leather belt, it must have come off of the one around my waist. It went around my head. A cold metal ring was in my mouth. I registered that this was the much vaunted BJ belt. The blowjob belt. Since I was in my ride me hard, submissive mode? It must have seemed like the time. I had already introduced her, as promised then fulfilled, to naughty fun games with him. I had asked, and she had promised back. It was now time.

   I scooted around in a warm puddle of my own sex filth. I had been turned back and forth enough times that the drool and the pile of worse were intermixed. As I had been rotisserie-d around, it was all of it, all over me. Some still moist, some still drying on my dirty skin. She shushed me and smoothed my hair and calmed me. Kissed my neck and cheeks and shoulders. Told me it would be all right. Then she gently grabbed me by my moist hair and gently placed something in my mouth. It was the tip of him. My tongue could reach his underside spot, and I did what I was supposed to do with it.

   Over time, a finger would go into my mouth. I could taste either myself or her on it. It was her finger. Then he was back into my mouth. She told me to shush, and to trust her. Did I love her, as I promised her that I did? My head nodded yes of its own accord. She whispered to take a deep breath but not too big of one, and to be calm. It would only last a couple seconds. He hit the back of my throat and went down and in. I struggled to no account, more on instinct before I was gently taken back off it.

   My ring and mouth was held over it, and I slobbered onto it. Wetting it, making it ready. I lost the battle to not drool long ago, and it streamed out as I attempted and failed to make the wet sucking noises to prevent it. She shushed me in my ear, a grotesque reversal of what I did to him. It would last longer this time, now that I knew how much of a breath to take. I should nod when I was ready. I finally shuddered and gave a tiny nod. It happened again, and it went down. I stayed on it for several seconds then came back up. I struggled a little less, I now knew I would be okay.

   My mouth went to bite, but the leather around the now warm ring prevented it. The hitch in my throat was no impediment to downwards motion of his slick shaft. I could taste both myself and her on it, as it went down and I felt my face impact on his flesh. I could smell myself and her on him, in my nose.

   I was shushed and congratulated, that I did it. I heard her instruct him on timing. To scratch my head to tell me to take a breath that it was coming, then how long to go before bringing me up. To push slowly, to pull gently back up. To smooth my hair like a puppy and give me encouragement. Then she was with me, up against me. I could feel her cheek and hair brushing mine as she worked on him with her own mouth and throat. Then, it was my turn. She did the harder, faster work. Then my turn was the slow and gentle intermission for him.

   When it was time, when his noise said it was now? She finished him off quickly, then I felt her grab my hair and switch. Held down onto it, I made the swallowing attempts that made him go crazy. She loosened the ring up and let him go. That one, the others saved, all went down my throat. Well, no. Not down my throat. It… just kind of ended up in my stomach like a feeding tube for a convalescent, I would suppose. No taste. It was very strange. To have something going down, but I hadn’t swallowed it. A little surreal. When it was over, she gently pulled me back up and started shushing me and congratulating me and kissing my neck and cheeks in turn.

   He was on me too, but it was mainly her calming me and kissing and touching me now. My face ended up near her midsection. She had been playing an afterglow game with me, where my tongue could come out of the ring, and flick on her finger. The ring got carefully placed over her clit. She held it there, and I knew what was expected of me. I was to lick what was in that metal ring. I did. She had licked me off and on the whole time, it was only fair. She shushed me, told me it was okay, it would be all right.

   After a while, she positioned herself above me. My ring got her little spot carefully positioned onto it, and I did what I was supposed to again. But, this time it was different. My face grew wet. She was kneeling over my face, and I could hear her enjoying herself. She leaned back, and I felt the little rubber ball on the end of her finger go to work on me. She wasn't just having me pleasure her the way her Wizzy normally did, she had me doing it. And she made me make noises back. She gave me a whispered running commentary while this went on.

   How she had loved me all night, right alongside Wizzy. How I loved every minute of it. I couldn't deny my enjoyment even if I tried to; I was laying in it, it was either moist or drying over my warm skin. Now, I was simply loving her back. And that it was all right, and it would be okay. I was still far over and well into that exhausted and over pleasured zone. Here everything made sense, and I just agreed. She told me she loved me. Did I love her back? My head nodded yes. She said she wanted to hear it. With the ring in my mouth, I couldn't speak. I could only make shameful gag talk noises.

   "Ahhh… rrrrrrvvv… ooooo…"

   She asked if I was sure? I nodded my head enough for her to feel it. She continued on me with her finger and that buzzing little rubber ball where it counted the most. Until I made noise and commotion, then subsided. She came up smoothly and gracefully. Rubbed my hair and face, and I swear she all but did a little dance on my face. I was so exhausted I could only lay there with her, and he sidled up behind me. She shushed me again.

   "Shh… we don't need this anymore…"

   And my mouth was free of the ring. She kissed me. Her way. Blow-starred me slowly. She left my hands in the magic belt, and buzzed her finger where it counted most. I kissed her back when it was my turn, my own way. She kissed me her way. She kissed small. When I kissed her back, I kissed big. Slow and gentle, but still big. She bit my neck softly, while she buzzed me with her rubber ringed finger. She whispered into my neck between little loving nibbles, to say it. I found myself telling her I loved her too.

   They eventually let my hands go, and took the magic belt off of me. They kept me blindfolded for a little while though, as they both gave me extremely sweet Stockholm after care. She led me blindfolded to the bathroom when I had to pee, then led me back and slid into bed behind me. I thought I would die from shock, shame and embarrassment? But I didn't. I lived. I whispered back that I loved her too, when she whispered it into my neck. I found my face going down to show her that I really did, and would, love her. No magic belt held my wrists now. I was free to make her stop, or get away. But nothing of the sort came out of me. My mouth was free of the leather and metal, so I could protest effectively now. But I didn't.

   My only struggle was to keep my face positioned where it would be most effectively used on her. My only protest was to whisper into her crotch that I loved her. And really, that's hardly any kind of credible protest. He came down and "helped" me. She grabbed my hair and moved me aside for his turn, or shoved my face back when I was up again.

   I had the collar on for hours now. I was the slut tonight. I slept in the middle of them. In a pool of my own body's admission that it liked this. I don't even but vaguely remember falling asleep, nor during what act if any. I just remember waking up. I still had the collar on, that proclaimed I was the slut. Not "a" slut, but "the" slut. I was still in the middle, where sluts go. Last night, I had belonged to both of them. I had been their property, and they had done with me what they had wanted to do.

   They were engaged in soft horseplay. Soft and hushed giggling and tiny one or two finger pushes that couldn't even be called shoves, more like touches. I stirred, and the aroma from under the covers told me all I needed to know. That I couldn't deny having liked, hell, having loved it. They noticed I was up, and each blamed the other for waking me. They were like little children, poking and giggling in fun. I was quiet and still. I was still in some extra mild shock or state of humiliation and embarrassment about what I had done, what had been done to me. What I had enjoyed, really.

   Light found her panties where they had been dropped or tossed, and smelled them and giggled. He found his boxers by feeling under the covers and then got up. They both adjusted their underwear. She slipped her T shirt on. Everyone wanted breakfast. I asked quietly if someone was going to get the collar off me, it was locked on and I didn't have the key.

   Little Lightning giggled.

   "Maybe after you make breakfast…"

   I sighed and made to find my own panties and T shirt. They got them and played the keep away game with me. So, I ended up sighing and strutting downstairs quietly, to start coffee and breakfast. I guess that was the rules anyways. The slut makes breakfast, naked. I had juice and coffee ready when they made it down, still poking and pushing and giggling like little kids. I took their orders. I served Lightning first, then him, and finally myself.

    They were all mirth, and I was all still and quiet. They finally asked me what was wrong. I just shrugged and rolled my eyes.

   "So… what. I'm gay now? Great…"

   Light took the lead off of him.

   "Hurry. Its not like its the first time we all had fun together. Whats the matter, honey."

   I shrugged.

   "You're not a lesbian. You still like boys, right?"

   I nodded.

   "You're not a bisexual. You don't want to go over some boy's house one night, then some girl's house the next."

   I shook my head no.

   "Okay… we just had more fun than normal, that's all."

   I slowly regained my power of speech and lightened up some. They didn't tease me, and took turns reassuring me everything was okay. Light basically framed it as we shared a boy, and put on a hot show for him.

   "But… I said… I loved you."

   "Well. Are you and Wizzy in love?"

   I nodded.

   "I'm allowed to be in love with him, right?"

   I nodded.

   "Are we supposed to both be in love with the same boy. Share him, and what… we hate each other? No. We both love you back."

   "I guess."

   "How else could this even work, if we didn't all love each other."

   "As long as I'm not gay…"

   "Do… you think I'm gay?"

   "I don't think so. I mean, I hope not."

   "Do you think Right is gay?"

   "No."

   "Well. Its no secret we shared a boy all weekend."

   "She was… okay with it?"

   "Mm. It started Friday night. Saturday morning? Okay, she was a little… quiet. But, she was fine by after breakfast. Sunday morning? No problems. You just… lost two cherries in one night, that's all."

   She couldn't help trying to suppress a giggle, before adding.

   "And I know? That… can be a lot to swallow in one night."

   We all caught the giggles at the fun play on words.

   "Hey. You did it. The magic belt? Gets another notch. You just had your girl cherry popped right after your throat cherry, that's all. Right just only had her girl cherry popped that weekend."

   "You mean, you two…"

   "Did we do stuff, to make it fun for my boy that weekend? Duh. She chickened out on swallowing, so… other stuff went on."

   "I just… what will people think…"

   "Hurry? I'm pretty sure, everyone already figures that what went on last night? Has been going on for a while now. Nothing lost. Wizzy has two girlfriends. Publicly. We all live together. He puts his arm around either one of us at parties. I'm not going to say anything, but… isn't that what everyone would think about it?"

   "Well. I guess they would."

   She waited a while, I suppose making sure I was okay with it before making a little jibe.

   "Now. You might not be allowed to be a Catholic anymore. So, we'll just have to find you a Mormon church to go to."

   "What?!?!"

   She giggled.

   "Sorry. Couldn't resist. Utah? The Mormons? Everyone knows they practice polygamy. Everyone pretends it isn't going on. And we all know it is. Hell, the only sin the Mormons would accuse us of? Is not all being married."

   I palmed my face, but I giggled. It was funny. Wiz cut in.

   "Actually… they bitch about coffee. Caffeine. Tobacco. Weed. Beer wine liquor. Mormons don't approve of anything, really. They'd hate us."

   Lightning pointed with her fork, talking idly.

   "Which is odd. I mean, a guy can have as many wives as he wants… but he can't crack open a beer, while he enjoys his harem on a Friday night? The hell's up with that."

   "Oh. So now, I have a harem."

   "If you have one, its your wife. If you have 50? Its a harem. I really have no idea where harem starts. Is it technically a harem, the instant you get the second one? I mean, two is a pretty small harem. You're not really keeping up with the Jones's, even by Mormon standards. Seen a show on TV before, they have way more than two."

   I couldn't take much more of this, but I was starting to smile and laugh now.

   "If I try to tell my hometown priest this in confession? I think he'll set me on fire."

   Wiz deadpanned me.

   "Really? And which one of the ten commandments did we violate last night, exactly. Hmm?"

   Light giggled.

   "What didn't we violate last night… ha!"

   "Will you two stop it?"

   Wiz kept the deadpan routine up.

   "Seriously. I didn't steal. And I didn't covet my neighbor's goods. No one died, so thou was not kilt."

   Light asked why stealing was there twice.

   Wiz cut back in.

   "Thou shalt not steal. You take shit, that's stealing. Coveting? Is not stealing. That's being jealous of your neighbor's shit, which is what comes right before stealing."

   Lightning rattled off the growing list. We didn't steal, we didn't covet, we didn't kill."

   I interjected.

   "Thou shalt not commit adultery."

   Lightning wanted to know if that was when the woman was on top. I about spit coffee out, and she said sorry, just kidding.

   Wiz was back on the case.

   "Nope. Adultery is when you fuck your neighbor's old lady. And we didn't covet the neighbor's pussy, either."

   Light put more fingers up.

   "That's five. Kill, steal, covet. No pussy was stolen or coveted. We're halfway there."

   Wiz had two more.

   "Did anyone lie? Or bear false witness."

   Light put all of one hand up, and two more.

   "Rolling along. That's seven."

   Wiz started counting off in the air, with his fork.

   "Some Catholic I am… wait. Okay, no one worshiped an idol. We're up to eight."

   Light cut back in.

   "I'm not really a Catholic, or really anything else for that matter, but… had a class. Keeping the sabbath holy?"

   Wiz was glib.

   "I'm pretty sure you're allowed to fuck your own old lady on Saturday or Sunday."

   Light was faux ecstatic.

   "That's nine… Hurry might not burn in hell. Or have to say two dozen hail Mary's."

   They both started counting, and coming up with 9. They both muttered the hell was the last one… which was I suppose my cue.

   "Thou shalt not take the name of the lord thy god in vain, no one mentioned that one."

   Wiz deadpanned us both again.

   "Both of you said, Oh God, more than once… I was there, I heard it."

   Light was corrective.

   "She was talking to cat Jesus, not sure that counts."

   Wiz finished it off.

   "That's a translation thing. You could also say you shouldn't blaspheme."

   Little Lightning shoved a giant piece of toast with over easy dippy egg on it into her mouth.

   "Well, is that when the woman gets on top?"

   I giggled and gave her a faux stare.

   "No."

   Wiz called it.

   "We got ten out. We didn't violate any of them last night. You're still a good little girl, honey."

   Light snorted.

   "Oh. We were both good girls last night. The hell do bad girls do anyways then. Christ, I gotta up my game and I don't know where else to start."

   I couldn't help it.

   "A man shall not lay with another man, as with a woman. Nor with a beast of the fields. Pretty sure a woman shall not lay with another woman, as with a man."

   Wiz cut back in.

   "No, no, no. Flag on the play. I didn't suck any dicks, and don't plan on starting. Now, King Solomon the wise, was it hundreds or a thousand wives? You can't tell me none of the others watched or helped out. Now I don't remember any animals last night. So, as long as neither of you two girls plan on doing an Esmeralda and her Magic Donkey routine? We're good."

   Light pointed her fork at me.

   "Hurry. You're good. Eat up, you're still going to heaven."

   "Oh, you two. Like we should all start teaching bible study."

   Wiz was surprisingly matter of fact about it.

   "So. You were raised a good Catholic girl, right hun?"

   "Yes. Sunday school and everything."

   "Hmm. Want me to blow your mind?"

   Light couldn't help herself.

   "She sure blew you last night? So, that would be fair for you to blow her back. Just saying."

   "Seriously, hun. Let me ask you then. God helps those who help themselves. Yes?"

   I nodded.

   "Well. King James being the official version and all. I defy you to find it in the bible. Someone made it up. It sounds like it should be in there. But… nope. You can download free bible text and search functions to prove it in a minute flat."

   "Hmm. You might be right about that one… you hear it a lot though."

   "My whole point. You hear a lot of bullshit, and a ton of it? Ain't in the book. I don't know where they get it from."

   "Like what else."

   "Hmm. A good, Italian, big family Catholic upbringing. Bet you have that whole lent thing going on every year… you're really not supposed to eat anything but fish on every Friday, but, they let you slide and get fish just on lent Fridays. Then? If nothing else, you only have to eat one fish meal on good Friday."

   "Yeah. A fucking fish is… one of the universal signs of Christianity. Jesus fed the masses with bread and fish."

   "Okay. So… are you prepared to show me, where in the King James, old or new testament… it says a single word about fish on Fridays? If you can show me, point to it? I'll blow a dog on main street… even give you four hours to draw a crowd."

   Light almost spit coffee out.

   "While you're at it, you show me where priests and nuns were supposed to live sexless lives."

   "Well…"

   "Hundreds of little altar boy assholes could have been saved if we didn't invent that nonsense. Most of the other branches of Christianity? Let the priests marry and have children. I swear, no human being was made to go without sex their whole life? And not go insane or act out in some way."

   "You sound pretty sure about this."

   "While you're at it? Show me the hell in the bible. I mean, the fiery torment forever, for all eternity. That's not in the book either. Our word hell? Comes from the original Greek. Which was the language of the original bible, by the way. Our word hell, comes from either Gaol, or Sheol. Depends on the translation. Gaol got translated to hell. Gaol? Is just a place to burn dead bodies. No devil, no fiery torment for eternity. All made up later on. There's a final judgment? But… you're just done away with. No torture."

   I pointed my fork at him. Started and stopped several times. He's usually good enough when he takes this instructive tone? Its not normally a safe bet to risk much on the bet.

   "Now. All this, and plenty more. Was added as popular styles of preaching. Some in the middle ages, some in the later periods. None of its in the book. I bet you were taught violence is wrong. Preachers always preach pacifism."

   "Turn the other cheek. Forgive your enemy."

   "Sure. That was in the book. Forgive and forget. Don't hold a grudge and fuck shit up over it. Let shit go. But… nothing ever said you have to take it in the ass and be a pussy. They… I call it… over preaching. You take this one sentence. Turn the other cheek… and you lay it on thick, for a whole hour of sermon. Want the rest of the story?"

   "Sure."

   "People always say. What would Jesus do? Well… I'd remind you. This is the same guy, that drove the money changers from his father's house. Which was the church. He picked up strands, and bound them into a cord. And ran around whipping and beating the shit out of them, and drove the cheating bastards out of the temple. They do go on a bit, how pissed off he was, and how none could stand against him. That's not the actions of a wuss. Jesus? Was the son of a practicing carpenter. That was a hard labor job. He would have had a strong grip, a strong back and arms. He grew up doing this hard labor, and did it until his late 20s."

   I couldn't contradict him.

   "Bible was filled with hard asses and stone cold military killers. There's all kinds of cool battle stories and slaughter in the book. But hey. Love thy enemy, turn the other cheek. Its selective over preaching."

   I just looked at him.

   "Lets go on, with some of what is in there? That those priests and nuns that went to school to study, I thought the bible… never mention."

   "Like?"

   "First off. Jesus specifically, preached against churches in the first place."

   "Really."

   "Sure did. You'll never hear a peep about that though, in the church… oh. Probably why, I guess."

   "What chapter is this from?"

   "Jesus specifically said that… I'm paraphrasing, but pretty close. I will first reward the man that speaks to me as an old friend, in his own closet. Long before I reward the man that worships me in public, with great and beautiful prayers. Now, I ask you. What was he saying? Not hard to figure it out. In your own house, you just talk to god like he was an old friend. You don't have to memorize magic words and repeat them on demand, so everyone sees how wonderful you are."

   "Hmm."

   "Now. Honey. Do you want me to suppose… where the problem is coming from?"

   "Sure."

   "You ever read the bible? I mean cover to cover, straight through. Like… you're reading any other book."

   "Well…"

   "Most people haven't. And, priests will tell you, not to. Because… you won't understand some things in there. They have to explain them to you. Really? Gee. Now, I wonder. How all the made up bullshit, that ain't in the book… everyone is just sure its holy gospel. Then, shit that's definitely in the book? Never gets mentioned. Now. You studied a number of things in classes here, right?"

   "Yeah."

   "Got good grades?"

   "You know I do."

   "I bet you read the damn textbooks, didn't you? Hell. I noticed you saved every textbook, so you have your own psych library going. Bet you read every one of them, cover to cover, at least twice."

   "Yeah."

   "But. With religion? Probably never read the book, cover to cover. Like a book. You spent your whole childhood… church… bible classes… never once, encouraged to read the book for yourself. Hmm. Strange to me."

   I thought about it. He was right.

   "Now. Military commandos, that went on daring raids. Some of these were the holiest of men. And by the way. It gets routinely translated as thou shalt not kill. But… if you look at the original wording? It was thou shalt not commit murder. Along the way, they conveniently translated it so as to make it appear as if ever taking human life was wrong. And what do you suppose a man and a wife was back in those days, hmm? We already established it was fine for a man to have more than one wife."

   "Well… a man, marries a woman…"

   "That word. Marriage. That's a legal construct today. So… the firstborn son could track his inheritance. Formal legal marriage, as we think of it today? Was popularized by the nobles. Where it was important to know who was the next king, the next earl, the next duke. Common people? A guy lived with some girl he loved… man and wife."

   "Your point being…"

   "We did nothing wrong last night. Far as I'm concerned? I have two beautiful wives. Neither god nor Jesus said anything about… thou shalt not get thy freak on."

   Lightning piped up, something about missionary position.

   "Pffft. Light? Missionary position. Missionaries? What are they, the sex police? Get a grip. Honestly. I'm not ashamed. We all three publicly claim I have two girlfriends. And those two girlfriends? Are okay with it. Like Lightning here already said earlier… its pretty much what people think is happening anyways. I won't broadcast it, but…"

   I sat there thinking.

   "We all know its going on. Everyone that knows us outside the townhouse? Would pretty much put two and two together and come up with… that just leaves Right."

   Lightning and Wiz gabbed, and decided she either knows and doesn't care, or… suspects and is being polite about it. Besides, people talk. Gossip goes around. Better gossip even goes around quicker.

   He finally looked at me, being still more quiet than what was usual for me. I gave him a little look, we have Bluetooth after all. He caught the gist.

   "Light?"

   She was still all smiles and frivolity.

   "Hold on. I have to ask her… about stuff."

   "About what?"

   "Nothing. Something. Everything. Honey?"

   "Yes…"

   "What were your thoughts on… how we handle stuff."

   "Wow. Wasn't sure I was going to get asked my opinion. Figured you two would just decide and out vote me."

   "Light?"

   She caught his quieter mood.

   "Hmm?"

   "I suppose we should all have a little talk."

   "About…"

   "Nothing, something, everything. I can start the conversation. See, me and Hurry? We… had our original thing going. And, it works fine. I don't wanna change a winning formula."

   "Like…"

   "I was looking for something different in a girlfriend. Didn't even know exactly what? Just knew I wanted something different than the deal all the other guys seem to come up with. There's a… kind of an unofficial guy's rule book, handbook on… how to handle girls and dating?"

   Lightning didn't know where this was going, but she caught his mood and was now curious and interested.

   "Okay. Guy… advice and all."

   "Yeah. If I followed standard guy advice? I wouldn't have Hurry. In fact… I think she's just wonderful. And. She made things easy for me, and I just… tossed out the rule book. She's not like other girls, I love that. And… she comes with her own rule book. I like it like that."

   "Okay."

   "Honey? You're head of household. Hell, I'm not even on the lease. I don't get a vote unless you give me one. Also? Light… I don't know what you're used to, what other people are used to? And I just plain don't care. Hurry started out kind of… managing our relationship. Guys can call me pussy whipped? Whatever. I have a beautiful girl, a great girl. Say what you want, this is my deal. Other guys? Get the show boyfriend scam run on them. Girls running around fucking anything that moves on campus. I don't have to put up with any of that shit."

   Light shrugged.

   "So?"

   "So, Light. Since I was a kid. I was fascinated with watching women's Olympics. Women's sports. I always did like tall, strong women. I prefer them, actually. I like smart women, I like women that have their own opinion, their own real degrees, their own career. I don't like the feminist bullshit that tends to go along with all that I like, and that's when I can even find it. I get the perfect package… and no feminism. So… if throwing the guy dating handbook out the window worked? Fine, then that's what worked."

   "Where's this going…"

   "Its going here. Honey? You. Head of household. Head of our relationship. I got no complaints. What are we doing about… this."

   "Hmm. Since you bring it up. I said before. People are free to think what they want. We… neither confirm nor deny. Yes. He dates me. He's my boyfriend. Yes, he also dates Little Lightning. He's her boyfriend too. Yes, me and Light are friends. Yes, we're both happy with that. People see the three of us out, they can see you kiss and hug both of us, and there doesn't seem to be a problem. I like it? Just like that."

   "Okay. And… Right? She lives with us."

   "I've honestly been avoiding that conversation. I can't keep pulling the therapy card, and all three of us are always falling asleep… talking… I can only play that game for a certain amount of time. Right asked me what was going on, based on gossip."

   "And you said…"

   "I told her it was mainly for… her ex's benefit. And, for Light's benefit. You put the skids to the whole… hey, let's make fun of Lightning, right to her face. I'm happy. Light seems happy. You seem happy. Everyone else? All they know, is… basically? Toot has two girlfriends, and the girls seem to like it like that. And… it doesn't seem like a bright idea to walk up and smack Lightning on the ass and call her names anymore. Everyone's over the initial shock of it all, and… that's where everything is."

   "And Right…?"

   "Yeah. She either already knows, already suspects… or? She's the last to know. I suppose we could just tell her. I mean, its not like the whole thing's any kind of a secret or anything."

   Lightning finished her coffee.

   "Can I make a joke about Right? Or… would that be in poor taste."

   I sighed.

   "No. Go on. After everything else… what the hell."

   "I was just making a joke… that if we could get Right drunk one night, and get her to fuck Wizzy once too? He gets the hat trick. You know, whole townhouse at once."

   We didn't glare at her, but we both just looked at her.

   "Said I was just joking. My… next joke was going to be to hand you my empty coffee cup, since you're the serving wench this morning, but… on second thought, I'll just get my own refill…"

   He sighed.

   "Lightning?"

   "Yes?"

   "That would never happen. For one thing. This wasn't all my idea. You owe Hurry more than you owe me for… us being a thing. Its not that I don't like you, or love you. Its not that you weren't one of my… calendar girls, but… I won't lie to you. I was initially against the whole idea. Once again? Hurry is in charge of our relationship. Not me. I imagined some kind of a disaster. Once again? Throwing out the rule book, is the way to go for me. That's the one thing."

   "And… what's the other thing?"

   "Well. She's dating that guy you met that stayed here? That man, is like a brother to me. We're fucking tight. If Hurry here needed… escorted somewhere? Maybe for safety or something, whatever. I'd trust him. If she had to stay in his motel room, for safety? I'd assume nothing went on. I know most guys aren't used to trusting their own girl to that level, and, they don't trust other guys to that level, either. The relationship I have with her? I have that. And that man you met? He's more than a brother to me. I trust that man with my life."

   "Hey. It was just a joke. Sorry I…"

   "Just want you to understand. If Right wanted to fuck me? I'd tell her no. If she kept it up? You know, other guys can be worn down. If you keep the flirting up, and make it easy. I'd start making fun of her, to make her dislike? Or, even hate me. You can make fun of me all you want? Hey, I'm used to it and I take it with a grain of salt. But… words like loyalty and trust? Are supposed to mean something more than just… punch lines politicians use to get votes."

   "I said it was just a joke. Then I said I was sorry I even made the joke."

   "No apology necessary, Light. But you should know this. There was once a time, and it wasn't that long ago. There were two kinds of men. Men that talked, then acted? Just like I am now. Those men were held in higher regard. When they testified in court? They were believed. When they said they didn't take the money? Their employer believed them. And when a man like that, said he gives you his word? You just knew he would do everything in his power to keep it. Men used to worry about their… nature. Their character. Men with that level of character? Would turn down things, that were great things to have. Because? It violated their code they lived their lives by."

   "Like the knight in the old movies."

   "Yeah. Like that. Nowadays? Men are called stupid for displaying those traits. For choosing to live their lives by that code. Light? You can't buy a man like that. You can't just pay him off, and he looks the other way. In fact, there's so few of us left? We're a dying breed. And it makes me wanna sit and cry like a baby, thinking about it dying out. The world is going to hell in a hand basket? And that, to me, is the root cause of it."

   "You're serious. I can tell."

   "I am."

   "You… can't be bought?"

   "No, Light. A man with money? Can't buy me. I'd rather pump gas, or… take out the garbage. For minimum wage. People used to respect that in a man. They don't anymore. So, its dying out. They call you stupid. Parents aren't teaching it anymore. Hard, cold values. See… we teach it when children are little. Parents give you a lecture about stealing, or lying. They show you assholes who don't have the benefit of those values, and how untrustworthy and shitty they are. Problem is? You get to a certain age… and… you're expected to just know when to put your values on hold. Or to bend them. As long as it benefits your paycheck, gives your wife and child a better life. When its smart to cash out, and take the suitcase full of cash. And that's what's wrong with the world. In a way, Light? That's the fucking problem in Swellsville. At the root of it? That's why what happened to you, happened. Because we've finally hit a point, that men like I'm describing? Are so few and far between."

   Lightning said nothing.

   "Light? It doesn't take every man to follow the code. All men never did. But… it only takes a surprisingly few of them. Just enough, that you have to be careful. And that's all it takes to keep evil in check."

   "Just a few guys?"

   "Yeah, Light. Look… most men, when exposed to the code? We'll call it the code. They're not used to it. Might not have been raised that way. Might not even like the idea. But? You take just one guy in the pack of guys running around. Just one. Someone that a lot of the others look up to. They see you get change for a fifty instead of change for a twenty. Girl at the cashier line made a mistake. That guy realizes it? Sees it. Stops everyone. Hey, I need to go back. Hey… we got extra beer money. God wanted us to have the extra money."

   "Most people… yeah."

   "That's the problem. Now. If that one guy, points it out. And says something, like… guys? We have decent jobs. That poor girl at that cashier job. That's minimum wage, she doesn't make any tips. No benefits. Trying to live, get through college… whatever. A lot of bosses will take that out of your pay. You explain to your buddies. Would you like it, if you lost that money, and you needed to make rent and were barely scraping by? Now, your buddies… they understand that. Suddenly they see themselves, getting fucked. And that one guy, goes back. Makes her check. Ma'am? I bet you have a twenty in your fifty slot. I used to run a cash register. Pop an X, and do a quick count. Here's how much you're off by…"

   "That's rare…"

   "It didn't used to be rare. But don't miss the point, Light. All that guy's buddies now? They trust him. In a way? They don't trust other people. They start imagining, he does this for a stranger. When he gets the money Scot free. How much more can he be trusted with a friend, or a family member? Even more. And they also notice something more. The way such a man carries himself. If you didn't know any better, it might come off as… a little smug. A little superior. That one man? Feels better about himself. He likes what he sees in the mirror every morning. And now some of them that might look up to him? Will start to imitate him. If even in small ways… that's the big difference. Now? You might have ten guys teaching their kids this code, instead of just that one guy."

   "This is… like… your religion."

   "Told you before, Light. Religion is for people who are afraid of going to hell. Philosophy? Is for people who have already been there."

   Light was in thought, and paused.

   "What was your hell, Wizzy?"

   He sighed. Smiled.

   "Little Lightning. You of all people, should know this one. Hell? Its all around you. You live in hell, and don't realize it. You were just that unfortunate person, that hell smacked you in the face. You had to live, in your own personal hell, for four straight years. Paying for crimes, that other people committed. That? Is hell. Would you agree, with no reservations of any kind… that you lived in hell. For four years."

   "Definitely. Think I said it before. Swellsville? Is Hellsville."

   "Then, the stink of hell was somehow still on you, for another year, after you escaped. Yes?"

   "Mm hmm."

   "That's what hell is, to me. When good people, just trying to live their lives, or do the right thing? Have to pay dearly, for crimes other assholes are committing."

   "It feels good, for it to be over."

   "I bet it does. And it'll just keep getting better for you. But… all I have to do. Is follow your footsteps. Back. And at the end of your tracks? Some little hell you escaped from. There it is. Every hell has a devil. Every devil? Has little demons around him. They need taken out. Simple as that."

   Light said nothing. She just nodded.

   "Lightning? Just about everyone, can determine right from wrong. A few people? I guess they're just born… evil. You can say they have some medical name, like… sociopath, or borderline personality, or narcissist. Its just a new scientific name, for what has existed since the beginning of time. A few people? Are just born evil. Doesn't matter what you call it."

   I smiled inside. Functional equivalence. Call it evil, call it a fancy name. Still the same thing in the end.

   "And? Like those knights in that old movie you saw. A few people, are born the exact opposite of evil. They have something good in them. Now… everyone else? Is somewhere in between these two extremes. Now, the evil people. Take the cold heart-ed sociopath. If he's raised right, if he's given a code. If he's surrounded by men that encourage that code. That sociopath? Can do great things. They have ice in their veins. They truly don't understand nervousness or fear. That's where you get… race car drivers. Great leaders and heroes in battle. Guys that can handle a lifetime of hard entry SWAT work? And be okay. All men doing great things, that normal men can't do. If you have a system around these people born like this? You can save most of them, and they make us all the better for it."

   "Evil can be… good?"

   "Not true evil, but… whatever raw components are there. You can get a serial killer, or a race car driver out of that same sociopath. Its how he's raised, its what he's taught. Its what's around him for role models, for him to look up to, and want to imitate. Now. This works, unfortunately, the opposite way too. People born with all the raw components to be the exact opposite of evil? Can get raised by a system… see people succeeding they look up to… and learn the wrong values. Do you see where hell is happening, all around you now?"

   "I guess I see your point."

   "Everyone else, is somewhere in between these two extremes. These people, can go either way too. It really doesn't take that many men, to live by a good code? And all of a sudden everyone has decent role models to look up to. People start taking on good values. And even people that don't really care one way or the other, inside? If they see people doing the right thing, and getting rewarded for it? People clapping them on the back. Calling them good names, toasting them. They imitate that."

   "Why isn't…"

   "I'll tell you why. Doing the wrong thing? Is seductive. Animals, will go for food, water, and shelter. Human beings? Are not so different. Most of us. If the food and water is easy? Hey. Great deal. See Light… its easy to do the right thing, when there's nothing on the line. Or… to stand up and show everyone how honest you are, for that clap on the back. What's twenty bucks, when you make a thousand a week. You get to stand up, and act superior. Its easy. Your values aren't being tested."

   "What's a test, then."

   "Take pussy. You're a man, and you're not getting any. And… you really, really want some. Its not wrong, its an urge. Its a drive. And? Some guy you're jealous of, maybe even always teasing you how you don't know how to handle women, and he does. Now… his woman starts winking at you. Dropping hints. Finally? Starts coming around and making it easy. Telling you. Now… that's a hard test to pass. First off? You have a natural, animal impulse. That you can't satisfy your craving for? Being offered to you. Girl's pretty. And the guy? Fuck… he's not a stand up guy. Instead of helping you out? He's taking more on the side, off of your plate? For himself. And making fun of you, to boot. Now that? That right there… is a hard test to pass."

   "You telling me you've… passed this test?"

   "I've seen men pass it. Very few, and I can't blame those that fail that test. But… you can see where this is your code being really tested."

   "Hmm. This happened with… your Army buddies."

   "If it doesn't leave this table? Yeah. Wasn't a steady girlfriend, but… that was one of his girls. He was the one talking to her. Dating her here and there. I turned her down."

   "What did you tell her."

   "Thanks for the offer? But no thanks. Bros, before hoes. I'd rather jack off."

   "She respected you for that?"

   He laughed.

   "No. Pretty much the exact opposite. She called me stupid. Called me gay. Told me I deserved to… all kinds of hateful girly shit, that girls know how to say to hurt a guy."

   "What did you say back?"

   "Not much. Told her if this was her true colors I was seeing? Shit… I was hurting him more, by letting him keep having her."

   "This was one of those guys that… came up on hot tub night. Wasn't it."

   "Won't say which one. But yeah. Now, here's another hard test to pass. Money. Man, has a wife. Kids. Monthly bills to pay. It hurts a man, to not be able to provide better for his family. I'm not sure most women know that feeling. Now… a man could get faced with something at work, let's say. Look the other way. Fuck some customers over. Hey, its business. Hey, its the smart thing to do. Hey… you got a wife and kids. I know you'll do the right thing here, and get on board."

   "Ouch. You have a way of…"

   "Oh yeah. That? Would be a hard test to pass. Your wife might one day take the kids, and go be with some other guy. That isn't burdened by your… stupid boy scout code. Better provider. The better man. And again. If a man doesn't pass this test? I can't blame him."

   "You ever faced with this test?"

   He sighed.

   "I know not to face it. I know… I can't sell used cars for a living, I'll say that much. I know not to get a degree in business administration? Where success or mediocrity depends on being hungry and willing to sacrifice any personal code for the next step up the corporate ladder. You hear it all the time, Light. Hey… that's not right. Answer? That's business. You wouldn't understand. See, I understand it just fine. Now. I'm getting my degrees in mathematics and computer science. Where… I don't have to deal with that."

   "How did you come by this… code."

   "The universe decided, for whatever reason? I was going to live with all MPs. Being a computer nerd that jogged and worked out. Now, to me? These were all… football players, wrestlers, boxers. Something I didn't think I was. I was just Toot back then? And… I didn't have a secret. I was just Toot. Yeah, I looked up to them. How would it be in real life… okay. Take some outlaw biker gang. You got guys that hang around. Where do new outlaw bikers come from? Guys hanging around, that they like, and pick out a few."

   "You were the guy hanging around. You got picked."

   "Yeah. And I won't lie to you. At first? I thought I was learning to… be some kind of tough guy. But, there was something more. See Lightning, in the service? Everyone with two stripes, makes the same pay. I could make the same money these guys made, tick tacking on my computer keys. I was hanging around, training for fun? On my spare time, instead of getting drunk and screwing around like most young guys in that situation. Hey. I'm here for 4 years, to get a path to a college degree. I can get more than that out of it in those 4 years? I'd be a fool to waste that chance. So? I did."

   "What was the something more? Getting to be a tough guy wasn't it, you said that."

   "No. These men… I can't explain it. I was surrounded by men, that for the first time in my life? Lived by some kind of a code. Its the service. Money is out of the equation. Makes the game easier to see. I got exposed to men? That will work twice as hard than they have to, just to get the right thing done and rammed through. They'll take a cut in pay, lose a promotion or even risk a demotion? To do the right thing. To obey the code. Because… that loyalty. When you show it. I can't explain it. Its like… the biggest goddamn rush you can feel. Money? Doesn't matter. Stripes on your arm? Position? Doesn't matter. Personal safety? Fuck that. Its about that feeling, about that goddamn rush you feel."

   "Excitement."

   "More than that. More than just adrenaline. Its… the adrenaline, and someone buying you a beer? That passes. Its the residue left behind. That? Stays with you. You wake up and look at yourself in the mirror? You know you're… a good man. And, other people? Smile. Nod their head. And then one day, when you get pointed at, and used for an example? That guy, right there. That? Is what you want to be. That's… the greatest feeling in the world. And its only in the service, in today's world… where you get to see money and possessions stripped away, to give you a chance, to see the underlying game. Underneath it all. The skeleton. The framework, holding everything else together."

   "The code."

   "Yeah. Its what's really important. Not everyone sees the code, or values it. But, a few do. And for every one of those few that see it, and has one or even many men looking up to him? Those men adopt a little, a lot, or even all of that code. It magnifies the code. It makes it a force to be reckoned with. If you study your history? Less than five percent of the male population in the country… need to adopt a code, and band together… and then you can successfully defend the country from invasion by a superior force, overthrow the powerful tyranny you're living under… you can change everything. With just five percent or less of the men… adopting the goddamn code. Holding it more dear than life itself."

   "That is powerful."

   "It is. Its a rush. Not for money. Not for any gain. In fact? You're sure to have it cost you, and cost you dear. But, that doesn't matter. You get to become a part of something great. Something bigger than yourself. You hear about men like this, all down through history. The Vikings. Being invaded. One man volunteers to hold a tiny little bridge, to cover a retreat. They called them Berserkers. This is a big, strong man. Also? Very brave, and highly skilled at hand to hand fighting. He casts off his armor, because it will slow him down and tucker him out too quick, for how many men he plans on taking to hell with him. There have been men do this, that credible eyewitnesses said took down hundreds of the enemy, before they could be killed. Held that bridge for hours. That? Is a man that lived and died by that code, and knew what it meant. And was eager to show it. You can't order a man to do that. You have to pick out the right volunteer."

   "Vikings…"

   "Not just vikings. Small bands of men have held little choke points throughout history. Its called… making your last stand. Now. Don't go thinking, that the code? Is just for big strong men. Men that are trained fighters. Small men, with no fighting ability whatsoever? Can make a last stand, all on their own? Because they see the skeleton holding all that's left that's good in this world, together. They can see, and embrace that code."

   "Like who?"

   "The good whistle blower. The entire thing is corrupt, or… just plain wrong. They expose it. It costs them their career, usually their wife and kids. Back in my home state? We had what was called, the kids for cash scandal. A judge, who was the only judge in the county hearing and adjudicating all the minors accused of any crimes. See, minor cases? Typically don't go to a jury trial. A judge hears the case, and decides what's to be done. There was one minor judge. He? Owned a huge stake in a legally ran for profit… basically a children's prison."

   "Holy shit."

   "One whistle blower? Brought the whole thing down. Twelve year old. Out past curfew. This judge? Would sentence them to a year in children's jail. Then? The whole staff knew, you made up excuses to keep extending the kid's stay there. They would spend a couple years in basically children's jail. For being out after curfew. Thousands and thousands of kids lives, were ruined. Stories of the abuses that were happening in there? Were over the news for years. Trust me. The whistle blower? Kissed their promising career goodbye. Ended up divorced and broke."

   "Wow. He basically, flushed his entire adult life down the toilet… but he did it to help thousands of people."

   "There you go. Now, I'll probably never be rich, own some big important business. But if I did? A man like that, can make a choice. I can make a million dollars a year, doing the right thing. Making the best product, that lasts the longest, and saving people money. My customers. Or? I could make ten million a year, doing what everyone else would do. Making the cheapest thing that looks good. Spending money on advertising and packaging, instead of a higher quality product. Hiring good used car salesmen? To up-sell clients, ten times what they really need. Now then… I would need some guy, that I could really, really, really trust? To go and look into things. A man that couldn't be bought, to look the other way. A man of actual high integrity. Now. Where am I going to find such a man, I ask you?"

   "Hmm. One of your MPs, I guess."

   "I could. Or? How about that whistle blower. He gave up everything? To do the right thing. I would find him, and pay him twice what anyone else would, to follow my instructions. To do the right thing. To not take bribes or favors, to tell me yes sir yes sir, three bags full? While they went ahead and did it anyways. That man? I could trust him. When the system doesn't reward men with that code? All those people in the middle. Learn that lesson. The wrong lesson."

   "I guess you're describing Swellsville."

   "I am. I'm going to try, to make an example out of that place. An object lesson. So other Swellsville's around the country? See what will happen to you eventually. You take down one setup like that? I figure ten or twenty others, take notice and watch their step. They know not to go too far. I hope those assholes have a shiver up their spine right now? And wonder what that chill in the air is."

   "What is it?"

   "Most human beings are like a flock of sheep. You need predators, to protect the flock from larger predators. Those assholes? Are not used to men like me. Men, like you met. Men who live by the code. Men who will volunteer, to hold that bridge. They think, we're all gone now. They think, they can do as they please and nothing can stand in their way and stop them. They're wrong. I guarantee you that. Any other men looking into this? They could be scared. They could be frightened for their safety. For their precious careers. Or? They might go in, and want that big, sweet suitcase of cash waiting for them. Because when you hold out and pay the code lip service long enough? You get to cash it in at just the right moment and make that big score. But… not these guys."

   "You really trust them."

   "With my life. And them? Me. They have no idea what's coming for them. We can't be bought. We can't be reasoned with. We can't be intimidated. There's a lot of us, all spread out and around. Mostly in law enforcement. Help is phone calls and emails away, if its needed to seal the deal. And we all owe our first loyalty? To one another, and to that code. This will not be a fair fight. If you ever find yourself in a fair fight? Your tactics suck. Hell? Is coming to breakfast. In Swellsville."

   She was quiet before responding, then simply stated her response in a small voice.

   "I feel like I owe you."

   "You don't owe me a thing, Light. If anyone owes anyone? Its me, that owes you. For bringing me this. For giving me a chance, to live up to the code. When its all over, and the dust finally settles? I get that feeling. Might be the last one I get in my life? I wanna savor it. No money. No recognition. I just… get that feeling. Hell might win one day. It probably will win one day. But… it will be after I'm dead and buried."

   "I'd ask where men like you come from, but… the MPs, I guess. That made you great."

   He sighed.

   "No. That… made me good. Great? If there even is such a thing, that happened while I was there. Some guy. Would take some of us aside. Spend time with us. It… was that one guy? That everyone looked up to. That? Was my mentor. It changed my life. That was who taught me all about… karma, and how the universe really worked. Now that? That, was a great man. I aspire to one day live up to just half of what he was."

   "Light? His mentor. The man, is… no longer with us."

   "I'm sorry he's gone, Wizzy."

   "Me too, Lightning. Me too. I don't know why the universe saw fit to take him before his time? But… it did. I know if he was alive… I'd love to go back to him. After this goes down. Just to get that little smile, that little clap on the shoulder. He'd say… well played, very well played. And I'd have loved it."

   She said nothing. She must have her own magic washrag.

   "But, as it is? I'm left behind. He gets the honor of going to Valhalla first, and to prepare a place for me. Its my part, to live up to what he expected of me. So I can claim my seat there when I finally make it. Maybe, because he's gone? Maybe I try a little harder. To live up to it."

   "Well. If there's ever anything that I can do…"

   "Actually, Lightning. There is one thing. Since you mention it."

   "Name it."

   "Hurry here? Isn't like other girls. In many ways. And I like that. And one of those ways, is she's in charge of our relationship. Most guys are placed in charge. By default. They have to play this… stupid guessing game, what the girl expects, wants, or needs. Its like you're never correct, too. You're fair? Oh, you're just too mean. You're nice? Oh, you're too nice. You work hard to get ahead, and provide? Oh. You're not spending enough time with them. And if you don't? Well. Then you're not a good enough provider. They'll replace you."

   "Yeah. I know the stupid games."

   "It starts the instant you meet a girl. I'm supposed to just have a crystal ball, and know she likes me. They won't ever tell you. Hell, girls will tell half the campus? And you're always the last to know. That one girl? The one you wanted to go out with for two years? Yeah… she had the biggest crush on you. As a guy? I'm expected to guess and read minds. If I ever ask any questions? Oh, see. Right there. I ruined it. Because if I have to tell you? Oh, you just killed it. I'm supposed to take charge, and act classy. Order for her at the restaurant, order drinks when we're out. I better read her mind correctly, or I'm just not the right guy for her."

   Lightning smiled and giggled.

   "Yeah, its funny. Except? Its not. All us men hear, is all about this… we're supposed to all communicate. We're supposed to talk, and all this communicate, and talk, and share… but, its all bullshit. Because, I'm expected to read someone's mind. And if I have to ask? I'm just not the right guy. If I really try? Oh, see. The right guy? He doesn't have to try…"

   "Okay. It is funny, but… you're right. It really isn't."

   "Okay. She's sitting right there, so you know I'm not lying. She? Handled everything. Made all kinds of decisions. Any questions I had? Before I ever had to ask them, she… just let me know what I was supposed to do. All my guy friends? Dude, you're fucking up. Again. You need to be the man. You need to show her you can take charge, and make those decisions. She's asking to be put in her place. Well, I'll tell you what, Light. Everything was going too good? To follow any of the advice. I just threw the rule book right out the window, and she handled everything."

   "She made it easy."

   "You could say that. You could also say? She communicated. She talked. Here's what I want. I'm like… oh. Okay. No guessing games. No reading minds. If I sat down and tried to plan my perfect relationship at this moment in time? I couldn't wish for half as good as I feel like I have it. Now, here's the point. She? Is in charge of the relationship. Doing a great job. She asks, is this okay? You like this? I'm like… fine."

   "You sound happy. You like it."

   "No. I love it. She has everything tentatively planned out? We both get doctorates. I should be about, what? Just over 30, maybe 31. Doctor Wizzy. She'll be a doctorate in psych? Doctor Hurry. Around the same time. Then? If everything keeps going fine… she says she'll just tell me, when its time to get married. This all happened, in a couple of hours. On our now infamous third date. I went into the third date? Oh wow. I think I was just informed I'm getting laid. How cool is that? Fun weekend in the woods. Couple hours into it? I got my life planned out. All done for me, mind you. This sound good? Yeah. Okay, sign here. Done deal."

   "Wow."

   "Yeah, Light. Wow. So… here's the point of this. I'm thinking, you should ask her. About last night. Because she's in charge of my relationship. Which as we all three now know? Is… our… relationship now. If you're looking to me to be in charge of… us? Us being me and you. I, look to her? To be in charge of us… us there, being me and her. Which, in a way… makes her sort of in charge of me and you both. I like, no… check that. I love… where this train is headed. I'm not changing conductors in the middle of the tracks. So? My suggestion to you. A polite suggestion, mind you. You should clear last night? With her. Ask her what she thinks. Because… just like she's in charge of everything else in our relationship? She's in charge of the bedroom activities. And I love the results there, too."

   "Glad you're… happy."

   "Little Lightning. You might not realize it? Bored multi-millionaires, get bored with the same old same old? They have to pay thousands of dollars a night, to enjoy what I get for free? On a daily basis. No shit, I'll walk right around a party room full of rich smug assholes? My head held high, my chest all puffed out. Dude? All that cash, all that influence. All those important connections and everything that goes with it. And I got it better than you. You might have one, and that's a maybe. I don't have to spend a dime, and I get two of them. And I got my arm around both of you girls. Proof."

   Light was smiling.

   "Light? Guys are coming up to me at parties. Dude, you're the man. You're a genius. How the fuck do you pull this shit off? What's your secret."

   Light was chuckling while smiling now.

   "Oh god. I gotta hear this one…"

   "First off. I don't even have an answer. Not a real one. I mean, I do, but… its not one they wanna hear. So I find myself just smiling, and making up bullshit. Oh, you know. The basics. Its all about, just being yourself. Being a nice guy. Actually communicating. You know, all the shit our grandparents taught us we thought didn't work? Turns out, that's what works."

   "How do you say it with a straight face?"

   "I just do. Now. Ask her, her opinion. Ask her? For her permission, about last night."

   I'm sure he didn't mean to take the wind out of her sails, but… she got a little quiet all of a sudden. Smiling, still obviously ecstatic, but… quiet. She lost her voice as well, as she gave me a weak smile and looked at me.

   "Um…"

   I smiled back, as sweetly as I could. I said, again as sweetly as I could say it.

   "Little Lightning. My little sis. My roomie, my bestie. Dear?"

   Smile, but a small voice.

   "Yeah…"

   I smiled.

   "I'm pretty sure, that things are fine. It was even cute this morning. I'm not mad or anything."

   "Mm hmm?"

   Mind you, I'm sitting here naked at the breakfast table. I Just got ordered to make breakfast for everyone. And I'm doing it with this slut collar, still locked around my neck. Now you have to imagine it. Lightning was having fun, playing "keep away" with my shirt and panties this morning up in the bedroom. She was having fun and hid the keys to the padlock on the slut collar I was wearing, too. No one can claim I wasn't a good sport about everything, I don't think.

   I flicked the "slut" name tag on my own slut collar.

   "Would you be a dear, and go upstairs for me? Maybe grab the key. And… if you wouldn't mind? Maybe grab my panties and one of my T shirts while you're at it? I'd appreciate it, and… I'll even go ahead and make us all some hot cinnamon rolls for a kind of dessert after breakfast kind of deal. Please?"

   "Um… yeah…"

   She didn't quite run up to grab the key, my panties and a T shirt for me? But… those magic goal scoring feet at the end of those long, lithe dancer's legs? Were moving at a decent clip. She was back smiling, in seconds. A fresh pair of panties for me, and one of my big sleeping T shirts in one hand. Dangling keys to the slut collar's padlock in the other.

   "Now. I'm not mad, dear. I mean that."

   "Okay."

   I scooted my chair to face her.

   "Be a dear, and come stand here. I want to have a little talk with you."

   "Um…"

   I had been smiling, and speaking softly. I now spoke even softer. I know how to train horses, and I know how to get what I want without beating the shit out of the new horse, and ruining its possibilities. Its about balancing fear versus respect. And you do get better results, with a soft voice. That is not to say, however, that the animal shouldn't have some measure of fear or respect for you, all the same. I looked at her. She's very pretty. This is a thoroughbred, not some shit horse you pick up for a 100 bucks and take it off their hands.

   "You're not going to get… Hurricane-d, dear."

   "Okay…"

   She wasn't exactly moving, though. As sweet as I was being? She was now slightly nervous about the turn the conversation had taken. A slight tension.

   I lightly snapped my fingers and pointed at the spot I wanted her feet and therefore her entire body, to occupy. Standing right in front of me. I spoke in barely above a soft whisper, in conjunction with my light finger snap, and my pointing at her spot I indicated.

   "Come."

   She smiled and walked over, and stood right in front of me seated in my chair. She put her feet together and stood still. I had done it sweetly, and I had done it ever so gently? But… I was in charge. I had her obeying my gentle commands.

   "Stay."

   She nodded. I pointed and lightly tapped my index finger where I indicated.

   "Please put my panties and T shirt on the table right there… if you would be so kind."

   She did. I kept my voice soft and gentle.

   "Thank you."

   I snapped my fingers, and pointed one step further. Directly in front of me now.

   "Come."

   She took that one step, and stood there. Feet together. Still? Not sure where things were going. But? Obeying me. I was gently in control. I put my hands on her, and ran my hands over her, from above her hips, down over them. Down her thighs, and back up. I whispered.

   "Good girl. Stay."

   She nodded.

   "If you wouldn't mind, please unlock this collar from around my neck? And place it on the table. Next to my panties and T shirt. Also? I'd like to thank you for getting me a fresh pair of panties. Mine? Were… quite a mess."

   She just nodded and ever so gingerly, unlocked the padlock and undid the collar and placed it somewhat reverently on the table.

   "Thank you. Now, if it wouldn't be too much trouble? I would like you to put my T shirt on for me. Then pull my hair out. I'd appreciate it."

   She nodded, and slowly put one of my big sleeping T shirts on for me. Like my panties, a fresh one. The shirt I had worn to bed last night? Was probably still moist and smelled like pure sex. She ever so gingerly lowered it down, then gently pulled my hair out, and arranged it over the collar. Then looked at me for approval.

   "Good girl. Thank you."

   She pointed at my panties. I shook my head and smiled.

   "Not yet. I'll tell you when, then you can do them. Will that be okay?"

   She nodded.

   "Okay. Now. Be a good girl, and kneel. Knees together. Right where you're standing. We're going to have a little talk. You're not in trouble. And I'm not mad."

   She nodded, a little nervous smile. I all but whispered, as sweetly as I could.

   "Kneel…"

   She did.

   "Good girl. Stay."

   I arranged her hair a little. I wasn't sitting on the lower part of my big fresh sleeping T shirt, because I was sitting when she dropped it down over my arms and head. I lightly pulled the bottom up and exposed between my legs. I slowly brought first one leg up, then the other. I deposited my knees over her shoulders, draping my legs down her back. Like she had seen me do most mornings when I would kiss her Wizzy during our morning ritual while he dressed me.

   I kissed her. Slow, lots of tongue and wet lip action. Yet while a slow and gentle kiss, I definitely kissed her and not the other way around.

   "Now. Do I have your full and undivided attention?"

   "Yes."

   "All right. I'll explain to you, about me and your Wizzy's relationship. Our relationship in the bedroom. He likes me being in charge of our relationship? And he likes me being in charge in the bedroom. He says its hot. He says he doesn't have to guess what I want, or when I want it. He wants to satisfy me, and I want satisfied. So? I simply tell him, then we do it. By this time, I don't even have to tell him. He can tell by how I start, where its probably going. You could say? That I have him trained. To service me. Just the way I want. I think you can tell that by now. Huh."

   She nodded.

   "That's between me and him. I wanted to do something to him, that first weekend together, in the middle of nowhere. All that privacy. He? Wanted me to do it to him. Over our first two easy dates? We'd both been making little jokes. Little… hints? That only people that like what we like? Would get the hints and jokes. I'm pretty sure, you now know what those jokes and hints were. Don't you."

   She nodded again.

   "Yeah, you do. That's our private sex life. Its for us, and no one else. Neither me, nor him? Give out those… details about that hot game we like to play with each other. Its our naughty secret. Is that understood? That its a secret, that doesn't leave the bedroom. Everyone knows we do it, but they don't have any reason to know exactly what we're doing. I expect you? To understand that. I expect you to keep that secret. Or else. Do you accept this?"

   Another nod.

   "Good girl. As you've found out? I'm usually in charge, and I direct the action. Usually. I like it, he likes it. Now, once in a while though. I want something different. Say once a week, once every ten days? I want bent over and fucked hard until I walk funny. So? I simply tell him. Or? By now, he can tell when I'm craving that. Then, as you would say… I get to screech to cat Jesus. He doesn't have to guess what I want. I'm pretty sure you get the picture I'm painting there, huh?"

   Excited little nods.

   "Which brings us around to you, little girl. I won't lie to you. Originally? This was just going to be another hot little game. I was going to be in charge, and I was going to share him with my friend. You. Then, it all changed. So? This all just kinda happened. It is what it is now. It went from a fun little game I made him play? To what we have now. But, this going this far, was not planned. I'm in charge, and especially in the bedroom. So… we're having this little talk. Understand?"

   She nodded.

   "I would like, to hear you say yes, that you understand."

   "Yes. I understand."

   "All right. Here's where we're at. You know about exactly the hot game me and him played. We… played, let's say… an extra hot version of that game? For a while. Then, it dropped back into the regular hot game again. You saw the final results of that extra spicy, temporary version of that game, didn't you."

   She nodded. I whispered in her ear.

   "Please use words. So we're clear we understand each other, dear."

   "I saw."

   "What did you see. Say it."

   "He… you marked him the fuck up. Pretty bad."

   "I did. That was with his consent. That marked, pun not intended, but there it is… that marked? The end of the extra hot version of the game. It ended? With us marking each other, permanently. I own him. He? Is my property. And he owns me back. You were there at that time, and we agreed to the little SS lightning bolts, in that hurricane tattoo you see on him. You? Even got your SS lightning bolts on you, too. If you end up being temporarily with us? However long it lasts, that commemorates the… event. If… it worked out it was longer, or… even ended up permanent? Well… that's always a possibility. If it ever did become… more permanent? I would ask you to include a teeny, tiny saw blade hurricane around the SS lightning bolts you wear. And a simple… Psi Iota Zeta Greek letters. You know. So all three of us own all three of us. I already have my little wizard. I would add those little SS lightning bolts, too. If it became more… permanent. Would you like to say something, dear?"

   "I… wow. It could be… like that? Maybe, I mean."

   "Who knows. Maybe."

   She blushed. A deep shade of crimson. I kissed her some more. Slow and gentle, but as before… I definitely kissed her, and not the other way around. She blushed and accepted my gentle lead.

   "Good girl. Now. As I said. This? Was not all planned. I'm managing it. But… obviously, the time has come. For us to… establish some kind of loose bedroom rules. And I'm in charge of me and him, our relationship. And I'm definitely in charge of our relationship? When we're in bed. But, you already know this. Because you're a smart girl."

   She nodded. I whispered again.

   "Words…"

   "Yes. I know you're in charge. In bed."

   "That's just how me and him, how our relationship? Works. Now. Let's talk about you, and how you fit in. Because the way things are now… you definitely seem to fit in."

   "Just tell me what you want, Hurry. I'll do what you say."

   "Shh. Me and him? We have our own deal. You, and him? Can have your own deal. Now. Last night? Showed me things changed again. I? Was getting my asked for… rough ride I sometimes like. Then, you kind of joined right in. I didn't plan on that. But? I'd be a liar, and a very bad liar at that… if I tried to say I wasn't made to feel very, very… we need to change the bed sheets, and run those through the wash, don't we."

   She started to nod, then stopped and used words.

   "Yes. You… you're not… mad? You sure… seemed like you had… fun."

   "I had always planned on me and you? Sharing him. I never once entertained the idea? Of me and you… having the kind of… direct contact we had last night. So. Here we are. Having this little… talk. You kind of… how do I say this gently. You took, without asking. Didn't you."

   She started sputtering and stammering. I kissed her, to shut her up. Also, to show her with my lips and my tongue, that it had worked out okay.

   "Shh. I just wasn't prepared for what happened. It did, however, work out… okay, I guess we'll say. First things first. I? Am not gay. I'm not a lesbian. I'm not… bisexual. I tolerate those people, but its not what I want for myself. Now. That said… I'm going to ask you some questions? And I expect some straight answers. Ha. Straight… answers. Pun not intended. Are you prepared to look me right in the eyes, and answer my questions, little girl?"

   "Yes. And, I'm sorry I didn't ask y---"

   I kissed her and shushed her.

   "Shh. Just tell me the truth. There's no right or wrong answer. Are you straight?"

   She nodded. Again I whispered.

   "I'm starting to get a tiny bit annoyed? That I have to keep repeating myself. I want words, little girl. So we understand each other, clearly. Speak words. I'm not mad, no matter how you answer it. But… are you straight?"

   "Yes. I'm… straight."

   "Have you ever been with a girl before? Other than… you and Right shared a boy, for fun."

   "That was just the one time. Well… it could happen again. Like, it did with you and me, and Wizzy. But… I'm straight. I swear."

   "Okay. Now… you told me you loved me, and you… did what you did. You look me in the eyes, and you tell me the truth, right here, and right now. Was telling me you loved me, and wanted to do things with me… just part of the hot game you were playing? Or… do you actually love me in some way. Were you just jumping in, and having fun? Or… did you actually mean it, when you said you loved me, and wanted me to love you back. Look me in the eyes when you say it."

   "I meant it. You… let me not just share Wizzy. You… allowed me to… love him, and let him love me back. I… wanted to… I'm not gay, I swear. Can't I… in some way, love you? And not be gay… with things like they are, can't we… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you mad… please, I'm sorry…"

   "Shh…"

   I kissed her some more, to both shut up her stammering and yammering, which gets this nowhere? But also to show her that things could be okay.

   "So are you saying. You, are straight. It was a fun game we were all playing, but… you actually love me, and… wanted that not just for fun, but…"

   She started nodding and I stuck my index finger on her lips. I was still speaking softly, but whispered it firmly.

   "I'm getting tired of repeating myself. Words."

   "I'm straight, but… I love you. And… we're all… doing stuff. Please, don't be mad at me… please don't…"

   "Shh. I thought about this. Do you want to know what I decided?"

   She started to give nervous little nods, like a tiny table top steam engine toy… then caught my look and quickly switched to words.

   "Yes. Please tell me…"

   "All right. Here's how it is. Me and him? We have our own deal. You? And him… have your own deal. That's between you two. But… when it comes to me, and you? Well… that's an entirely different matter now, isn't it. Hmm?"

   "Y- Yes. It is…"

   "Yeah. It certainly is. And after last night? I'll tell you what I thought about. My first thought? In the morning. I was a little freaked out. I'm not saying I was taken advantage of, but… I wasn't asked. It just happened. Now. My first reaction? Well… it was going to go quite differently than this one is going, believe me. But? I counted to ten. Now. Originally? He fought me, on you coming in to play. I made him. We have… what we have. And I was able to make him. So? I did. Now… I kind of forced it on him, and it worked out fine. And that? Is what saved you. Saved you from… me having this talk go differently. Because I did force him to go through with something he originally didn't want to? And here we are, it worked out better than fine. So. Here I am, giving you the benefit of the doubt. That you… kind of forced me into something? That I will admit. It worked out okay. We don't need to wash the bed sheets for nothing."

   I was still talking… soft, but forcefully with her. He started to say something, and I shot him a look, and pointed my finger at him.

   "You? Would do very well right now… to just shut up, and let things go like they're going. Which is fine right now. You? Know a whole lot better than she does, that you’re supposed to run shit past me first. Do I make myself clear? Wiz-zy…"

   He nodded.

   "You can hear the tone of my voice I just used with you. You know better than to just move you're head at me. Words. Go."

   "I shouldn't have interrupted you."

   "Smart boy. All those calculus classes? Really paid off. Now. Back to me? And you, little girl. As I mentioned a couple times already. Me and him? Have our deal. You and him? Hey. Any deal you two want. He can be in charge, you can be in charge. Hell. You can go by day of the week, flip a coin, phases of the moon, that's your business. But. If me and you, are going to be involved like last night? That… is between me, and you. So. We're going to make our own little deal. Do you agree that would be a good idea. Hmm?"

   "Yes…"

   "Okay. As I think you already know. I'm generally speaking? In charge in bed. With him. Except, every so often… well, I like him to ride me hard and put me away wet, and walking funny. Now. Correct me if I read this wrong, but… you're kind of the opposite that way. You? In general… only wanna be in charge about as often as I wanna be ridden hard. Would that be a fair assessment of the situation? If I'm missing it, or getting it wrong? Tell me. I'm open to all input."

   "Well… yeah. You like it rough once every so many days. Something different, right?"

   "Yeah."

   "Same here. Hey. Make me talk to cat Jesus, or I'll get on top and make myself talk to cat Jesus. But? Yeah. Your game is a… like you said. Something different."

   "We're fine. But… if me and you are not just going to be sharing, and… starting to do stuff with each other… you don't just take it on yourself to spring a new trick on me. Especially? When I'm in the state I was last night. Or… with my hands in your belt. Which, was when you decided to… have me show you back that I loved you, as you put it."

   "I'm sorry…"

   "You don't have to be sorry. Like I said. I'm not mad. I made him do something, and it turned out better than okay. You… made me do something? And… it came out okay. So. You're not in any trouble, and I'm not mad at you. Now, that said? Here's our understanding. He? Is submissive to me. In bed. You understand that by now, right?"

   "Yeah. Not hard to figure that one out."

   "So. Me and you. Wanna take a wild stab in the dark, how that would go best. Hmm?"

   "You like to be in charge. During sex."

   "Uh huh. Now, as you saw. Once in a while? Yeah. Me and him switch. When I feel like it. Now… me and you? We can have whatever understanding… we come up with. But. You need to ask my permission, before you take it upon yourself… to do something like you did last night."

   "You are mad at me…"

   "I'm not mad. What I am? Is me and him. We set our boundaries a long time ago. We know how it is. You? Are a new thing. We never really set any clear boundaries. And last night? As good as it turned out… well… we're setting those boundaries. Me and you. Our boundaries. Not set in stone yet. What would make it work. For you."

   "Whatever you want? Has been working fine."

   I smiled. I smoothed her hair, to calm her back down. To show her I wasn't mad.

   "Have things been okay up to now? We share him. You're free to make your own deal with him. That part works fine, right?"

   "Yeah. Its been… wonderful."

   "Okay. I don't want you to think, that… you have to listen to me. Like he does. We don't necessarily have that same… arrangement. I'll say it straight out. Me and him. He has to listen to me. And… whatever I feel like doing with him. Or… to him? I don't ask him. I just do it. Its our arrangement. Its our fun game. If I feel like handcuffing him, and putting a whip across his ass? I do it. I think you know that."

   "Yeah."

   I smoothed her hair, and smiled.

   "Me and you. We don't have that arrangement. But. You will not… do without asking. You? Will seek my permission. First. Is that clear?"

   "Yes…"

   "Okay. Now then. You never said anything to me, about anything up until now. Have… you been okay with everything?"

   "Yeah. I… liked it."

   "Is there anything I do, that you don't like?"

   "Its been fine."

   I smoothed her hair a lot more. Smiled a whole lot more now.

   "Okay. He? Is submissive to me, sexually. You? Well, you seem to be sexually submissive. To him. That doesn't mean, that you automatically need to be submissive, to me. Okay?"

   "Well. I guess I'm like him, that way. Letting you… decide things… been working fine, up until now."

   "Aw. Is that something you… liked? About us. You're… comfortable, with it like that."

   "Mm hmm. Very comfortable. With… doing what you wanted. And last night?"

   "Yes…"

   "I just… you wanted him doing that. I just… joined in. Did what I thought you wanted. I meant what I said. I… wanted you to love me, too. Like you love him. What I did with Right? That was just for fun. With the boy that weekend. But this? This is… different."

   I smoothed her hair some more. Then, I kissed her as well, on top of all the gentle hair smoothing.

   "Shh. We're all good now. Everything's fine. Between me? And you. Its all right now. Do you wanna know, what I decided about this. Hmm?"

   "Yes."

   "Once a week, or whenever I want him to ride me hard? You… are allowed to do. You know. What you did last night. How would that be. Is that what you want?"

   "Mm hmm."

   "All right. Shh. Its fine. Now. Last night? You said you wanted me to prove I loved you. Like you loved me. And I did, didn't I?"

   "You did."

   "Uh huh. And you liked it?"

   "Yes. Very much. More… than I thought I would."

   "Same here. But we're… not gay. We're not lesbians. Or bisexual or anything."

   "No. Just… part of a fun game. Jesus, Hurry. We're with a boy."

   "Well. You can see where I was a little freaked out."

   "You got your girl cherry popped, that's all."

   "Girl cherry?"

   "Hmm. Look. I'm pretty sure. Everyone by now. The internet? Who hasn't seen two girls with a guy, you know."

   "Yeah."

   "Those two girls. They're not gay. They're not bi, are they? No. They're just the stars of the show, that's all. Porn stars do it all the time. They're not gay. No one calls them gay. We were just… playing porn star. That's all. What. Its just a hot game. We share Wizzy."

   "Okay."

   I smoothed her hair a couple of final times? And affectionately ran my index finger down the tip of her nose, playfully. While smiling.

   "You honestly love me?"

   "Yeah."

   "Okay. I love you, too."

   "Thank you."

   "You're welcome. Now. Would you like to apologize to me?"

   "Mm hmm. I'm sorry. I should have asked you first."

   "Shh. That's fine. I want your apology? A different way. I want you to… show me. That you love me. Will you do that for me, right now. Hmm?"

   She blushed up a storm.

   "Yeah…"

   "All right… lift your chin up, then…"

   She blushed deeper red, while I put the slut collar on her. Smiling as I locked the little padlock. Flicked the "slut" name tag. I grabbed her by the hair, and she blushed the deepest shade of red I think she could possibly flush into. As I pulled the bottom of my T shirt back the rest of the way, and guided her head down to take her "apology" from her.

   I had trouble not making noise in short order. While I still had the power of intelligible speech though, I looked across the table at him, and pointed my finger at him.

   "Now. You, on the other hand? We… mm. We have an entirely different understanding, and you know it. I'm going to take your apology? Upstairs… ah… right after I finish taking hers, down here. And, mm. I'm pretty sure you know how I'm going to… ah. Take your apology. And she's going to… mm. Watch me correct you. Just so we all… ah. Understand each other."

   I couldn't believe where I was, and what was going on. What I was enjoying. He was I guess still operating on my earlier instructions to shut up and not say a word. He just cleared the dishes, cleaned up, and wiped the counters and table off. Then sat down and… well? Enjoyed the show. I ended up making quite a bit of noise, and I ended up with two fists full of that dirty blonde hair. And she knelt there, and showed me that she loved me, and appreciated me having her in our relationship.

   Some part of me knew that it wasn't the most comfortable thing in the whole world, to kneel on hard tile for any period of time, least of all as long as she did. She didn't complain though, and some part of my naughty compulsion felt like I was giving her a mild punishment, kneeling on the cold hard tile, while she serviced me so thoroughly. I never said a word, and she apologized to both holes, and I mean quite thoroughly. Kneeling in front of me. Acknowledging that I was indeed, in charge of the whole relationship.

   The compulsion flashed a naughty snapshot into my brain, of me having both of them, at the same time. Servicing me like this, at length, in bed. I grabbed each as I felt like it, and decided which face to wipe off on. Both with their hands cuffed behind their back, both probably blindfolded. Maybe, even after a nice switching for both. Who knows. I might just have to get one more matching "slut" collar. I might have two, well trained and dirty little sluts on my hands now. Me and him? We were both winning. He got two girlfriends, and even got to have both at the same time. I now got a pair of dirty little sluts to enjoy as I saw fit. Christ. I had to grab a clean dishrag and bite on it, to keep from talking to cat Jesus.

   By the time we got upstairs, I was definitely planning on correcting him, in some fashion. I smiled and told him I was postponing it. For one thing, things had gone well. I was slightly torn, though. Can't lie about that. I definitely had my… girl cherry popped last night. She had a line of reasoning, in her childlike innocent way. Porn stars really weren't gay or bi. They weren't talked about that way, anyways. Somehow, when you simply up front admitted you were going to be a bad girl and not be ashamed of it? Somehow, some way, you were handed a free pass. Two girls? Lesbians. Oh, you were with a guy? Sharing him? Oh, that's different.

   There's a different set of rules for boys and girls. Boys aren't supposed to kiss, girls are. Boys that are friends? Their lips better never touch, and everyone knows it. That's boys, girls, and everyone else too. Girls? Hell. Everyone has seen friends that are girls kiss each other's cheek, even a quick peck on the lips during moments of girly jumping glee.

   Men in France? Sure, its a custom to kiss on each cheek. But its cultural and there's nothing gay about it. A father kisses his son on the forehead and puts his arm around him, no different other than showing affection. But… men and women are definitely different.

   Which is hysterically funny to me. The new thing is to preach how equal we both are, men and women. Then? We have all these rules, how different both are. We all know men and women are different creatures. It doesn't end at thingies and hoo hoo's either. It doesn't stop at average size and strength. It certainly goes further. Hell, even the same segment of our society pushing this supposed "equality" meme? Is also the same segment pushing for special rules for women.

   Its… insane.

   If Wizzy and Target started kissing on the lips? That's definitely gay. If they kissed, while sharing a hot Latina one night? That's extremely gay. And if one sucked the other off that same hot night… that's beyond gay and off into… the wild pink yonder, flapping wrists.

   But I do believe men and women are different. We're completely different creatures. I don't subscribe to the "modern" bullshit. So, I guess having a completely different set of rules for what happened with me and Light last night? Makes a strange bit of sense. I have to agree with Light's 14 year old assessment. We were playing porn star. Those girls? Are the star of that show.

   In the end, I guess I didn't just get my girl cherry popped, and hell, my throat cherry popped as well. I had my own little hat trick. Got my… bad girl cherry popped, too.

   And Wiz. I've been through these little trivia battles with him before. Every once in a while, I win some occasional minor trivia battle, sure. But? Its rare. Out of 100 little trivia battles, I can only think of one that I was right and he was wrong, hands down when we looked it up. That was a typical "who is singing that song" argument.

   When you have two teams matching up again. One team, having a 99-1 record. The other? 1-99… well, the smart money goes on everyone knows which team. Based on that track record, I'm not willing to bet or risk much on his assessment of what's in my own bible and what isn't in it. He jokingly calls the Bible, the "manual". As a computer programmer, the manual is holy writ. Its gospel handed down from some computer god for that computer language. All answers you could need? All errors or unexpected consequences can be divined by studying and properly figuring out everything in that manual.

   And when you're a sports jock in a math or computer class, its what the math jocks and computer jocks always point out. The math jock sitting next to you, will just point to the third rule of… whatever. The computer jock the next computer over? Will take you to the manual, flip through some pages… and say there you go.

   We do it in psychology. Someone is arguing, and the professor will simply say something like… did we not go over this, in chapter three? I know we're on chapter seven, but… hey, once again. It was in the book. Same book we're still on. Math people. Didn't you read the book? Read the rules we're using. Computer people. Its in the manual. Psychology class? Chapter three.

   Why was my religion so different? The priest or the nun always did encourage you not to read the book. Not for yourself. You're supposed to simply let them tell you what's in the book. What the things in the book mean.

   "Wiz?"

   "Yes, hun."

   "If there really is nothing in the book about fish on Friday… where did it come from then?"

   "Honest?"

   "Of course."

   "Well. In the middle ages? There was this pope. Now, you have to understand that back then, the church was not just religion, it was political structure, and the nobility class, all in one. What you think of today, and getting a son to be a… senator? That was back then, to get your son to be a bishop or something. Making the pope? Something like the… president. More even. More than one country, so, the pope was kind of an emperor."

   "Fish, dear."

   "Yeah. Anyways, this pope inherited a… fish farm. It was a big one, and he wasn't making a lot of money with it. When it became the word of the lord, to eat fish on Fridays? Good Friday, lent, then fish every Friday? Wow. All of a sudden, well, there weren't enough fish to be had. He made a killing. It… became a religious custom. And yeah. Jesus did a few things with fish a couple times, teaching, said a few things. The average person? Hey, this sounds right. Now here we are."

   "You don't eat fish on good Friday, do you?"

   "No, I don't. Its the one day of the year, I enjoy going anywhere out to eat. Go to a steakhouse with no seafood, or an expensive Mexican restaurant? Park right at the door. The manager comes out all smiles and seats you himself. Its the one day a year, I get to see what its like to be… the mayor going out to eat, and everyone's treating me like royalty."

   "You're right. The bible is filled with lots of… military commando raids."

   "Oh, you gotta read the book as an adult. Lots of boring parts, I'll grant you. But… it has its moments that make up for it. Right off the bat. Cain kills his brother Abel. I mean, we're taking cold blooded murder, brother against brother. Jacob and Esau? One is pretending to the blind father, to be the other, to steal the birthright. The mother is in on the whole stinking plot, like a lying, conniving, cunt. There's… incest. Young beautiful women, sneaking in and bearing children by older, important relatives."

   I tilted my head. He was right. They barely mention these stories in bible class, to children. But, as you get older? You hear about them. You're not encouraged to read them? But… you know they're in there. Somewhere.

   "You're right…"

   "Oh, yeah. I read Charles Dickens growing up. Prince and the Pauper? I'm pretty sure that's the story of Joseph going off, and ending up the Pharaoh's right hand man. Getting revenge then forgiving his brothers for beating him up, and selling him off into slavery and lying and telling their father, they didn't know what happened to him. I see the same story, as the foundation for The Count of Monte Cristo, too. Its the classic rags to riches, get your revenge story. I mean, there's little parts? Pretty exciting."

   "I guess so."

   "And make no mistake about it. There were exciting battle stories. Men of the sword, holy men… going on commando raids and shit. And they had two kinds of kings in those days. Sissy kings? Like… emperors who sat behind the lines, and sent men into war. And they had hard ass kings. Who led the charge, right at the front. Right in the heart of the battle. A king like that? Had a sword bearer."

   "Hmm. He had such a cool sword, there was some guy carrying it around on a… velvet purple pillow, huh."

   "Oh, no. The king's sword bearer? That was the deadliest and also most trustworthy and bravest man, in the entire kingdom. This is the guy that went into battle with the king, and was at his side the entire time. This is the guy, that would slay 40 men, back when men fought hand to hand, with swords. That man? Went everywhere with the king, day and night. The… original secret service hero, I guess. That's the kind of guy, that would handpick 40 brave and capable men. Go… sneak up a drainpipe. Get into the city in the middle of the night? And raise hell on a zero dark thirty commando raid, then throw open the city gates, and let the main army in to loot the place. Its actually? Got a lot of those exciting stories."

   I thought about it.

   "Yeah. Those were good men, too. I mean, they weren't bad guys or anything."

   "They weren't just good men. They were great. They were strong, they could fight well. They were brave. They were also honest and loyal. To a fault. And… devious and sneaky in battle."

   I sighed.

   "Yeah. You're right. They do skip right over those stories, and keep pushing the turn the other cheek narrative."

   "They do. Lots of weird stories. There's even scary stories. I mean, imagine god commanding the angel of death. To go, and kill the firstborn sons all throughout Egypt. You wake up the next morning? All those dead bodies. Can you imagine, if you take it at its word, of course. What it would look like? I mean, to be a firstborn son. To wake up. In the middle of the night. See the angel of death himself. Standing there. He's come for you."

    "I bet that's… a whole, different sort of angel, than the one god sent to feed the starving people wandering in the desert."

   "It was justice. There had been a prophecy. That the slaves would have a leader born, and he would be the firstborn son. So? The wicked Pharaoh. Had his army, go and kill every firstborn male son, of the slaves. To get him, before he could grow up, to do his thing. Missed him though. His ass got sent down the river Nile, in a basket. So? In the end… god saved up all that bad karma… killing all those innocent firstborn male sons… and sent it right back at them."

   "He sent the angel of death. To… do his thing."

   "Yeah. Like I said. Imagine being the firstborn son in a house in Egypt that night. You wake up. There he is. The angel of death. See, the old testament? He was a god of war. He was a god of wrath. He didn't fuck around. They had big cities back then, if you read it. And they were just like big cities today. Full of thieves, perverts, liars, cheats. And the worst? Was Sodom and Gomorrah. Twin cities, like… St. Paul and Minneapolis, today."

   "Hmm. My grandma called that… a bunch of godless heathens."

   "Yeah. The… holy prophet. Was scared when god told him, he was going to destroy the one wicked city. Kill everyone, set an example. The prophet begged, please don't. God sent him. Find me 40 good, honest men. I'll spare the entire city."

   "He find them?"

   "No. He tried. They laughed at him, and they beat him. He came back begging. To god. Please don't kill everyone. God said, okay. Find me 20 good men. Same thing. They beat him and laughed at him, and ran him out again. He still begged god to forgive them. God said find me 10 good men, that's all I need."

   "I bet he didn't find them."

   "No. He didn't. In the end? God told him, okay. This is it. You bring me? Just one, good, honest, decent man. And? I'll spare the entire place. Bring me just one good man."

   "I'm pretty sure I know how this went…"

   "Yeah. So? God consumed them all. The big city. Pillar of fire came down from heaven, and destroyed the whole shebang. Not one was spared. God set an example."

   Little Lightning was in her own room for the time being, getting her stuff together for working out.

   "Swellsville…"

   He just looked over at me, sitting next to me on the foot of the bed. He waited a few seconds.

   "Yeah."

   I didn't even shrug. I just tilted my head. He spoke quietly.

   "You know what went on there. You know it went on before, and you know its only gotten worse. You think if I sent you there, you could find me 40 good men?"

   "If there are 40 good men there, they keep their heads down and their mouths shut."

   "That sounds like a no. Now, I'd ask for 20. Then 10. Then 5. And in the end? I just ask you. Where was that one, good, decent man. All he had to do? Was get in his little car, and drive off. Tell… someone. Anyone. Hell's bells, honey… a reporter? Would have loved this story."

   "Yeah."

   "I'm not asking for one man to rise up, and take on the whole damn town. Just… one person. Out of 880 people? Is that so much to ask for. Go, and… you don't have to even be brave. Just… go find someone. An… anonymous tip. A letter to someone. Anything. I don't ask for strength. I don't ask for personal bravery. I understand fear for yourself, your family. Your job, your house, your car. All you're cool shit you have stored in your garage and your shed. But… everyone stood by, and watched an innocent 14 year old girl, get…"

   I sighed.

   "Three people? Came up with the idea. More people, stood with them, and helped them do it, and to keep doing things like that. A whole Santa's naughty list of men? Bought tickets. Stood in line. To ride that ride. Then everyone else? They helped make it worse. As if, somehow being born the daughter of the town's lead whore… made it okay. Then. Five years go by. Five long years, mind you. Not one person, saw fit to think… hey. Maybe, this was wrong, maybe we should call someone. Anonymously. Send an email, from an internet coffee shop somewhere. Write a letter to an editor, and not sign it or put a return address on it. Something. Anything. That's all I ask for."

   I whispered.

   "Maybe someone did…"

   "No. Boys been quietly checking. Swellsville? Not one single tip, anywhere, pops up on any law enforcement's radar. Not one mention of anything like that in any media. Not a word. So I ask you again. Where… is that one good man, you can bring me. To spare that town."

   I stayed silent.

   "Yeah."

   I whispered to him though.

   "What does that make you. God, or something…"

   He waited before whispering back.

   "No. Nothing like that. The only people I have any soft spot in my heart for, though?"

   "Well, this is something new. Who…"

   "Light said, there were a couple boys. Who sort of tried, to stick up for her after it was all over. Everyone made fun of them, and they couldn't pull it off. And, like I said. I can understand people being in the middle. Wish they could help, and don't know how. Those are the only people, in the entire town? That tried to take a single step, in the right direction. Get me those names, would you?"

   "Yeah."

   "Thanks."

   We ended up another typical morning, finally. Light came in. Made the ticking noise with her fingertips on the open door frame. Weak little smile, holding up her clothes in her hands. I nodded. She quietly came and sat beside me, on the foot of the bed. He dressed both of us. She covered her little smile with one hand, when he gave her laces each their own little kiss. The way an indulgent father does it for his own treasured little girl. We both got our own brief legs over the shoulders morning kisses.

   Ritual.

   Then? We went out, and he ran us both half to death. Lightning tried her best to kill herself, working out. She wanted ran more. Then, she wanted to work even more. In the end, I didn't know whether to feel proud or guilty. Watching her. Doing her amazing things that it seems like only she can do them. All but killing herself, trying to win. Giving everything she had to give and more, trying to give me what I wanted. My damn ring.

   I knew I still wanted my championship for my own selfish reasons, but I now wanted it even more. For her as well. She already wanted it for her own reasons, and now she wanted to give me what I wanted. I had to follow my own rules, I had to practice what I preached, or I was a complete fraud. That was love. That was what love was. Well, it was the signpost that love existed. You wanted things for the other person now, not just for yourself. I loved her, because I wanted to give her what she wanted. She wanted to give me what I desired, back. So, she loved me too.

   And Swellsville? Oh god. It wouldn't happen overnight, but it was going to happen. And whatever it was? It was going to be biblical. Nothing was off the table, for wrath and vengeance. These people really existed. You simply had to look into Elise's eyes, to see she wasn't kidding. And really, she was maybe one of the most dangerous of the whole lot of them, when you came right down to it.

   She regularly took human life. She didn't have any qualms about it, either. Hey guys. You want a real dead hooker in the trunk? How about a real one. I'll give you the mother. The little smiles and nervous laughter that went around the table were their best attempts to disguise it, but… if they encouraged her? She'd do it. She was recruited by… the people that in the back of your mind? You knew they existed, but you slept better at night telling yourself it was just in stories, that such people were really out there.

   But? There really were government agencies. Recruiting professional killers. Sending them out to kill. Whatever important man, for whatever important reason. Her nickname wasn't the Black Widow for nothing. Hell. I wouldn't want to be the stalker or violent rapist that looked up in the dark parking lot late one night, and saw Wiz smiling at me. That would be far too close to looking up and seeing that the angel of death himself had come for you. They were lucky he left them half alive when he was done.

   Elise didn't. She went out hunting, and everyone knew straight up from the get go. You take her bait? You're dead. I realized, that Wiz might have even killed one of these monsters before. Once it crossed my mind? I was shocked to find out, that it didn't really bother me. Not really.

   It was going to be biblical. They were going to use cunning and trickery, to get it done. Someone might actually look up one night, and see that the angel of death really had come for them.

   But these were weighty matters, and while the time would certainly come that they needed dealt with, that time was not now. The last several days until Right and Target got back, the three of us tended to ritual. We ate, we worked out, we had fun in the sexual sense. We quickly got back to therapy as well. I was amazed to find out that Lightning's "new" personality stuck around, and seemed like it might even be permanent.

   I wanted to keep forging ahead on therapy. Both in the police therapist sense, and in the personal therapist sense. Light was enthusiastically on board with both. I also wanted to not be lazy and keep making progress. Professional law enforcement was donating time and expertise out of the goodness of their own hearts, and I would feel that Catholic specialty, guilt, if I felt I was being selfish and only tending to fun or personal enjoyment while other people were doing the heavy lifting on this case.

   Lightning's personality reminded me somewhat and in some ways, as a sort of female Wiz. That is to say, fairly quiet, but with a quick and easy slight humor. At first I thought she might be imitating him whether consciously or subconsciously. Until I stopped and realized. They had the same rare personality type. Sigma. They would tend to be quiet and unassuming without any pressing need for anything else.

   The new personality was, so far, remarkably predictable. Pretty much the same thing day in and day out. A slight quiet and mild depressive state when recounting "details" of the bad thing during therapy, but hell, that was optimum.

   I felt a mild guilt when I lied or played games with Lightning, in the pursuit of extracting more information. For instance, I gained the names of the boys that had tried sticking up for her and been socially punished for trying it. Instead of just telling her what I needed and why, I went about it sideways. I played it along the lines that we were always dealing with such heavy subject matter all the time doing this, hey, maybe this would be a slightly lighter subject.

   While it didn't brighten her mood, it was a slight lift back to her new baseline to temporarily think and remember and talk about the few boys that had ever tried to take a step in the right direction concerning her and her treatment. I told her it was a nice break from the same old same old in therapy, and spent the rest of the session getting as much detail about those boys as possible.

   There were three. One "main" one, and two of his friends. By main, I mean to say he had the most dealings of the three with her. If any of the other two were present, he was always there. Also, from everything she said and even glossed over conversations with him she recalled? To me, and to her admission… he seemed to have the most empathy.

   "Light?"

   "Hmm…"

   "I don't expect you to read minds, but you were there and I wasn't. If you had to guess, do you think this main kid that showed this empathy to you for a short time… would you guess he did it because he liked the pretty girl? Or… would you say it was out of a sense of… no ulterior motives that way."

   "Uh… hard to say. I am a girl, he is a boy. A boy spends any time talking to a girl? Could be some interest."

   "You did say he had his own girlfriend at the time."

   "Every now and then? Some boy might try to talk to me once in a blue moon. I always got a sense, I was being felt out. See if I was easy pickings. Of course, that could just be me and my paranoia."

   "Easy pickings?"

   "Town whore. Dirt. No friends. Starved for attention. After what I'd been through? My mind conjures up all kinds of… angles someone might have."

   "Still. They were the only kids in town, if only for a wee little bit of time? That were temporarily willing to be seen briefly in public with you."

   "Well. If any boy did speak more than two words to me? They kinda had to do it in public. I wouldn't go anywhere with any boy, for any reason. And definitely not, if he had one or both of his friends with him. Every boy got that treatment though. If you were trying to get some privacy with me? No way."

   "That's understandable, on your part. So these are the only boys, that ever stood around in public briefly, talking to you normally. The others, you got the sense they were seeing if they could get a quickie if you had to guess, these were maybe not doing that."

   "Well… how could I know that."

   "Mm. The only case I could make, that especially this main one might have been genuine? Is that I notice he took hell for trying to stick up for you."

   "For a little bit? Yeah. Then he was gone too. I mean, do I blame him? Not really. If anyone got seen talking to me, more than ten seconds? You would get teased and fucked with by everybody else. But I mean… even after he knew, I would never, and I mean never… go anywhere alone with one or more boys? Yeah, he still talked to me for a little bit, for a little while. In public. The only way a boy could talk to me. So… I'll give him some credit. He tried a little."

   "Okay. So, he doesn't get an A for effort. That said, he doesn't get an F for no effort, like everyone else. He gets… a D or better."

   "Yeah. You wanna know his… brownie point he gets?"

   "Sure."

   "He would be, maybe the only person? That didn't argue with me, when I said I was raped. The only one that believed me, that people got me wasted, then did that to me. Or, said he believed me, anyways. I can't read minds."

   "And, you said you might have still talked to him for a few minutes at a time, standing outside the convenience store… if it hadn't of been for his girlfriend starting hell over so much as talking to you."

   "Yeah."

   "Well, that's something. He already had a girl, he risked hell for even talking to you, and did it anyways. If only for a little bit. And, even after he knew up front, that you would never go anywhere with any boy, not even him."

   "That's about it. I don't really have any happy memories after 14. As you can see, my idea of a happy memory? Is just one that didn't suck as bad as all the others. Still sucked though. That was my world."