PART THREE – Win Some, Lose Some

   My skills to be an effective amateur lookout, were worked on and improved. Elise and Wiz would have me take them out, and go on a fake "mission". My job was to sit and be lookout. Target and one or two of the other guys, eventually got in on the game. One of them would stop by, and play passerby that noticed me. Talk to me, see how well my cover story came out. They even sometimes pretended to be a cop having noticed me. I had set their senses off, so they were quizzing me.

   Everyone seemed satisfied. We were on another foray into Hellsville. It was early into summer break. Since I had done well on our earlier little missions, I had a bigger role this time. I would make contact with Wiz's CI. Since I had done well getting him out and into the parking lot for his recruitment, he had seen my face. Sure, I was a slutty French maid then for Halloween and Elise had relined my face and painted me up, but I had been the least hidden of the three of us.

   He would recognize me. He still hadn't seen their faces, he had no way to blow them in if he even wanted to. Just like a rape therapist that had been raped, so she understood and performed her job better. Yet couldn't ever tell exactly "why" that was so? I had some small experience slipping into a role, and taking it on. This was like being sweet mommy. Or stern mommy. Or even Vaquera. It was just another role.

   Elise and Wiz had given me rudimentary handgun instruction. They bypassed what Wiz called the "rabid biker gang" scenario like they sometimes practiced. Taking shots from behind fake "cover". Switching cover for groups of shots. Watching footwork, coordinating their salvos. Dropping clips and reloading as if they were breathing. All I had to do was a couple things they worked on me for.

   I worked with a simple gun. A little 38 special, 5 shot snub-nose. No safety. Jamming impossible. Just point and pull the trigger, it works every time. General center of the chest at reasonably close ranges. Then? Playing. Shooting very slowly, as if aiming a 22 rifle at a groundhog back on the farm. Just with a 38 snub-nose. I was amazed. Everyone thinks of a little snub-nose revolver as a "belly gun", but Wiz in particular showed me what he could do with it.

   He could get a single well aimed shot off at 25 yards, and hit the chest. He could go slower and more carefully and get the shot at 50. That "target practice" when folded back into the close, 2 to 7 yard practice? Allowed me far more confidence. I could slow down and group up on center mass, or cock the thing and put that one slow shot more precisely.

   At the end, they both introduced me to cardio triangle. Just above center mass, was where experts shot for. Center mass was for the great unwashed masses. A triangle went from nipple to nipple, and up to the hollow of the throat. A hit in there? Filled up both lungs fast. Regular center mass shooting, you were looking to dump in lung hits. Takes time to bleed out. But, lung hits were not immediately fatal. The person shot might go down, in shock. But, they cautioned me. Some people know they're dead, and use that last little bit of time to stand up and under adrenaline and shock, do an incredible amount of damage.

   It was a macabre little medical class. They explained, that you were poking holes in the lungs, primarily. To bleed out the target. Now. The lower in the lung that hole was placed? They could still sort of "breathe" above that hole, and when it was low enough, it kept the lung drained out. They might go down in shock like most people, but they didn't have to. They had a possible window of time.

   Shooting in the cardio triangle, though. Holes were high enough up, that there was no draining the lungs. All the blood drained down into them, they drowned quickly and efficiently. No time window for them. They went unconscious in seconds, not minutes. They had far less time to try to raise hell, if that was their thing.

   Cardio triangle shots prevented that. If you have the chance, first careful aimed shot goes into the cardio. If you have to "ventilate", the rest can go quick, into center mass. But, the pros? Could pump shots at close ranges reliably into the cardio triangle. That's what Wiz and Elise practiced when they set up multiple 2x4's with the black silhouettes. They were going back and forth, popping up from switched covers in a well oiled and well practiced rhythm. Taking cardio shots, one or two and back down and moving and popping up again.

   This was something close to "fun" for them, and it created a macabre scene for me. They had such smiling fun and childish camaraderie for it? It took on a resemblance to a kid's game. Just like Lightning was my own "Dorothy" and her version of the Wizard of Oz was supremely fucked up. This was the fucked up version of whack the mole. It was now "whack the human". The two moles were popping up and taking accurate shots on the human hunters. Smiling and joking and having fun while going about it. Why it struck me as macabre so strongly, I wouldn't even know.

   They were comfortable, against more than two on two when they worked together. As far as they were concerned, cops and even city cops? Were the center mass amateurs. They only handed out respect privately for SWAT and other hard entry tacticians that drilled and practiced.

   Just like Elise's sport judo primer had been on the basics, this was the same. The rank basics, a taste of a few tricks that were easy to grasp. Nothing would happen that called for it, but if it did? Wait for your moment, and don't hesitate. Once you go for it, you follow through. You finally pull that thing, you kill your threat. Then? Get moving, get down, get the hell out.

   They would take over from there, if what wouldn't ever happen? Did. They talked easily about what ifs. What if… several dirty cops came to take them out? Pffft. Fucking amateur hour. Wiz and Elise both said it. They'd come as a tight group, thinking numerical superiority counted for something. They would spray and pray, and get taken out by accurate small arms fire. I realized, this would be like several regular beat cops, going up against a two man SWAT team. It wouldn't even be fair.

   They could tell from the noises the "hits" made, whether they were hitting flesh, bone and tissue? Or vests. If they heard vests, it was center mass vest shots to drop them, and neck shots to bypass the vests. I couldn't ask for better backup. Christ, everything in the service was a notch up from the civilian world. The "beat cops" were more like SWAT guys. And their SWAT guys? Surely "hoo boy" material.

   When those two did their thing, it was impressive. You could easily forget Elise was a female. They both would take a belt with extra magazines. Longer ones that held even more rounds than their main ones. They could spread out, and pop up or out from behind their "covers" and take a shot or two, well aimed and pop back up, back and forth, back and forth. As they spread out, it separated the fire from the crowd they faced bunched up. They both had reloads down to breathing, they practiced with their weak hands. They could reload and get ready to fire with one hand if they were hit to stay in the fight.

   Near the end, they gave a one… two… three silent count before they both suddenly came out and stayed. Popping targets one after another and not going back. That was the final salvo, after individual targets had been taken out, before the herd realized they were done for and split up and ran like mice.

   Wiz could shoot with both hands. His left wasn't nearly as good as his right, I guess he had a "tardhand". His right hand was the slow, aimed skill shots. His left? Was more of a center mass only hand. From seven to ten yards and in though, he didn't really have to aim, not like I had to. They called it "point shooting". That close in, he could just point and hit chest without aiming or thinking.

   Elise concentrated when practicing solo on one handed shooting. Her life as rape bait, didn't allow for belts and harnesses. One good handgun, a couple spare mags lining the purse. I tried to imagine a couple dozen of these, holding an airbase when a group came suddenly to try to force their way in. A couple dozen of these? Would be like a small army. And Wiz? As impressive as he seemed at this, in the back of my mind I remembered. He was just the mascot.

   The team tomboy and the mascot sidekick? Were terrifying. What in the hell were the elite ones like. The ones that got picked for the honor duty, overseas remote airbase protection. They would be death incarnate. To get a better, more effective two man backup team? I'd need access to the secret service, or a couple of Navy seals. Hell, Wiz and Elise's mentor, trained those guys for advanced hand to hand. All the MP's went on weekend exercises to get taught with and by special forces. To evade larger forces fanned out to find them, to track prey. To learn how to feel and smell a trap, before it sprung. Well? Until I'm elected first female president, this will have to do.

   I'd be wired. If I said "flying monkeys", well… the angel of death was near the front door, and the devil was near the back door. They both came in and spread sunshine around, and I'd seen enough times what kind of hell they could raise if it was called for. It wouldn't happen… but if it did? Say "flying monkeys", and either get down and get cover, or pop my threat and get down and get cover. They were a couple of seconds at best from hitting both entrances and exits, stay out of the line of fire. Whichever one hit entry first, the fire was drawn their way, then the other would make entry and be at their backs suddenly.

   If you start knocking Little Lightning or Right around too hard? The Hurricane moves up and starts taking you out. If the Hurricane was in trouble, I guess the devil and the angel of death came in and brought the biblical pillar of fire with them. I can only imagine what its like, if these two called in a couple dozen of the rest for all hell breaking loose, Christ almighty.

   But, nothing of that sort was going to happen. They both assured me, life was nothing like you saw on TV. Now, those wild shootouts did sometimes happen? But you were statistically more likely to get struck by lightning. I jokingly pointed out Target. He was confronted with a lifetime of lukewarm coffee, lukewarm pastrami sandwiches, even lukewarm beer. That was rare, they claimed.

   I looked at Elise, then. They finally "got it", and Elise explained she worked in a certain kind of job, that was all. She was undercover rape murder bait. I pointed out that they had me working undercover, and there was rape in play. They countered that this was no murder case. Touche. I would be statistically fine, statistically more likely to get struck by lightning than see a shot fired from either the good guys or the bad guys.

   I asked what the guns and all the practicing was for then. They both chuckled. Elise took that one.

   "You have car insurance, Hurry?"

   "Sure."

   "Well, why?"

   "Uh, I have to have it. Its a law."

   "Same here. I'm sure some cops would love to carry squirt guns instead, but…"

   Wiz smiled and added his two cents in.

   "You think its very likely you'll get into a car wreck?"

   "No."

   "Same thing. You have car insurance, mainly because you know you have to, to drive. You pay for car insurance every year of your life, and almost never have to use it. The guns and the training? Just an insurance policy."

   Elise smiled.

   "You already met your contact. Under great circumstances. A guy liked you. If you think of it in terms of good cop, bad cop… you were the good cop. We played bad cop. The CI? Wants to deal with you. He wants to please the good cop, so he doesn't have to get nervous with the bad cops. How's this square up with any… psych classes on this."

   I smiled and leaned my head over.

   "This must get covered in a class I haven't had yet."

   "But…"

   "No, I admit it, now that you said it, Elise. Without any other reason, you pick the professor that you enjoyed, over the other ones."

   Wiz grinned.

   "And don't worry. The other two professors are nearby. He'll know it. Your student? Will be on his absolute best behavior. And once again? Sorry you had to see me act like that, when we met the poor guy. But I can't take chances. We only get one crack at this. Elise and me, both think this guy's on our side. Remember. Out of everyone, and what Lightning had to put up with for years? This is the one person, that she remembers favorably."

   I countered.

   "Well, the coaches, a teacher here and there…"

   "This is a kid. Its harder for a kid. Takes a little courage and determination to talk to someone, that everyone else treats like a leper. Kid was risking important shit at that age. He could get the leper colony treatment, just for talking to her on the street one too many times. A teacher, a coach… they don't risk that. This is the kid version of taking fire for your battle buddy. Until something shows me otherwise? I respect this guy."

   I paused.

   "Maybe you should have told him that?"

   "I need to be in charge of the situation. I can't risk it. This isn't like getting the garbage taken out or the grass mowed. Its just a hair more important. So yeah, dad raised his voice a little to make sure the grass got mowed. Like I said before. I'm sorry you had to see me act like that. Elise, was I too rough on him?"

   "Well? You typically rough a snitch up a little now and then. Best you treat a snitch in the city? Like a kid you're picking on. And that's at best. Now, the guy's no snitch. So yeah, he gets treated better than that, but… you still need to be in charge in that relationship."

   I thought about it. I ran with boys. If someone broke a window, you were expected to keep your mouth shut.

   "How's he not a snitch. A window gets broke, throwing corn at Halloween? You're not supposed to rat. Guy rules. Snitches get stitches. Everyone knows that."

   Elise grinned.

   "A snitch. Someone who's trying to save their own skin, when caught. Agrees to turn on everyone and deliver them to you. That's the snitch, the rat. Cops have very little respect for snitches. Sometimes, they even… throw snitches to the wolves, after they're done with them. The snitch? Now knows things about you, and the police unit you work with. Kinda like tying up a loose end."

   "That's…"

   Elise finished it for me.

   "I know, that's a cold play. Remember. I'm talking vice, organized crime. The snitch, isn't some stand up guy. He's another drug dealing, murdering, no good son of a bitch. He's just the weak one you caught and squeezed, to get juice out of his soft ass. He didn't have a change of heart. He squealed to weasel out of trouble, on his buddies who trust him."

   Wiz took over.

   "That snitch she's using for an example? Ten guys were in on some organized murder. You squeeze one, he gives you the other nine. He usually gets off all but Scot free. Yeah, if something happens to him? His own buddies take care of him after you're done with him? Well… you find a rattlesnake on your… barrel horse farm, Hurry. You catch him, you let him go, you follow him back to the nest. You get the others. You let that one you caught go free? No. You might pop him last, but… he goes too."

   "I guess. But… this isn't that guy!"

   They both looked at each other. Elise's turn.

   "No. We won't play him cold like that, Hurry. He's not a snitch. He didn't participate in any of the gang rapes. His financial info says he doesn't deal drugs. I don't think he buys the hookers, either."

   Wiz's turn.

   "Guy's scared, and I can't blame his ass one bit. Now. He could have gotten out of helping us, you know. All he had to do, was agree with everything we said in the car that night? Then walk away and forget about it. He's no kind of criminal, and I told him that. We actually have nothing on him. All he had to do? Hey, I tried, couldn't find anything. Sorry, guys. He's saying he followed through."

   I paused.

   "Then… he's not a snitch."

   Elise smiled.

   "A CI. A confidential informant. Two kinds. One? A snitch. You also got your other kind. The kind that… just helps you. He's pretty much that kind. Right, Wiz?"

   "Said I respected him. Guy's playing a dangerous game, and he damn well knows it. At the very least? He risks getting his car burned, fired, run out of town and probably smacked around good. He knows that's what happened to his buddy who had a few drinks and ran his mouth, all fed up. But? There's more."

   Elise was curious now.

   "What's more…"

   "He thinks the girl he grew up with, the Sky Stormer? Is dead. Now, at that point… not a lot you can do, for a dead girl. Now, he has to wonder if she got taken out, the night the mother got almost beat to death. Or? If she killed herself after running away. Either way… he got mad. Now, he knows the position he's in, he can't fight back. But… I told him. Hey, that wasn't the time. Now, is the time. He starts agreeing to help."

   Elise is the colder one of the two. She shows it now.

   "Young boy. Pretty girl that danced, now she plays soccer. She got the legs, we all know it. Wiz, you're not open to the idea… hey. Easy mark. Otherwise pretty girl, starved for affection. You know she ain't no virgin. Hey, talk nice a couple times… might be an easy score. Because, I can see that scenario. Be logical. Not even a… morality crime, for a young boy to wanna touch those legs."

   "Elise? There's two kinds of guys."

   "Really…"

   "Yeah. You got your guys that just want laid. Now, they run up and help the girl carry her pile of heavy books, she's dropping stuff. Hey, let me help you."

   Elise smiled.

   "In school? Boys trying to get laid, Wiz. Dad carries stuff out the trunk when mom gets home from shopping. Its what you do."

   "Yeah. Its what the player does. What about the other guy. The guy… not the player. The white knight. He? Does the exact same thing. Except? Yeah, he's trying to get laid too, I'll give you that. But… when he sees her dropping stuff, carrying everything? He's not calculating. Oh, here's my chance. I might get some, if I run up and be nice and carry books for her. No. He actually feels sorry for the girl. I'm telling you Elise, its different."

   I smiled.

   "Wiz? Where's your proof of this. Not proof, but… something to hang your hat on."

   "Well? Lightning said it. He got made fun of some, for talking to her. He only gave up, I think? When she chased him off. He admitted it, he thought she was a diamond in the rough. He actually liked her. He felt sorry for her. Yeah, I know that's a sin in our world today. Back to him thinking she's dead? If it was just what looked like an easy score… no. He's mad. I give him a chance to make it right? He goes for it. And? Here we are. His smart move, since we have nothing on him? Is to just not get us what we want. Hey, I tried. But… he follows through. He can get scared, or he can get mad. He got mad. He's taking the risk. So? I respect him."

   Elise continued.

   "One more thing. Guy grew up around cops that are in on it. He can't possibly have a good view of police in general. He's risking everything, hoping against hope. That cops higher up the ladder? Can fix things. He's taking a chance. He's not doing the smart, safe thing."

   Wiz finished up.

   "So? He's an informant. Not a snitch."

   I waited.

   "When we came here the first time? You each had a handgun. Now… you two are geared up like we're about to play Code of War at one of the computer crew game parties, Wiz."

   Elise and Wiz shared their own Bluetooth moment. Wiz took that one. Quietly.

   "Car insurance. Just in case."

   I furrowed my brow.

   "Insurance… against what?"

   Wiz sighed.

   "Against, the tiny chance. The very tiny chance, mind you. I always credit my enemy with equal intelligence. Well, I credit them with equal everything else, and that includes strategy, too. Let's say… he gets out of our little meeting. Thinks about it. Girl's dead anyways. I stand to gain, if I… do the right thing. Maybe he has a way in, to the big guy. He comes forward, explains what happened. Now. If that was me he came to? I might decide, hey. Golden opportunity. Wait to be contacted. I'll take care of it."

   I was quiet.

   "Well. Since you're thinking like Mister Big… what would you do."

   "I'd think it was a golden chance to tie up the loose end. Then? It would jog my memory, that I should have tied up another loose end, five or six years ago."

   "Hmm. And… how would you… reward that guy, for coming and warning you."

   He waited.

   "Pretty much tie his loose end off, after his period of usefulness ended."

   "How do you guard against that possibility."

   Elise came in.

   "Easy. First of all, let's say he was in cahoots. Setting us up. Well? He'd wanna set the meet up. And he could. Hey, he's got what we want. Hey, I'm nervous. You guys scared me that first time. I wanna meet on my turf. Where I feel safer. You want what I got? That's the deal."

   "And, if not?"

   Elise shrugged.

   "Then… meeting is no big deal. He'll let us, control where we meet. Wiz? Explain to your girl, about… the walk."

   "If you wanna know someone isn't being followed? You walk them here, you walk them there. It let's you see easy, if anyone's trying to keep tabs. Plus, by letting us set up the meet? He's basically telling us, there's no ambush."

   Elise grinned.

   "So. We'll be able to sniff it out, once we start making contact. If he doesn't put up any argument, about where, and how? That's proof he's kosher."

   "You guys trying to scare me? Its working."

   Elise grinned.

   "Actually? The reverse. We both think, there's almost no chance of this. But, on that slim possibility? He walks from place to place, its impossible to set up an ambush. And if he had a tail? They'd be easy to spot. So… think of it like an insurance policy. You're not going to be in a wreck anyways? And… this guarantees it."

   "Yeah. I'm okay with it."

   They had me contact him. Well, "we" really did. But, the CI thinks its me. I was provided with a secure email. When he got an email, from "ClubFour@Wherever.com", I was just his little internet girlfriend hookup. But, club four? Four of clubs. I exchanged a few emails.

   Hey. I'm back at my uncle's farm for a little bit. Wanna hook up with your French maid again? Can't wait to see you. He said he did. I asked if he found that funny kitty video I wanted, that I couldn't remember where I saw it before. He emailed back, he found a couple funny kitty videos he thought I might like. Let me know when you get to your uncle's farm. I asked if he was still single, still lived alone. He said sure. I said I'll be in touch. He said any night's good.

   He never once said anything in any email, that would give anything away, to anyone that might have seen it. Elise and Wiz both thought that was a great sign. Wiz said, if he was trying to "prove" it was us and not him that was the enemy? He would want "proof" by how he got us saying it in the email. To prove to Mister Big or whoever else he informed to… see? They approached me, but I did the right thing, coming to you. I'm on your side.

   Once again, we went a couple towns away. I had already signed for a rental, and we switched cars and transferred gear. I signed for a cheap motel room. Then we went scouting around for a good place to meet, and a walking plan for observation. Wiz had a grim sense of humor, and suggested his idea for a meeting spot. It was out of the way, and the place had once been picked for its sense of alone by someone else. I placed my call on a cheap burner phone we picked up along the trip. On speaker.

   "Hi. Its me. How you doing?"

   "Oh. Okay. Is this my maid service?"

   "It is."

   "You in town now?"

   "Hmm. I'm nearby."

   "We hooking up?"

   "Sure."

   "Hey, look. Not like I'm ashamed to be seen in public with my internet girlfriend and all, but. I'm a little shy about this, you know? I'd like to meet… somewhere where no one knows us."

   "Aw. A shy boy. Its all right. I like shy guys."

   "Great. When can we get together."

   "Soon, if you're not doing anything important."

   "I'm free."

   "Me too. I figured, no sense my uncle knows his little niece is just running around with the local boys, you know. We'll meet somewhere with some… privacy."

   "Hey. The more privacy? The better."

   "Hmm. Great. You feel like going for a walk?"

   "Sure. Nice night."

   "Walk down to the bar we met at last time. I'll call you."

   "I'm bringing your… funny video you asked for?"

   "Sure. Walk out the door at 8. I'll call you."

   "All right. See you…"

   "Bye."

   I looked at both of them. They liked it. He wanted to keep meeting me a secret. He liked the idea of no one around. He loved it, in fact. He had no qualms whatsoever about doing a walk. Which further proved he had no agenda. Any kind of person, involved with police or criminals… would sense they were being walked around to be observed they weren't tailed. Just like the person that brought the bag of money, from phone booth to phone booth, in the old movies. They agreed, he had zero agenda.

   We had time. Wiz scouted the old gas station yet again, while Elise observed his slow walk down to the bar. She had the most experience looking for tails. Plus, she had her magic gut. She could smell a trap from a mile away. She pronounced him "clean", on the little handheld radio they both had. When she announced he was both clean and standing near the bar, but not going in or standing where anyone could see him going in and out that would know him? She reported in.

   I called him.

   "Hey. Know the old service station. Other end of town, just outside the edge of town. Its back, off on the one side. Can't really see it from the road, anymore."

   "I know it. Kids sometimes drink beer there."

   "Not tonight, they don't. Walk there."

   "Okay. See you in a little while."

   Elise reported he had a little backpack on, but he was still clean. She followed him from the next street over, getting ahead of him. Watching him go past her field of view, then afterwards… seeing no one was following him. Cop cars loaded with local corrupt cops were another huge warning sign. Nothing.

   I called him, and told him not to even look over this way, to the abandoned service station… if any cars were coming. When he was sure the coast was clear, he came over. Elise was still behind him. Wiz was just outside the gas station. If he had any designs, he was trapped and alone.

   He walked in slowly.

   "Uh… hello?"

   I was in the far corner, sitting on an old wooden crate.

   "Hi."

   "Hi. I got what you wanted."

   Wiz's voice came softly from outside the window.

   "She has friends with her."

   Elise's voice came in from the other direction.

   "More than one."

   "Hey, guys… I ain't trying nothing."

   Elise's voice was calmer again.

   "I know you're not. Don't be afraid. We're not here to hurt you."

   "Well?"

   Elise handled the formalities.

   "Just back up to the door you came in. Stand there, with your back to it. Don't freak out when you feel me behind you. I'm not here to hurt you."

   He walked over slowly, and turned around the last few steps, then stood at the door. I could make out Elise's hands run over him a few times. A quick pat down. He kept his hands out to the sides, while she did it. She then hovered what looked similar in size to a cell phone but much thicker, all over and around him. Back to a slower and more thorough pat down again. The angel of death quizzed the devil.

   "Infestation level?"

   The devil chuckled.

   "Zero. No bugs, no toys. Seems clean."

   "Told you he would be. He's on our side."

   She chuckled a little louder.

   "Like I trust anyone in this town. Now. Just drop the backpack, and hold your cell phone out…"

   She retrieved the backpack, took the cell out of his outstretched hand, and gave a few more hand gestures as if smoothing his clothes out. She ran her hands up under his shirt and around a little bit. I guess checking for a wire or weapons some more. Then, she disappeared. Her voice came hollow again.

   "He's clean. Go back in, you're fine."

   I could hear them going over the backpack's contents. I heard Wiz's voice.

   "Four beers. Two sandwiches. Cell phone. And? A little netbook. You were thinking, picnic?"

   "Well. I'm meeting my friend. I don't know how long I'm going to be. I'm a little nervous. Last time we talked? It took a while. I have a snack when I'm nervous. I drink a beer when I'm nervous. I got some of what you wanted on the cell phone. The rest? Its on the little laptop. Came in on email."

   The backpack appeared at a broken out old window. You could hear a hand pat it. I grabbed it and handed it to him. Wiz's voice came from outside.

   "Cell phone, is in the backpack."

   I handed it to him. He took the cell phone out, and asked if I wanted to see it.

   "Sure."

   He selected something off the screen, and handed it to me.

   "That one, and the next three."

   I looked. Christ. I'm getting like Wiz. Jaded. My gut lurched, but… I can take it now. I didn't dare play it, but just looking at the still frame that announced the video it represented? Was enough. I put the cell on the ledge, and it went away. They were watching them. I could hear the noise from the videos playing softly. I could also hear the comments they made. When it was over, I asked about the little laptop.

   "Yeah…"

   He opened it, turned it on, waited while the little computer went through its little show before being ready for use. He slid a little SD card out of the side, and slid it back in.

   "There's three folders on there. One, two, and three. One? Is what you saw on the phone. That's stuff I got from guys that just phoned me the video. The number two folder? That's… from email, all at once from one source. Number three? I put all of them together in that one."

   Wiz's voice came up again.

   "You mind?"

   "Oh… sure…"

   He put the little computer on the windowsill. A hand took it. Same thing. I could hear the periodic video noises, then I could hear their comments here and there. Neither Wiz nor Elise puked. Wiz's hollow voice came back up.

   "Beautiful cinematography…"

   "Smart phones? Been around forever. You can only see so much on a little phone screen. You open it up on a computer? You get… a better view. That's what you wanted, right?"

   Wiz sighed.

   "Yeah. I got faces. I got… different locations. You did good."

   "Hey. I'm on your side, right?"

   "You're on my side. Nothing will happen to you. I promise. Not from my end, anyways. Just… don't say anything, you're fine. Where did these come from."

   "Folder one. All phone. I… bought some pitchers of beer, and… hey, can I get one of those videos? I want something to beat off to. That's what I said. We've all seen them before, they've been floating around for years."

   "That worked, huh?"

   "Yeah. There's one guy, he kind of shows the one off, when he's drunk. Doesn't take much for him to show it, if you know what I mean. Its kind of a… guys drinking thing. Reminds me of my dad, telling me stories about finding an old girly magazine. All the kids look at it."

   "So. Hey, that was hot. Anyone got another one?"

   He sighed.

   "Yeah. Like that."

   "Good job. And… the email folder?"

   "Look. I gotta explain that one."

   "Go ahead."

   "You… there's always one guy, likes to watch porn? Collects it. I guess… that's the one in this town."

   "The creepy porn guy."

   "More or less."

   "He one of these faces?"

   "I don't think. He'd have been a little young. He's younger than I am. He's just… the creepy porn guy. A little weird that way? But… otherwise, an okay guy."

   "Weird, creepy… but helpful."

   "Hey…"

   "Yeah?"

   "I… when I say, I don't wanna be… involved. How bad is that."

   "Not bad at all. You're scared. I understand that. In your shoes? I'd be scared, too. Nothing to be ashamed of. Fear, is normal. You have something to be afraid of. I understand."

   "Yeah. You, uh… mind if I crack one of my beers open?"

   "You already drinking? Before this."

   "Nope."

   "Go ahead."

   He took one out, and cracked the can tab. Had a nice pull. He offered me one, I waved my hand and smiled at him.

   "I'm working."

   "Yeah. So… I'm guessing. You? You're the skeleton."

   "Grim reaper. Modern day manifestation of the angel of death. Get it right."

   "Yeah… way to make me less nervous. That makes the lady that… patted me down? The devil."

   I heard Elise's voice come from the other side of the building.

   "Could be."

   He took another pull.

   "So. Since we established, I'm a complete pussy and all… is there any way I could… not testify? I kinda like my car, rather not roast weenies over it. I'm not in love with my job, but… beats other jobs. Beats the hell out of not having one."

   Wiz paused.

   "You're not a pussy. You're brave. I didn't pick your name out of a hat, you know. But no. You might not have to testify."

   He took another long series of gulps.

   "I'd really like to keep it that way. I, uh… I got some more for you. Don't know if it would help, but…"

   "Hey. I'll look at anything."

   He handed me a folded up piece of paper. I handed it to the windowsill, where the obvious happened.

   "What am I looking at. List of names."

   "That's my best… that's, anyone I can think of, that said they were, you know… there. The ones with a check mark? Have always said they just watched. Now. The ones with a star? That's a face on one of the videos, or, I just know them to see them even if the face isn't perfect in the video. The rest? Said they were there, said they did it."

   "That's real good. Thanks."

   "I just figured. The more I can help you? The better my chances are, of not having to go to court."

   Wiz sounded a lot more conversational now.

   "Well, let me ask you this. Who are you most afraid of. Say the names. We're obviously all friends here."

   He looked around, which was comical, but… that's the level of fear he placed on the first name. Then, he looked around for the next one. Mister Big, and the son. Another look around, for the chief. He softly stated one more cop's name, then quickly added… pretty much the whole police department.

   "And… how about once they're… no longer in a position to hurt anyone. Would you, reconsider it?"

   "Well…"

   He finished his beer, and actually asked permission to open the next one. Wiz gave it.

   "Honestly. You talk like just putting handcuffs on someone, is something final and all. I stand up in court, and… they have money for lawyers… they know people…"

   "I get you. But, if they were caught red handed, dead to rights… the writing was on the fucking wall… when it was then safe? You'd finally open up on that."

   He took another drink of his beer.

   "If it looked… "

   He laughed.

   "I mean, really fucking good? Yeah, maybe I would."

   "So. Let's talk about your job."

   "What about it? I drive a truck. Nothing major."

   "Yeah. But… you work for the big guy."

   Another drink.

   "Just about everyone, works for him. Yeah, I drive a truck. In and out of the lumber plant. I bring in raw trees, on that kind of special trailer. I take finished lumber? Out to deliver it. I move a few containers around. Pretty normal stuff."

   "How tight of a schedule, are you on. When you're coming in and out."

   "Oh. Honestly? Its a good job. I wanna stop off and get a sandwich? Hey, stop off and get a bite to eat, bringing trees in. Long as I'm not lazy about it, its a great job. I mean, no one likes having someone breathing down their neck every second of every day. I actually like that part. My life? It isn't so bad."

   "The raw trees, they come in from the national park contract."

   "Sure."

   "The lumber you ship out. Probably goes to all the same places."

   He thought about it.

   "Yeah. Rotates around, but… pretty regular."

   "And the shipping containers?"

   "Oh. Wild card deliveries. Could really go anywhere. Or come in from anywhere. Manifest says industrial chemicals."

   "Hmm. Maybe… you could pull over somewhere. Have a bag lunch. On the side of the road. Pretty normal, right?"

   "Sure."

   "Say, 15 or 20 minutes?"

   "If it was around lunch kinda time? Once a day? Sure. I could do that."

   "I'm not hugely interested in trees coming in. I'm barely interested in lumber, going out. I'm more interested, in those shipping containers. In… and out."

   "Oh. You want a peek."

   "Maybe. Hey, if you were to just pull off, at just the right spot. If I knew you were coming… hey. You could just eat lunch. Not be too concerned with what went on, right?"

   "Thing has a padlock on it. Coming in, or out."

   "Pretty sure I can scare up a locksmith. I won't use bolt cutters, and the key don't work at the destination. I'm not that dumb."

   "That? Could work. I mean, all I have to do is park somewhere and have lunch, right?"

   "Sure."

   Wiz paused before going over… me.

   "Okay. How would this be, then. Your little girlfriend there. That? Is your… internet girlfriend."

   "Okay."

   "Thing is? Your internet girlfriend… is married. You gotta be all careful. Wouldn't wanna run into that pissed off husband, fuck her shit up like that. Because that? Would stop the good times."

   "I guess it would work like that."

   "Sure. In fact? You'd need a… cheater phone."

   "I guess I would."

   "I just happen to have one for you. You already have your… girlfriend's number, because she called you. On your own phone. This phone? You just text out any sealed shipping runs. If you know about taking one, or going to get one… beforehand? That's best. You erase the text, after you send it."

   "Doesn't sound like it would get me in trouble."

   "Yeah. Cover? Hey, I got an internet girlfriend. Bitch is married, but… she's a great girl. We meet up, here and there. And? She's married, so… its why no one else ever gets to see her. She's shy like that."

   "That would work. I could do that much."

   "Great. One more question."

   Another drink of beer.

   "Yeah?"

   "The plant. You have a… tree yard, where you drop off trees on the trailer, and take out empty ones. There's also a lumber warehouse. Its where the finished lumber gets stored. Got the wolmanizing plant. You bring trees into the tree yard, you take lumber out of the lumber yard, you sometimes take raw lumber in, and wolmanized back out. That about it?"

   "Like you're riding with me."

   "Yeah. Now, there's a little cement building in the back end of the place. Got that little gravel trail back there."

   "Yeah. The blast shed."

   "Blast shed?"

   "Yeah. Chemicals. Flammable. Explosive. Fumes. Danger. Shit gets stored there. If there would be a spark, or a problem? The blast shed goes up. Not the whole plant, not a bunch of people. Its a safety shed."

   "Right. You… ever deliver into, or out of… that one?"

   "I drop off a sealed container, on a cement pad back there. Every once in a while. And every once in a blue moon? One back out. Not a regular thing."

   "Yeah. That's the ones, in or out? I'm most concerned with. You know what's going in and out, before it happens?"

   "Sure. I got a big list. I get one or take one out? I move onto the next item on the list. Its just a job."

   "But… I could get a… warning. When you were taking a container out from that back pad, the blast shed."

   "Oh, yeah. Hey, anything coming in or out of there? That's the hazmat. I have endorsements, to handle chemicals and shit. I mean, any asshole can learn to deliver cement trucks around, locally. You carry anything flammable, or explosive? You have to display signs. You can't take certain things into tunnels, you can't take certain things over certain bridges. You end up rerouting, on all back roads. That way, if anything would happen? You're not around a lot of people, if it does."

   "Sounds like it would make it even easier. All those back roads. You got a free schedule. You could… pull off somewhere, eat lunch."

   "Yeah. And? Shipping chemicals. Its special."

   "How do you mean?"

   "We have two guys, hauling. Its a good job."

   "Sure."

   "See. We both, do the normal hauling. The trees coming in? That's a heavy load, but… those tree haulers. Chain binders every so many feet. Real heavy, but real low to the ground, too. Regular route, we know where every bump in the road, every turn and curve is. Very, very safe. If you don't know big hauling? A stable load, is great. Trees? Are a very stable load. Also. Low center of gravity? Great thing. Trees, all chained up tight? Nice and low. Very, very easy to transport. On a usual route."

   "All right…"

   "Sealed chemical containers. Hazmat. Flammable, contamination hazards. I know about those. Beforehand. Coming in, going out. See, out of two haulers? Only one of us has the hazmat and flammable and contamination and all the other certifications. So… only I handle those. He just hauls trees in, lumber out. So, if that's what you're interested in? That's just me."

   "Use this phone… you have her number. Don't be amazed, when she doesn't call you back. And? Don't freak out when you get pulled over."

   "Uh, hey?"

   "Yeah."

   "How do I know… getting stopped? Is… planned."

   "Oh. You remember the card, right?"

   "Yeah. Its how I knew who she was. Emailing me."

   "Same deal. A friend? Knows exactly which card to pull out of the deck, don't they."

   "I… guess they do."

   "The odds, once you see that card? Are 51 out of 52, that its a friend. And, I might add. When's the last time a cop ever played card games with you before."

   "Never. They tend to play a kind of paper game, if they play at all."

   "So you know how to ID your friends. Play it straight for everyone else. I'm trying my best? To make this easy for you. You really don't have to do anything dangerous. You don't have to wear a wire. You don't have to get anyone to say anything. If you make a copy of a piece of paper on the road? Big whoopee, right."

   "Yeah. I hate to… ask for it to be easy."

   "Why. You want it to be more dangerous, and difficult? Fuck that. Of course I want to make it as easy as I can for you."

   "I just… do we have… time?"

   "Buddy. We have all the time we need. Say whatever you want."

   He sat down on an old… hell, I don't even know what it was. Pulled on his second beer. He sat there a little bit. A few swigs. Some pauses. Wiz appeared in the door. His hoodie though it was warm out, pulled up. Sunglasses on, ball cap under the hoodie out and down. You couldn't make his face out if you tried, let alone anything else. I looked around. There were old chalk marks on the walls around. Those, would be Little Lightning's chalk marks. It provided gravity and heaviness to the situation for me. Him too, as it turned out.

   "Oh. Hey."

   "Yeah. I'm sorry about how we met. Its not in my nature, to scare a guy like that. But, I had to make sure. I picked you, because you seemed like an honest guy."

   "I am. I don't do anything that bad. I have a couple beers. I like… the football sheets. About it. You pay five, or ten, or twenty. You circle which teams you think are gonna win. And every once in a while? Hey… a couple bucks comes your way."

   Wiz was somber now.

   "I know. There's no victim."

   He snorted.

   "Well. There's a victim now, ain't there?"

   Wiz paused.

   "Yeah, there is."

   "You sure you don't want one of these beers, buddy?"

   "You the kind of guy that only drinks with friends?"

   "Yeah. Normally."

   "Then yeah. I don't like all this. No more than you do. Trust me on that."

   "Here. Go on. I ain't gonna look at you…"

   Wiz moved up and grabbed the offered can of beer. He moved over towards me, in the shadows. Cracked it, and took a sip. After lifting it towards him. He lifted his back. You could hear emotion in his voice after he began to speak again.

   "You… ever meet her?"

   "Maybe. Maybe not."

   "Yeah. Well, I did. She's pretty. Real pretty. You just don't see that many blonde girls, that tall. That dance like she could. And… she was nice. Its a hell of a waste."

   "What was she like. What you know of her."

   "Listen to you. What was… she like. Not, what is… she like. Tells me all I gotta know."

   Wiz sipped the beer.

   "So tell me."

   "She was pretty. She was… nice. We're around the same age. We grew up together. You know how some kids are always mouthy? Other kids… always polite."

   "I guess."

   "Well? She was always nice. Didn't mouth off to teachers. Didn't… nothing like that. She'd grab your shirt sleeve. Hey, you're supposed to watch for cars. So? You look again."

   "She followed the rules."

   "Yeah. Most of them, I guess."

   "What rules didn't she follow."

   He took a pull and tossed his can.

   "Her mom, let her run around young. You'd a thought she was older, but… she was tall."

   "Her mom. I think we touched before, on what she was."

   "Aw. Her mom was the… head hooker, for Christ's sake."

   "She know?"

   "Oh. Hell. None of us kids know something like that. Till we're older. Know how things work then."

   "So? How do they work. How do girls work. Around here."

   "You mean to buy one?"

   "Yeah."

   "Nail salon. A guy, stops by the nail salon. To make a private appointment? Fuck. He's either a fag, or…"

   "I get the picture."

   "That's for the… good stuff. You know. You're paying a little extra. You get more time. An all niter. Now, you just want a quick throw…"

   "Where's that."

   "The club."

   "Quickies there, huh?"

   "Eh. You're out drinking. Its there. Yeah. Costs less, you get less time."

   "You ever… try it?"

   He opened another beer.

   "Once."

   "Was it fun?"

   "Eh. Not… what I expected. No. Girl just… laid there. Still wanted a tip, too. On top of the price. I mean, I gave her another twenty, I felt bad she's asking, but… wasn't what I expected. Wasn't anything… great. Pretty shitty, actually. They just fucking lay there. Look at you like, okay, get it over with already. You gonna take me to jail, cause I did it once?"

   "The girl 18 or older."

   "Yeah. I never did…"

   "Hey. No victim."

   "Yeah. I didn't even… like it. Never did it again, anyways. Whatever that tells you. I mean, they just… lay there."

   "What did you expect?"

   "Pffft. I don't know, but… its supposed to be a professional, right? I expected… I don't know what, but… the lamest fuck I ever got in real life? Better than that, trust me. I mean, we've all… done that, you know? I never did it a second time though. Might as well, poke a hole in your mattress and hump that. That's all you're getting. One of my buddies, he said it best."

   "How's that."

   "He said, it wasn't that bad… till he figured out she was playing with her phone, behind his head. I mean, he's paying a pro to fuck him? She's… texting her friends or whatever, looking at funny videos. Like I said, might as well fuck a hole in a mattress."

   "The hell were you expecting?"

   "Like I said, I don't really know. But… I was expecting, something? I mean, a regular girlfriend. You get… some kinda… show? It was like, nothing. Like… humping a mud puddle."

   "The mother."

   "You mean… Sky's mom."

   "Yeah."

   "What about her?"

   "She's… the madam. Right?"

   "Oh yeah. I call it, head hooker. But… madam? Whatever the right word is. Yeah."

   "So. You talked to Sky some. Tried to hang out with her."

   He got quiet.

   "Yeah. I did."

   "You would be the only one, that thought she was raped. Because she said so, right?"

   He paused.

   "Yeah."

   "So you believed her."

   "Oh hell yeah, I believed her. Look… she was fucked up, from… all that. There's no way, she liked it. No way she… she was too fucked up, okay? Sorry to speak… about the dead like that."

   Wiz let him go. Like he had his own magic washrag. He finally contributed again.

   "If her mom hadn't of been… who she was? How could… that… have even happened. So yeah, everyone just thought… she was… you know, getting started. Early."

   "You mean hooking."

   "Yeah. That's what I mean."

   "Let me ask you something."

   "Sure."

   "A girl… goes pro. Working girl. That girl, she has money. Right? They don't get the cash, what would the point be."

   "Oh, sure. It does pay the bills. Those girls? They live in decent houses, trust me."

   "Right. Now… did little Sky, have money. You ever see her, with a wad of cash? She was 14."

   "Hmm… now that you mention it? No. I mean, you'd see her roller skating. She went ice skating. But… a wad? No."

   "See. Right there. She didn't get paid for that. It was just something, that got forced on her. They drugged her, when they did that to her. When you saw those videos? You can see, she's a little out of it. And… where's the wad of money she should have had."

   He looked like he was trying not to cry.

   "You done making me feel like a piece of shit?"

   "Not trying to."

   "I was about her age, all right? When that… went on. The hell could a kid have done, if he knew anyways. Is it fucked up? Hell yeah. We went over this, last time. I thought… if I could get her out of here, maybe… she wouldn't even talk to anyone. There's just… nothing, anyone could do. Most people? Figured… it was cause her mom was… you know. I could tell, though. There's no way she was that fucked up, and… that was something she planned on."

   Wiz waited. Washrag time ticking off. The guy looked around him.

   "You picked a hell of a place to meet, buddy."

   "Why. Kids ain't drinking beer tonight."

   "Not that. Never mind."

   "What then…"

   "Here. This place."

   "What about it."

   "She used to stay out here. Right here. Okay?"

   "Tell me about it."

   "Aw. I found out, one Thanksgiving. I dropped a big platter. Everyone yelled at me. I ended up, it wasn't that cold that year, I walked around. I came past here? I could hear it. Toom… toom… toom."

   "She was here."

   "Yeah. Kicking her soccer ball. I mean, its fucking Thanksgiving, you know? Here she is, kicking a ball, in an abandoned gas station."

   "You talk to her?"

   "Tried. There was no talking to her. You… you talked… at her, not to her. If you know what I mean. And… I already knew. You don't, try to get near her. You just, if you wanna talk at her a little? You stand back, you talk at her. Cause if you get close? She runs off. I just… stayed back, and watched her a little. Kicking her ball. I mean, it was actually pretty impressive. She… had this way, where… right, left, right, left… ball's coming out of the corner quick, she's kicking it right back… its so fast, you can't barely even see the ball, you know? It would like, almost hypnotize you, to watch it. Like, a person shouldn't even be able to do it that fast, but… she did it."

   "You talk to her?"

   He shrugged.

   "I talked at her. I… tried to get her to come to thanksgiving dinner. I mean, its not fair. Some young girl is hiding out, in some abandoned gas station for a family holiday, like that. Come get some hot food. But… never."

   Wiz waited.

   "I… sometimes, stopped past here. If I heard the ball? I'd come and watch, a little. Try to talk to her. Try to… talk at her. No, nothing doing. I… never told anyone about this place. That, this was her place. She had nothing, at least she can have this place, you know?"

   "This was her… sanctuary."

   He looked around.

   "Yeah. I guess. And the library. When there was snow out? Library. Fucking saw her in there one time. It was goddamn Christmas. Christmas day, of all days. I didn't even know the library was open, on Christmas. Well, it wasn't. All locked up. I guess, the librarian let her in. Locked her in, the door would lock behind her when she left. I looked through the window. She's just sitting there. Reading a school textbook. That, soccer ball with her, up on the table. I knocked on the window. She looked up, she saw me. Just… went back to her book. Like I wasn't even alive."

   "So… you knew she was…"

   "Fucked up? Yeah, like, how could someone not tell, you know."

   "I was going to say… disturbed."

   "Buddy? You can call it what you want. I just… I always hoped, when she disappeared… always hoped she… made it to somewhere, you know?"

   "Somewhere that wasn't as… fucked up, as this town is?"

   "Yeah. Can you really do it?"

   "Do what."

   "Whatever it takes, to… fuck this shitty little town a brand new asshole."

   "I'm trying. Getting close."

   "Try harder. Get closer. This shit ain't right. I know it, you know it. That… devil chick out there, she knows it. And poor Sky? She's gone, so… she damn sure knows it. This place is fucked."

   "Why do you stay then?"

   He laughed.

   "Oh. I forgot. You? You're a fed. Your job? Automatic. The rest of us, well. Good jobs? Hard to find. I got one. Pay's decent. I get paid more, for doing the hazmat and all that shit. Get to pull over and have lunch, any time I feel like it. Little things, too. You know, its not every boss in this world, that treats you good. Gives you days off. Paid. Gift cards on holidays? Or… even just because. I visited the city before. I ain't fucking impressed. I just got my… shitty little life, in my shitty little town? And… it ain't that bad."

   "Except, when you remember…"

   He sighed.

   "Yeah. I'm not mad. I realize, its your job. And, I'm with you on that. At least… someone's finally doing something about it. Even if its too little, too late."

   "Can I ask about anything else?"

   "Hey. Like what."

   "Drugs."

   "What about them."

   "What can I get here. When I'm partying at the… club. With a girl, that I might as well fuck a hole in the mattress."

   "Coke. If you're into that."

   "You're not?"

   "Not really my thing, buddy. Of course? You're talking to a guy that doesn't think a cheap hooker is all that great a deal, so… consider the source."

   "You do realize. The… lumber plant. It might suddenly close one day."

   He laughed.

   "Really? Burn it to the ground, buddy. With… the owner, and that son? Inside the fire. For all I care. I'm a trucker. I got endorsements. I got time in. I can get another job. Sky? She don't get another life. So… if you can do it?"

   "I can."

   "So… burn it to the motherfucking ground. We all deserve it, you know."

   "How's that? You're a decent guy."

   "I tried, right? I obviously, didn't try hard enough. No one? Did shit. We all either can't, or won't. You got faces, on videos. You got a list. You know… who else does what. But, all of us? That didn't… do anything? That's just it. We… all stood by, for four years, and didn't… do anything. And, tons of people? Just… laughed. Which… don't sit right with me."

   Wiz told him again. Now? Is the time. He gave him the burner, he told him to make sure he used the number I called him on, to text info out on chemical deliveries, in or out. He said he would, that we could count on him. We disappeared on him, one by one.

   The boys were excited, when we got back finally. A working CI, a good one, not a snitch? A great thing. It did some of their work for them, it confirmed things they surmised, it made their job easier. We were almost there.

   Target had a new friend come in. Guy's name was Mike. Mike was from the FBI. Near as I could figure, Mike was who he could trust, to handle this. I found myself sitting at the table, with this Mike guy. I asked him what he did.

   "I'm FBI."

   "You do something important there. You're… who Target went and got."

   Mike sighed.

   "I'm known for… handling things. Things, no one else wants to handle. Things, that are considered… toxic. The things that blow up in your face."

   "Like… dirty towns, filled with dirty cops."

   "I guess. Yeah. Look… Hurry. Things like this… there's no up side. You close this case? You still got the whole public, left with a bad taste in their mouth. You want me to lie to you? People might have called someone before, and word never got far enough. It… believe me. I'm… sorry, for your friend? Doesn't even begin to cover how I feel."

   "You… can handle this, though. Take it from… guys in their spare time, make it…"

   "Yeah. And, I can do it quietly. I mean, we got the bad guys. But… I want those cops. Out of anyone? They should know better. Just one of them, should have gotten word out. But to answer your question? Yeah. I got this."

   "Good."

   "You know, Hurry. When you go to the cops? You're supposed to get help. Not… fucked over more. I'm… ashamed."

   "You didn't do it."

   "No. But… my brothers? Wearing badges. They did. Makes me, and Target, and all the other guys downstairs? Look like shit. I mean, how the hell is the public, supposed to trust any cop… anywhere… if they hear about this shit."

   I just shrugged.

   "Exactly. Hurry… if you had to sum up, everything you learned as a kid, in one phrase. What was it."

   I thought about it.

   "Basically? I guess… do the work? You'll get some kind of results. You don't have results? More work. It'll come. You… have to work? Then… maybe… you get results."

   Mike nodded.

   "I like it. See, right there. I can tell, you had some upbringing. When you're asked to sum it all up? You arrive at that. Quick. Now that? That, is upbringing. You, and your parents, mind you. I'm impressed."

   "Well?"

   Mike looked at me. He was older.

   "Well what."

   "Reciprocate, motherfucker. What was your life lessons, summed up in one sentence. Go. Now."

   Mike smiled.

   "I… the most important lesson? Yeah. I know it. Here's how it ended up. You? And by you, I naturally mean me, you understand. You, you do the right thing. No matter what, you do the right thing."

   I nodded.

   "I like it. Just… do the right thing. No matter what."

   "Yeah. I like yours, by the way. Just… do hard work. You might get some results? But… do the work."

   Mike was always fiddling with a little piece of candy. He would play with it. Put it back in his pocket. Take it out again, play some more. Eventually, it got eaten. Took a while, though. I got wind of… some kind of… mild OCD type of thing. I mentioned it. He smiled.

   "You? Are a bright girl. What are you… 30, 40?"

   "Barely 21."

   "Yeah. I used to be in the military. They get you up early, you jog, you exercise. They feed you."

   "My boyfriend is still like that from it."

   "Well. The work I do. I… can't possibly win, not every time. Now, this time? I'm pretty sure, I get what you call a win. But… not every time. It… well? It gets to you. I… after I got out the military. I'm busy as a dog with two assholes. I can't always watch what I eat, can't always get up early. Jog, do push ups. I got chubby. I had to watch it. So, yeah. You see me play with it, as much as eat it."

   Unwrapping it, and eating it slowly. It was some kind of ritual for him. You could just tell. Then, he carefully wound up the wax paper the candy had been packaged in, and he put it away in his pocket. Another ritual. He smiled.

   "Am I nuts?"

   "No. You asking me to guess?"

   "Sure, go ahead."

   "You. Under stress. You know what the right thing is, you can't always get there. You… can't always control things like you'd like to. But. That little piece of candy? You can. If you take it out, and put it away nine times? Then… you eat it. You only eat 10 percent of the candy you'd like to. But… you get to control something. It doesn't rise to the level of an OCD condition. I'm just guessing. Three years of psychology classes. Don't take it to heart."

   Mike, chuckled and smiled.

   "Pretty good, actually. You do that, don't you? All the time. Guess why people do what they do."

   I shrugged.

   "Whole point of psych classes, I guess."

   "No. You're good at it. Your friend. I saw all the videos you made. Your video notes. I read all your… typed up summaries. You can figure out what makes people tick."

   "Sure. And sometimes? I'm even right…"

   We both laughed.

   "So. What do you intend to do. When you're done with school."

   "Marry my boyfriend. Enjoy… people calling both of us… doctor."

   He looked at me. Really looked at me.

   "That it?"

   "I plan on being a rape therapist. Maybe I just got lucky, helping her? Maybe I can do it for a living."

   "Do the right thing. Maybe make a difference."

   "Yeah. Something like that."

   He nodded.

   "Good. Hey, I'm going to get back down there. Hope I didn't miss anything important…"

   He was off. I liked him. Another great guy. Or at least, he knew how to come off like one. Seemed genuine, though. Over a short time, the CI, the truck driver? He was true to his word. The boys were ecstatic, with him pulling over and letting his load get examined. Way I heard it, they had a locksmith that was good at handling just his kind of locks on his shipping container. Then, after several times? Guy made his own fucking key, and it seemed to always fit the lock.

   This, set everyone off to pondering. How could different companies, and different shipping routes? All have the same key work on the same lock. It made no sense. Until you made the connection. There was some kind of… vent hole in the shipping containers of the chemicals. I guess, like the venting on gas cans. They got samples. They were ecstatic about the lab results they got back on those samples.

   They were ecstatic about what went back out on sealed hazmat chemical shipments as well. Kegs of beer, 55 gallons of vodka in plastic drums. And according to the dogs? Cocaine. It was coming in as well, then going back out. I remembered the one guy, saying it would be "doctored" with crystal methamphetamine. Cheaper, and more potent. Buy it cheap, doctor it chemically, sell it much higher. Business. Just like… selling women's pussies and asses, and even 14 year old girls. Just a commodity.

   The time eventually came, we went back out for another run. I could tell from the somber mood in the car? This was it. I asked, only half jokingly. Was anyone going to die.

   Elise smiled in the rear view mirror.

   "Is it really that big a deal?"

   I thought about it, I thought about everything Lightning had to go through.

   "No. If you wonder if I have a problem with it? No. Not at all. They earned it."

   She grinned.

   "Well. There you go."

   I quit talking about it.

   We did many of the same things. We found a small, cheap, out of the way place to have a motel room at. Always several towns away. We had already picked up a rental car on the way. Its a ritual now. Cops have ritual too, I see. I'm in on the ritual. Part of me, feels like a little kid allowed to pretend they're one of the adults, while helping out. Mom and dad smile at the little kid, acting all grown up. Silly, but a part of me feels it.

   Another part of me? Feels all grown up and proud. I know, silly, but there it is. I'm nervous and scared to have a loaded gun on me, but they got me over that. They had me carry it a lot over time, and you quickly get used to it. Its like the cell phone you carry that you don't even plan on needing to make a call, but less useful. Its the car insurance card you have buried in your glove box. The thing you should never have to use.

   I guess to a lot of people these days, guns are scary, exciting or just plain neat or cool. I grew up in the country, on a farm. Surrounded by other farms. Farmers have tools. Guns, are simply like other toolbox items. My dad had a bunch of them for various practical purposes. From hunting or protecting your animals, down to simply fun guns to practice with. Most farm kids have several in their rooms by the time they're in junior high.

   I never once in my life ever thought about carrying a handgun concealed, let alone ever needing one. The day I turned 21? Wiz and Elise got me my concealed carry permit. I'm pretty sure it got "expedited" by someone with a badge placing a friendly word in a friendly ear, because it happened very quickly once a simple form was filled out. Wiz and Elise gifted me what looks like a badge case, and a surprisingly realistic looking "badge". You have to look closely to notice it just says "concealed carry", not state police or FBI like the guys that carry real ones. But, the mascot gets something too. The other side of the badge case, has my sort of official looking carry permit ID. If its just some clown at night hassling me, I could probably flash it open and closed and rattle them to run them off.

   Just peeking out, are a couple of business cards. One FBI special agent, one state police investigator. They said that unofficially, any cop anywhere that would ask to see my carry permit? Couldn't help but notice those business cards. That what they called "professional courtesy" would almost certainly be applied, let alone if they called either cell number, day or night. I'm family now. Junior karma agent, I guess.

   Like I even need it, and we could be packing flamethrowers and bazookas on this trip. Any bored local flatfoot that pulls us over? Well… Elise is packing her still valid big city detective badge and ID case. Wiz has a private investigator badge and ID case. I don't think its 100 percent genuine? But, he has business cards, and more of those than me. Elise and Wiz both toss around her MP badge she still has.

   They both laughed, and said the only "detained" we could look forwards to if stopped, would simply be stopping off for coffee and bullshit time with the other cops.

   The gun doesn't make me feel adult and proud. Its just a sign of my being included. Being part of a team. An important team, too. Just about everyone else is simply milling around, like ants. We have important shit to do. The ants don't really matter. We matter.

   More silliness, I get my armor. No, I don't get a vest, I don't mean that. I get my code. I'm now a part of the code. I have to do the right thing, I'm one of the adults now. Wiz has knowingly or unknowingly been rubbing off on me over time. Imparting the code. I get a sip of the magic tea, that makes you an apprentice warrior monk.

   It feels… wow. To be a part of something bigger. You know you're just a piss ant in the bigger scheme of what's going on, but you're a part. The universe put you where it wanted, and when the time came? You answered the call. No amount of money can buy that feeling. To know when its all over, you all sit around. Then you get your own smile, your own shoulder touch. Your own holy pause. Your own… yeah.

   I'm like a little kid, helping put Christmas decorations up, and I get a tiny sip of the adult eggnog. Mom and dad? Get more, naturally. I'm in the back of the car on a trip again, talking to mom and dad in the front seat. They indulge me, smile at all my questions. This feels this good, I can only imagine what its like to be one of them, in the front seat. I just got a tiny sip of the warrior monk tea.

   They got to drink more than sips of it, regularly for several years. As warrior monk apprentices and acolytes, they had priests that taught and guided them. Older more experienced warrior monks, that had a stripe or two more on their robes. The camouflage robes. They even both got to spend time with the oracle, the mentor, the master.

   I'm left with the sense of awe and wonder, that if a sip feels this awesome? What must it be like to drink regularly from the cup. I realize its why they all walk around with that signature easy confidence they all seem to have. Not a haughty sort of above it all, a quiet resigned smile. Patient adults around children.

   I'm 21 now, and I'm playing dress up, I'm playing cops and robbers. I'm playing secret agent. I feel silly as hell. I also feel the gravity and weight of the situation, and realize its no game. We were already in the playoffs. This? Is the first game of the big series at the end. For the two big teams to square off and finally meet. To see who gets that conference championship ring. Only my team seems to know there's even going to be a game.

   I put everything internally into thoughts and images I grasp easily. Like, the playoffs we did okay and now we're about to enter the big final series of games to see who gets to take rings home. We're on our way to adjust the other team's roster and that's all, really. We're just taking it a step further? Adjusting that roster the night before the first big game of the series.

   I'm okay with this, philosophically. Criminals, people like Mister Big and Little Asshole? They don't worry about rules and laws and silly shit like that, that's for regular people. Not important people like them. They just make it up as they go along, and do whatever they can get away with. So, its fine that these two are going on a little adjust the roster pregame strike. I already well know, that if the other team wants to sling mud and play dirty? You have no chance if you aren't both able and willing to jump in the mud and sling it back effectively.

   I have no problem with all this. I know what its like to puke and retch your guts out, unable to even bear hearing what happened to a poor 14 year old girl, then what she had to endure for four years more. The only reason she even survived, was because she was either unwilling or unable to take her own life. You can't imagine suicide, if you're not suicidal… but, after experiencing that over a long time, yeah. You can see it. You can imagine going through it, and how you probably would kill yourself. Its like the little window on some wood burners, you get to look in and see hell.

   I can just hear some Monday morning armchair quarterback on a talk show whining. But, you broke the law. You were a vigilante. That's never the right thing to do. Really? Its obvious that's only a canned response, calculated to take the moral high ground, and issue pronouncements from a position of false authority. Everyone watching, knows the instant you suggest it, what the truth really is. If it was your sweet little 14 year old daughter? You'd be riding in this car too, if you could swing it.

   God sent angels of death to take on the wicked little city of Swellsville. God sent one of his prophets in, to locate in the end? So much as one good man, and he would spare the city. One good man had been located, so no pillar of fire was coming. No tactical nuke, and all the collateral damage. This was a well targeted surgical strike.

   I come from a tiny farming area. Its technically a small town? But the real town is all the surrounding farms, making up the lines on the tax map. The town itself, was a tiny little thing. Swellsville is similar. A hair bigger of a town, and the surrounding farms long ago turned into other things. Far enough away from the ring of "progress" that surrounds the nearest big city, to evade the strip mall and department store invasion.

   There's no secrets in a small town, not really. Its not like a bigger town or a city. Where you can pretend you belong, and just happened along to someone. No. They know instantly you're an outsider, and you better have a cover. Wiz and Elise have a plan A. Be up front about their outsider status. Its illogical to try otherwise. Enough outsiders are in and out for the various reasons that only a "boys-town" like Swellsville would have. That extra and secret economy running. Their plan is to stick out like sore thumbs, and smile and nod and admit it. Blend in by not blending in. There's other vice tourists around. They're just a couple more.

   Elise is slick. She took me under her wing at a couple Lida college parties. How to drink, everyone sees you drinking, but… you're not. I already had a gig where I quickly switched to mixer only, but that only works at a party. At a bar? You have to ditch your drink on the sly. Get another one. They had me contact my "internet boyfriend", the CI. Suggest he stay at home, and if he was out? Not to recognize me. Yet again, he betrayed being a complete team member. If he had the slightest designs otherwise, he would sneak out for a peek at me, and he could assume that the man and woman I was accompanied by? Were the faces to put on the grim reaper and the devil. We never saw him. He's a solid team member.

   Elise painted me and herself up. Wiz teased both of us. We looked like either the worst sort of turbo-sluts out on the prowl for getting dick-ed? Or… straight up hookers. And really, lets get right down to it. What's the difference between a girl dolled up, putting all the goods on display that bad… and the actual prostitute. Both are trying to attract attention, both intend to get fucked. Take being paid out of the equation? The hooker and the turbo-whore out on the prowl, are functionally equivalent.

   Once me and Elise are uninterested in men? We look like working girls. Wiz no longer looks on that note to be some lucky guy, he now gets colored in to be some kind of pimp or pimp's helper. My limited role playing at acting, gave me a primer. I'm part Vaquera, part stern mommy, part sweet mommy. Elise had her own personal "I'm not interested" bored smile when she gets chatted up. She has her own act.

   We hit two bars, and were on our way to the third. Elise glanced around, and quietly observed it.

   "Oh, Wiz…"

   "Yeah."

   "We're being tracked. I know when I'm being followed from bar to bar."

   "Is it a trap?"

   "Mm. Doesn't feel like that. But we're being watched."

   "Good. Plan A, is on. Wanna take a radar scan?"

   "Sure. Next alley. My side."

   "You're the boss, Dixie."

   The first bar had been pretty natural. Elise and Wiz shot some pool. Wiz threw some darts with me. We talk a little, but didn't get into anything socially with anyone. Quiet, friendly, just… out but not getting into anything, no agenda.

   The second bar, we played it the same. One enterprising young man sized us up as from out of town, and hinted around the way only a fellow pot smoker can. Little code words and plays on words, that you only pick up on if you're in the know. We all three ended up out back with him. When he proffered a small sale? Elise bought a little dime bag. Wiz begged a few cigarette papers off him.

   Elise had mentioned on the walk to the third bar? Plan A was on. We're now not cops, and we're definitely something else. What was left, we had talked about on the long car ride. We could play friends or family from out of town, but that was thin. We'd need a real local to play host for that, and Wiz didn't want to abuse his CI. He claimed respect for him as a stand up guy.

   That left two options. Vice tourists, like people going to Vegas or Mardi Gras. Enjoy gambling, drugs, hookers, party lifestyle for a vacation. Wiz could do that, but with two women with him? Meh. That left being part of the vice industry. We didn't have to be active workers, just… out of work, vice workers.

   We huddled in the alley, and Wiz rolled a pin joint. This place was like the seedy city we had visited, searching to find poor Miss Moody before she went Christmas wreath on us. A low level version of it, anyways. No broken glass and garbage everywhere. No hookers shooting up on main street, with no cause for alarm to hide.

   But, they were trolling the tourists to sell vice and fun. We copped a dime bag, we were cool. Elise whispered a barely audible "shush" and gestured as we passed the thin hand rolled cigarette around. A cop car went by with its headlights off. It barely paused at our alley. Wiz hit the joint, to make the dull cherry glow. The unlighted cop car moved right along.

   Wiz whispered compliments to Elise and her magic guts. We were being watched. By all rights, any three strangers from out of town out drinking in a tiny town, that stopped in the mouth of a dark alley to puff on a joint? Should have triggered the cops to get out and have a look see. It hadn't. It had been noticed that the three outsiders were here, but when we stopped in the dark alley and puffed up? We were all of a sudden doing what we were supposed to be doing. Enjoying little Las Vegas.

   Plan A was still on.

   Wiz and Elise were privy to cop etiquette, and had coached me on it over time. You first hit a town? Your car stands out to the small town locals. What all cops like is to walk around working, and instantly identify the local wildlife. A new car, constantly driving around the block all night? Wiz was delivering Chinese when he first hit town. This triggers made up car stops, until every small town cop in the tiny university town knew the car.

   Hey, that car's gone down the street about twenty times. Pull his ass over. Oh, him? Ah, that's the Chinese delivery guy. You have a used car die on you, switch to a motorcycle? Same thing until they learn your new vehicle. Cops like familiarity. Its not a big deal to the seedy city cops that hooker was shooting up. She was part of the local wildlife. In fact, if the day came she wasn't there shooting up? A local cop bored might stop by her boarding house room, see if she OD's.

   Good, bad, or in between… you still belonged. Now that we copped a dime bag, and paused in the alley and let the cop see three out of town people all huddled around one cigarette glowing? Oh. Vice tourists. Good for the local economy. Everything's swell in Swellsville. Let's move on, nothing amiss here, partner.

   Yeah. Its kind of chilling when you put it all together. The cops are out patrolling to ensure that crime is going on, like its supposed to. We stayed silent, and did our extended "radar sweep" as those two called it. We already stuck out like sore thumbs, and we bought a little bag of weed. We were cool. That's when the extended radar sweep watch Elise had called for paid off. Footsteps. The young guy that had approached and smoked and used it to be seemingly all friendly, then had very smoothly oozed into an "I help my friends out" small sale.

   He walked by. Another slightly ominous feeling. Like the cop car with its lights off, following us. Not approaching three strangers huddled around a joint in the mouth of a dark alley, exactly when they should investigate? They move on. The dime bag salesman, should be working his bar. Or, maybe he works all the bars, who knows. They let him pass and when he was far enough ahead, we followed him to the third bar instead of him following us.

   Elise had surprised me by sharing the little joint with me and Wiz. But then again, she was between hunting assignments. I asked her, and she smiled. She said the "perfume" we were now wearing, would mark us as innocent tourists. I also caught that in the little thin smile, heavy drinking and alcoholism was a major pitfall for any career cop, and in her highly specialized line of work? No doubt an even bigger pitfall. For her, heavy drinking was out. Major drug use was out. Even regular happy pills, could throw her off of her finely honed game. This was likely, other than exercise? One of the only relaxation games in town, outside of sex.

   We hit the third bar, a little behind our small pot dealer. The cops with the lights out a couple blocks back and most likely keeping an eye on three newcomers, that had ignited Elise's magic gut… then the pot dealer, ambling in our wake… after that? No further gut ticklers. The pot dealer found us, in the crowded place.

   He was friendlier, and why not. We were cool. We were tourists to be fleeced by the local second economy. He introduced us to other friends, that we played pool with and threw darts with. Elise had taught me to drink slow, touch your lips. You found places to leave it, or dump it. Bathroom was a great place. When you need yet another drink? Everyone knows you're "drinking". Any bartender can report on your progress.

   Elise and Wiz said nothing arouses suspicion at any small town bar, as much as an outsider. Then? The outsider has one drink he nurses for seemingly forever. Might as well walk in with your uniform on. We got offered over time, a social snort of coke. Wiz said no, as did I. Elise smiled and nodded, and pointed at the back of her hand. A tiny dollop, and she got me to the side and looked around casually and conspiratorially. Appearing for all the world like the seedy city undercover cop did, making the hand off outside his coffee shop he worked out of.

   I was the only one who could see that her "snort" was her blowing it out and away… not in. She smiled and played it up amazingly well. Dipped her fingers into the young man's drink, and casually looked around before sniffling the moisture up her nostrils, as if she had just had some. He did it again an hour later, and the same routine. This time though? He did what the pot dealer did. He schmoozed sharing into the I help out my friends speech. She bought a 25 dollar folded up bundle of paper. She had me accompany her to the restroom, and we dumped it and came back and she had taught me the finger sniffling routine.

   She was amazingly good at all this. Looked like either a hooker or a turbo-slut out for the night. Looked like she was steadily drinking. Sampling drugs. But… not. I realized that as rape bait, tracked from bar to bar, and cut from the herd on her late night walk, tipsy… she was obviously not a cop. The clothes and hair and makeup, drinking, drugs… perfect bait.

   The bar we started at? Was the quiet bar. The old man's bar. Less people, less commotion. Less… business too, of all kinds. That being over the table and under it as well. That was where our CI went. He really did shy away from hookers and heavy gambling and cocaine. He chose to hang out at the old man's bar in town. Hey, the locals have to have a place for everyone. The locals not in on the other secret economy? Needed a place for their own. And, Mister Big probably owned that, too. Make a few extra bucks off of who wasn't in the second economy. Milk those cows, too.

   The second bar was more people, more noise, more commotion. More people looking to hook up. More commerce, and again both kinds. We were at the bigger, busier bar now. Lots of people, lots of commotion. Lots of commerce. Lots of… friendly talk. Wiz, for instance? Was invited to play poker later. He begged off, saying he wasn't any good at it. The local gamblers were looking for out of town marks to fleece. Just like Vegas or Atlantic City would have.

   Wiz took me aside, between our fun dart games alone and whispered in my ear, as would be normal for any guy out with any girl.

   "Don't eyeball her. Don't wanna set the sixth sense off. Mother of the year is in the house."

   "Really."

   "Yeah."

   "Why are you telling me."

   "So you know its on the up and up, if I get chatty with her. I might say… or do… anything? To get what I want. You, and Elise? Are hookers. Not working, but out with your pimp. Just play your part. Be quiet, smile a lot, defer any questions to me. Let me handle it. We've done this enough times at home."

   "All right."

   "Okay. Blonde lady. Has her back to us. Right by the jukebox… take a peek, then stay away."

   "But… you want her to talk to you."

   "Yeah. And if I approach her? No. I want her, to approach me. I don't work her. She? Works me."

   He was taking pages from Elise's playbook. He was bait, just a different kind of bait. Different prey, different hunter. Same game though.

   I reminded myself, that Mrs. Sturmer was a predator. Like a murdering rapist in a way, just looking for something different to feed on. Predators, I understand. Hey. Livestock farm I grew up on. We need our livestock… alive. Coyotes were the main problem, among a few others. They predated on any vulnerable livestock animal they could get their greedy little jaws around. I always translate thoughts into easily understood ways. Mrs. Sturmer? Was a human coyote. You can't ignore them.

   You don't go up to a predator, you set them off. You let the predator notice you, track you. They come to you. You don't try to convince a predator of your benevolence. The more you try the more they smell a rat. She was streetwise and street smart. She'd been in this game a long time, and avoided all the usual pitfalls. Then thrived to rise to the top of her profession.

   She had to convince herself, that she had spotted her kind of prey. She, had to convince herself the bait wasn't poisoned. I started noticing. Wiz would scan songs on the jukebox more than play one. She would happen nearby, it was her area of the bar. He smiled, exchanged a few words. Then went back into his own little world. She kept approaching him, and gently. The predator was sniffing the bait.

   Me and Elise weren't making any time with young men like our dress and appearance would suggest. We smiled and simply said we were just out for fun. We took turns hanging out with Wiz, or hanging out ourselves. The blonde predator strongly tended to approach casually and smile and exchange pleasantries when we were away from him. By midnight, she engaged in small talk that was aimed primarily at Wiz. She was polite and all smiles to us, but rarely said much to us directly.

   Wiz let himself be "talked into" going to hit "the club". It was open after hours, and it was even more fun than this place. She idly referred to Swellsville as… Funtown. Packs of guys we had socialized with, had turned out to be ostensibly out of town hunters. Some local fields were ripe with groundhogs, and even one prairie dog town. I grew up on a farm, I know what the first mow is. You cut the first premium batch of hay and now you can see all the groundhogs. Guys that like to shoot 100 yards and farther? Live for it. Any property owner with groundhogs, could get a daily under the table fee, per head.

   I was sure it was cover for more fun for the boys, though. The wife and kiddies could stay at home, and the men with some free time and some free cash? Could not only enjoy ground-hogging and prairie-dogging… there were other benefits to choosing to come to Funtown. Little Las Vegas for hunters. Gambling, coke, weed, hookers. Local cops that were on board and seemed not to notice anything, no… it was perfect for the second economy that thrived here.

   Wiz wasn't here for the small game hunting though. She politely got that out of him. She could see me and Elise weren't out for a manhunt, either. She would know Elise scored a quarter gram of coke for us, and that all three of us smelled of our peculiar cologne we all wore. Smoking pot clings a smell to you, that's unmistakable. Our badges that we were anything but cops. But, Mrs. Sturmer could sense we weren't exactly the normal kind of tourists, either. What was our game? We were safe, we weren't cops. She was gently teasing and probing to see. The streetwise madam was working.

   The club was just out of town the exact other direction from the just out of town abandoned gas station that her daughter had spent so much time in for four years while having her golden soccer spikes finely honed by the inestimable Teddy Ball, her own oracle. Place looked like it had once been a 40's dance hall. Someone had gone over it and turned it into a private club. No flashing neon sign, nothing to give it away if you went past in the middle of the day. Cute scantily clad barmaids. All manner of games of chance around. Rows of the latest and greatest video gambling machines. Big touch screens, with realistic video and exciting stereo sound. Poker room with tables, someone would man the roulette wheel if several guys wanted. You could request blackjack the same way, if enough guys wanted. Craps, too.

   Pot and cocaine small sales abounded here, too. Less helping my friends out talk, more straight sales. We came in with Wiz arm in arm with Mrs. Sturmer. We were obviously cool. We recognized some packs of hunters we had met earlier in the evening before they started the Funtown crawl. They were little groups easy to pick out. Smiling, laughing, drinking. Talking about hunting and guns with anyone within earshot that seemed to enjoy the topic. They had money, they bought drinks, they had cocaine. They offered talk, laughs, lines. They enjoyed poker games. A girl would run the poker table, and another would fetch free drinks for the players. Wiz had taught me that nothing makes a guy feel like a "pro", so much as comped drinks. Little Las Vegas atmosphere.

   Barmaids would disappear and reappear. Hunters or locals would disappear and reappear. Wiz had Elise buy at his suggestion in front of Mrs. Sturmer, another dime bag. When Elise delivered and he smiled and thanked her, he asked if it was polite to go out back? Mom of the year smiled and said it was fine to enjoy it inside, follow me.

   Another room that looked like a smaller, spare poker room. She slid the double doors behind us, smiling. Bid us to do our thing. Afterwards, the friendly and smiling mildly curious blonde predator started small talk again. She called herself "Essy". Everyone seemed to address her as "Ess" or "Essy". Wiz had politely offered he had spent some time down south, and got labeled as "Yankee". So, that was his name. Elise was "Dixie", and he had met her down south. I was MJ. I explained it was short for "Mary Jane", and Essy smiled and nodded politely.

   Going by a nickname, was entirely normal here. No probing or prodding who you were.

   "So. Yank. Can I ask you something?"

   "Yeah."

   "You're not like the normal tourists, to Funtown. I'm just curious, I don't mean anything by saying that. Call me curious."

   "Curiosity killed the cat, Essy. I heard about the place. Stopped by. Here I am."

   "Well. You're not here for the hunting, you said."

   "Oh. Twenty questions. I know this game."

   She smiled, politely and sweetly.

   "You mind the game?"

   "No. Go ahead. I like meeting people. Making friends."

   "You're not here for the girls. You guys score a little candy and some smoke, but… you could do that at home. You're not here for the cards. I'm trying to see what your game is."

   "Passing through."

   "What do you do?"

   "Oh, Essy. I would never be so rude as to ask such a pretty young girl as yourself, her age. That would be rude of me. Though, you can't be a day over 29, I don't think."

   Essy could banter politely. A hint of that faux country club Lightning had talked of.

   "Hmm. And Yank? I would never be so rude as to ask a man such as yourself, about his business. That would be rude. But… you do seem to be what I think of as a… some kind of businessman."

   "What makes you say that, Essy."

   "Hmm. You're smart. Its obvious. But, very polite. Quiet."

   "I'm just an ordinary guy, that learned to read and write, Ess."

   "Well… there's more."

   "Go on."

   "You don't seem to be really… attached to your girls. And two of them. I noticed. You send them for drinks, they buy little party favors when you suggest it. You just, seem to be in charge."

   Wiz, or I should say I suppose "Yank"… sighed and smiled politely.

   "Essy. Are you suggesting we have a polite little gab?"

   She smiled. Sipped her soft drink.

   "Why not."

   "Okay. Round two, of twenty questions."

   Essy glanced at the girls, furrowed her brows.

   "Dixie? That's one of my… business associates. That's my right hand girl. And MJ there? That's her… intern. Her number two. And yeah, I talk in front of them. More of… middle management? Than employees, per se."

   "I see. That makes you…"

   Wiz smiled and tipped his soft drink Essy had brought with hers for him.

   "That makes me a businessman."

   "Are the girls… working."

   "Right now? No. They're with me. We're just breezing through. Heard of the place. Wanted to see it."

   "How did you hear about Funtown?"

   "I guess I would say… a client? Once mentioned the place."

   "I can guess the… business you're in. Why would a guy that owned a bar, travel to another bar, when he could drink for free at his own place."

   Wiz nodded.

   "Okay. Let's say I… as you say, owned a bar. Bars sometimes close. Bar owners… wander around. Looking for a new place to open a bar up at."

   "Oh. Let me guess. You didn't close your doors because you felt like it."

   He smiled.

   "Now, why would any businessman, close down a profitable business."

   "And if I were to ask?"

   "I would say… there are naturally other… bars and bar owners where I was at. One or more of those bars, got raided. Maybe, for serving underage, for being open too late. Again, for whatever little… violations went on. You see, we all had a sort of a… lets call it a… bar owners… chamber of commerce kind of thing. We all have taxes and fees to pay. When several of my… fellow bar owners, were raided for their little violations, despite paying all their little chamber of commerce fees and taxes, well… this businessman, decided to close the doors voluntarily."

   "Mm. I see. A smart businessman, might do that."

   "I try to be smart. When I can."

   Essy wagged her head.

   "What do you think was going on?"

   "Well, didn't really know. Asked around, no one seemed to know. And that was the thing. First bar went through that? Whatever. After a couple more though, and no one knows why. And no one's coming around dropping hints, explaining it. I mean, what the hell was I paying the chamber of commerce taxes and fees for, at that point. Something was up. Didn't seem like a real bright idea to wait around for my turn."

   "So. Be bopping around, looking for greener pastures. You took the hint and got out when the local heat was on."

   "Pretty much."

   "Is that your only… business venture?"

   "Well. When one owns a bar? One does want a video game, a jukebox, a cigarette machine. The sort of things, that your… clients? Expect to find in your establishment. I prefer to call that… diversification."

   Essy smiled and chuckled politely.

   "My, my. You do have a way with words. You? Seem to be a smart businessman."

   "As I said. I try."

   Smiling. A pause.

   "Essy?"

   "Yes, dear."

   "I'm being very polite. But… a stranger. Even one as gorgeous and charming as yourself? I'm playing twenty questions, second round. Would you think me rude, if I were to… well. I'd never say anything as rude to such a charming young lady as yourself, as… how is this any of your business."

   "Hmm. And why wouldn't you."

   "I don't know. First off? Pretty and charming, go a long way with me. Then… you never know who someone is. You do seem to know everyone. You don't pay for your soft drinks, anywhere you go. Last bar? I just figured you were friends or family. Now here, again? Its a small town. I'm just a tourist. I'm betting, this little talk is going somewhere."

   "It could be."

   "If you were to carry your side of this… polite conversation? It would go a long way, to us continuing the talk. Its been all one sided."

   "Well. As you noticed, and mentioned. I do seem to know everyone. In fact, one could say, that I know everyone that matters."

   "Ah. You… represent the local… chamber of commerce."

   Essy smiled. She was quite charming when she turned it on.

   "You could say that. You told me, you came from somewhere. There were other… bar owners, like yourself. City?"

   "Yeah."

   "Which one…"

   Wiz smiled and shook his head politely.

   "Not important. I got out when the heat wave started coming through. All that matters? I got out before I got a sunburn."

   She nodded.

   "That's fair. But, I'll bring it up, now that we're talking. I'm seeing two… unemployed, employees. One… businessman, between businesses. Where you came from, there were… other businessmen. Competition."

   Wiz smiled.

   "Yes. We all… went along, to get along. There's different bars, different themes to each bar. Place for everyone. I had a… different sort of business from the others. You could say, that I… specialized."

   "Hmm. I bring this up, because… as the… local representative for the, ah, chamber of commerce?"

   "Yes…"

   "There is no competition. We already have, one business owner. Its not the city. Its a small town. I'm sure as smart a guy as you can figure that out. I mean, there's always a place for…"

   She gestured to us.

   "Two more girls. But…"

   She gestured idly again at Elise, as if she was furniture.

   "Middle management? No. Intern? No. And competing business owner? Uh…"

   She shook her head politely, and smiled. But, there it was. A very gentle warning. Sweetly delivered, but delivered none the less.

   "But… we're still talking."

   "We are. Tourists? Are fine. But… the girls don't work in town, or nearby. I couldn't be any plainer, than that. Not my rules. That's the chamber of commerce rules. I'm just… middle management."

   "I understand. Interested in continuing the conversation?"

   "Hey. I'm all ears."

   She was back to charming.

   "As I said, where I was at. We all got along. There's different… markets. One guy? Had the… teenybopper bar. Another guy? The biker bar. You got your cheap dives. You got your middle class places. You got your high end specialty bars. Different clients, everyone got along."

   "In a city? Yes. Around here? Not so much."

   "Well. Perhaps if I were to explain, my former operation a little bit, perhaps you'd understand. You never know. Never hurts to talk."

   "Girls? Any chance one of you could be a dear? Tell the bar, that Essy wants some more of these? Thanks."

   She wiggled her empty soft drink can at us. Elise went off to get some more, and came back with them.

   "I originally, had the normal sort of… bar thing going. Then, one day… I ran into Dixie. Now, Dixie had some of her own clientele. She didn't necessarily want to work for me, as much as with me. It seems her former… business manager? Well, they had some philosophical differences in how management treats the employees."

   "I'm listening."

   "Dixie, didn't come begging for work. She came, and wanted to bring clients. Hey. Increased business, didn't cost me a dime. I got a percentage, and I was amazed at how much… was being charged an hour. I mean, it was like Dixie here? Well, she was just coming and making me money I never had access to."

   "Now, this is very interesting. Continue."

   "Well. I took one look, at what I was doing. How much I was making. How much traffic, how many employees I had. How much risk that brings. Her little side operation? Wow. A real eye opener. Very few employees. Less clientele, that payed way more than I was used to. Very discreet. I had no… security concerns for the employees. Why have a large operation, attracting all that attention. When I could just as easily? Go the Dixie way. Make just as much money, with way less attention, much smaller footprint. Less work, less headache, same or better money."

   "I see. How Dixie, came to be middle management, instead of a regular employee."

   "Yes."

   "Dixie… does something special? Upscale clients."

   "Very special. Very upscale. She has one client? He brings two or three more, for the… unique experience."

   "My oh my. You do have a way with words. But… your business folded."

   "Ah. I leave clients behind for now. You see, after I switched over into… the Dixie way of doing things? Way smaller business, same and better profits. The sort of thing, that no one noticed anything was going on."

   "Interesting. Now, competition? Still violates the chamber of commerce rules."

   Wiz smiled.

   "Well. As Dixie came to me, and wanted to work with me, not for me? I'm looking around for… as I think you put it, greener pastures. A place where… I wouldn't have to worry about heat waves, and sunburn. A place where… I wouldn't be competing with the existing businesses already running. I would be bringing in, my own clients. You would never see any of my girls? Poaching your local tourists. I would be bringing in my own tourists. The, uh… chamber of commerce? Would lose no present business. The chamber of commerce? Would just begin receiving whatever taxes and fees applied. Not to mention, there would be nice guys, in nice suits, with very nice money walking around."

   He indicated next door, where the murmur of the poker game was going on.

   "You don't seem like the chamber of commerce would mind some high rollers walking around. I don't do the casino routine. You're happy with middle class hunters coming in for fun. Why not guys that have really nice suits on. Doing the Funtown crawl. I give, I don’t take."

   "You are an enterprising young man, aren't you."

   "I try."

   "What kind of… clients do you have."

   "Oh. Only the very best. You can have a bar, and be the cheap dive. Like I was. Losers and trash coming in, raising hell over bottom shelf rotgut. Hey, it was a living, and I was the new kid on the block. But, along comes Dixie. Why not have top shelf only, and charge top prices for top shelf. Attract only the best clients, with the best manners."

   "Really."

   "Oh, yes. You see, Essy. Men with serious businesses and serious money? These men get… bored with the same old, same old. They begin to want something new. A new thrill. Playing golf with the boys? Everyone does that. Guys with money? Want to go climbing mountains. Skydiving. Better clients, less clients? More money."

   "But… what kind of money are we talking here."

   "Essy? Thousand dollars an hour, minimum. Goes up from there. Couple thousand, for the night. That's the usual thing. Weekends? Are negotiable, but… very profitable. And as I said. Bored millionaires? Brag about their special fun. They always drag in two or more new clients."

   "What… sort of a bar… would this be? Just curious."

   "Nothing you'd notice. My last gig? I had a standing rental on a big, nice log cabin sort of deal. I'm in the city, where the high end clients are. The ones that work in those big buildings. These men just loved getting out into the forest, an upscale giant log cabin. With… privacy. Around here? I'd be… looking for I think an old farm, with a farmhouse and a barn or two. The clients? Would be… going horse riding. Tiny dude ranch. That? Would work."

   "Sounds nice. But… how does just putting the girls in cowboy boots and standing around horses? Equate to a thousand dollars an hour, and up. Attracting these… upscale rich business owners to be clients."

   "Thought you'd never ask. Oh… MJ?"

   "Yeah, Yank."

   "Would… you be helpful, and go to the car? Little demonstration, for the lovely Essy here. Just a teeny one."

   I smiled and went off. I came back with my little shopping bag. I smiled at Essy.

   "And… if you could get me some empty cans? Its a bar, sure you have a bunch somewhere. No glass, cans only."

   She came back and gave me some. I arranged them on the far wall, and moved back. I showed her my wicked looking bullwhip. Then after several loud cracks, I quickly rattled off four in a row, shredding aluminum cans to the predictable little explosions and the after-tinkles of loose sheet aluminum coming to rest.

   "You see. Essy… low end, for this sort of thing? You get girls, prancing around in some stupid outfit. Swearing and talking tough. And they can't do what you just saw. Once the high end clients, that are into this sort of thing get a taste? They recognize quality, and bring more clients in."

   Essy furrowed her brow. She was trying to imagine this. Yank helped her, talking with his hands.

   "Ess? Remember the old days. The old black and white movies? Always some girl, doing her song and dance act, walking around flirting at the nightclub while doing it. Now. That girl? Was the hottest thing in the bar that night. Every guy there? Wished he could spend some… quality time with her. Why, the big business boys in suits? Heck. Those guys would have outbid each other, just to go back and… have a coffee with her. Now. MJ here? You can see her act, isn't singing and dancing. But? Those suits with deep pockets, can purchase MJ's… special quality time. These guys go to the regular place for that sort of thing? They get some girl in a stupid outfit. They see MJ? Well. MJ… is obviously the real deal. Those guys, will pay anything for that."

   We could all see her cogs turning.

   "You'd be on your own little… dude ranch, you say."

   "Yes. I run my own operation. My clients? Are respectable big business types. They pay extra, for my guaranteed… discretion. Ever since the… heat wave where I was? Well… I'm on a little… tour. This is the second little… Funtown? I've looked at so far. Didn't like the sights and smells of the other one. Too… low brow. Everyone wanted free samples, everyone's talking all tough. Not how I do business."

   "No free samples, huh."

   "Hey. I got a limited number of these very hard to find girls, that are perfect for this. Not having the chief, every cop in town, every councilman, all their buddies… getting thousand dollar an hour freebies all day and night. Not, how I do business. They can get their freebies wherever they get them now. My girls? Work only for me. I bring in my own clients. Clients, you don't have access to anyways. We wouldn't be competing. We would be… adding to the chamber of commerce's coffers. For no added cost or trouble. Kind of a no brain-er, really."

   "Last… Funtown, was low brow."

   "Very. Lots of big talk. Lots of tough guy bullshit. All these… free samples. No. I got one more… Funtown scheduled on my little… tour."

   "Well. Maybe, what I said a little while ago? Was… premature. Maybe, there is a place. For… another bar in town. You never know."

   "In the city? There's a parade of freeloaders coming with their hand out. I got… local tough guys, I got cops, I got council members. All bringing nothing to my table, all got their hands out, mooching. Talking tough. Eats into my profits. Now, a place like this? See… I get my clients in the city, but… I take them? To the country. Why should I have to pay all these moochers. Why should I have all these threats and headaches. Now… a place like this? I pay one… and I emphasize the one… tax and fee."

   "You make a nice sales pitch."

   "As Dixie once said to me. I'm coming offering to work with you, not for you. Interested? Or… we can blow through, see the third… Funtown. We'll land somewhere, eventually."

   "Well. Stay for a little while. We should talk about this a little more. Can't hurt to talk."

   "My girls? I charge a substantially lower percentage than other… business managers. But with what they bring in per hour and per night and per weekend, well… it works out fine. They're happier, I'm happier. I treat the girls like gold. Because they are. I don't think of them as employees, really. More like… I coordinate a little team of independent contractors. I don't force clients on the girls, they pick and choose. MJ here, for instance. Dresses in her cute little horse outfit. You know, rich people showing horses? Outfit like that. Trains a horse, for her show. The suits? Get all hot and bothered, and start a kind of… bidding war. On who gets to spend some of her very limited… quality time alone with them. The nightly cover charge, just to get to see the show? Just that, turns a nice profit. Then? The suits, all start chatting her up. Trying to… entice her. To pick them. You don't just pay to play. These rich guys? Feel like they've really won something. Its very… how do I put this, its hard to get it across. Its very… country club."

   "Dixie does the horse showing shows too, huh?"

   "Actually? No. Different show. But? One that appeals to the same guys that like the horse training show. Once again, after seeing her… unique show she puts on with MJ here? Those rich suits, they start trying to out do each other. Drooling. Trying to see who… wins… and gets to spend some quality time with her and MJ. Once again? The cover charge for the show, is profitable alone. Remember the singer? Same thing, but… you get to bid on the singer. And, you have to sweet talk the singer into picking you. Its quite profitable, and… my girls? Aren't texting their phone behind the client's back, rolling their eyes to hurry up. You pay top shelf? You get… top shelf."

   "Same basic business plan, though. When you get down to it."

   "Well. Is it really? Sure, you can go look through posters, at the store. But, people with serious money? Prefer to go to the art gallery, for those wine and cheese gallery shows. I mean, both are just people buying… pictures to hang on the wall. But come on now. You can't seriously compare buying posters at the store, to a gallery showing. One? Is so… common. The other? Very… country club. Now I ask you. Which one makes more money. The poster store at the mall? Or… the high end art gallery."

   "Nice. Security?"

   "Oh. That's what you call it here, huh? In the city, they always called it protection. Just mooching by another name. If we don't get this extra cut, we're gonna black your girl's eyes. Uh uh. I've never had any… security problems. Rich businessmen are very… they don't raise the kind of hell, the normal clients can get up to."

   "Any side business?"

   "I let the girls… buy and sell party favors, if their clients want such a thing. I actually give away, top shelf drinks. I don't charge. I avoid the whole… bar police bullshit that way. More like a… bed and breakfast, not open to the public. So… I'm not taking any tourists away. I would… buy party favors in bulk, myself, and… in that way? I'm just another customer here."

   "This is very… interesting."

   "You said you're… middle management. Do you… can you… give me any idea what any of the particulars would be like. Ballpark my taxes and fees. Like any good businessman? I want to… support the local chamber of commerce. I'm flexible. Tell me rules up front, I follow them. I just expect the rules to stay, and not change every week. A new tax, a new hand out every month. I'm starting over again. I wanna do it right. I prefer to conduct business meetings? With a martini, and very pleasant conversation. Not… conducted out in the back alley, with violence. That? Isn't good business."

   Essy smiled. Turned on more charm than ever before.

   "Well. You're a very… interesting young man. An up and coming, smart businessman, it sounds like. Now, to answer your question. I'm middle management."

   "You, are… Dixie to someone else."

   "You could say that. Yeah. I'm the… how did you put it? The… business manager. For the girls. My girls? Are employees, not… independent contractors. Now, this is very interesting. I, am not the business owner. I report to him though. I can't talk numbers. Percentages. Rules. But? I can get you an appointment, with the person who handles that."

   "That would be very… neighborly of you. Can I trust such a business meeting, will be…"

   She smiled.

   "Martini. He's a business man, not some thug in the city. I think I have the idea of what you used to deal with. I was young once. Worked in the city. I like it here, a whole lot better. Can't say if he would like your… proposition or not. But? I can guarantee you. You'll deal with one man, one set of rules, and… you won't have moochers coming raising hell with their hand out."

   "How about… a week from now. I have another stop to make."

   "You staying the night?"

   "Was thinking the night, the weekend."

   "I might be able to set up a meeting quicker than a week from now."

   "Ah. A week from now? I can bring something with me. So… if my business meeting indeed goes pleasant. I'd like to have something to show him. Let him know I'm serious. I have other sidelines. I might want to… offer him something for sales. Maybe take a little something back with me. That might generate some… extra operating capital. I bought some… samples while I was here. A bulk candy purchase? Not out of the question. I'm a businessman. I entertain all forms of… diversification."

   Boy oh boy. He can lay it on thick, with a straight face. Mom of the year, was turning up the wattage on her little charm light behind her face and eyes. All smiles, all wonderful personality. She took him by the arm, they went out to get him a drink. He wanted soft drinks, like she was doing. She was all but hanging all over him.

   He was taking pages from Elise's book. Be the perfect bait. Young man, talking money and business with her. Talking about a big business venture. He was very knowingly, speaking her language. Because he knew she was a gold digger extraordinaire, and she could smell a man staring at her, and what could she get out of it.

   She thought she had him eating out of the palm of her hand. She was actually eating out of his. I had to sit with "Dixie", while we got to see her hang all over him. Giggle hair flipping her charming little fake country club airs all over. Introducing him to everyone. She sweetly shooed other girls away from him, and monopolized his time.

   She got him into a poker game and she had him sit in next to her on a string of hands. She had a gig where she was the pretty woman with a cigar, playing poker with the boys. He didn't want to sample the local girls. He did stare at her a lot, compliment her, and sidled right up to her while this all went on. She thought she was getting into a situation, just in case she would have the inside track on a future gold digging extravaganza.

   Elise pointed out how she just happened to put her hands on him gently now and again. I thought Elise was teasing me, that she was feeling my guy up while he was playing the pimp role. Elise explained no, there was more to it than that. She was finding out if he carried a gun or anything like that. When she giggled and ran her hand up his shirt and rubbed his chest? She was checking him for a wire. As well as feeling him up while she did it of course, but… Elise said that was what she was pretty sure was going on.

   Elise said it was pretty simple of an equation. You attract attention, and ask questions above the employee's pay grade. They have no choice? But to recommend you talk to the man in charge. Which in this case? Would most likely be Mister Big.

   In the course of the late night at the club, Wiz sat at a table in the corner with Essy and Dixie and MJ… and asked Dixie to go out to the car and bring something in, that he whispered in her ear for. She returned with what seemed to be a small shaving kit. He sat talking to Essy right at his side, while he patted the shaving kit gently now and again.

   "So. Essy. Would it be out of line, for me to say I very much enjoy your company?"

   "Oh. Not at all. Thank you."

   "So. Perhaps, if I get my… business meeting next weekend like I would very much like to have. I enjoy your company so much, that I was wondering."

   "Yes?"

   "Perhaps we could have our own arrangement. To spend some… quality time together. You know, kind of… celebrate if my business meeting goes well. That sort of thing."

   "You never know. You didn't seem to be that interested in the girls. You have your own. I just assumed, you were all… business."

   "I mix business with pleasure. And… I just can't take my eyes off you. You? Are…"

   Elise, or I should say Dixie… smiled and quipped.

   "Someone? Likes pretty MILFs. I wouldn't mention any names, but…"

   "Are you asking if I'm for sale? Hmm?"

   He unzipped the shaving kit in front of her, and let her see a stack of green inside. He riffed the edge of the stack for her benefit.

   "We're both in a certain line of work, Essy. We both know? That everything is for sale, if the price is right. And I know the three magic words."

   "Hmm. And just which three magic words would that be."

   He smiled and shrugged.

   "Money's… no… object…"

   She sipped her soft drink.

   "Well. When you put it like that. A man of… a certain quality, wanting to celebrate an important business meeting? Isn't really that out of the ordinary."

   Dixie grinned and quipped.

   "He doesn't go in for our thing, Essy. Its just what he sells. Sure you've heard about a girl having daddy issues? Yank, has… mommy issues."

   "Dixie…"

   She smiled and put her palms up, in surrender.

   "Sorry, Yank. Truth's the truth. Seriously though, Essy. He likes what he likes. You? He likes. I can tell."

   You could just see her cogs clicking and whirring. She smiled. That faux country club charm. Her 100 watt face and eyes? Went to 250 watts. The gold digger smelled a little gold. A working girl, owes a certain amount of money for a client. If she can get more than that? That's her tip. If she's savvy enough to get a bigger tip than her employer gets his fee? She's a smart operator. Essy was streetwise, street smart, and could smell green gold like a bloodhound. It was her fatal flaw, and Wiz knew it.

   She smiled and her eyes twinkled.

   "Maybe. What would… such a thing be like? Different things, cost different, dear."

   He whispered into her ear for a little bit. Her eyes widened, then she giggled, then she kept listening.

   "You? Are a kinky little shit, aren't you."

   He shrugged, smiled and nodded.

   "Name your price."

   "Hmm. All night?"

   "Definitely. With such a beautiful woman as you? I don’t want to be rushing things."

   "I simply don't do out-calls."

   "Oh. I really didn't have…"

   He jerked his head towards the door the scantily clad barmaids sometimes took a "friend" through to reappear a while later.

   "…that in mind. I don't roll around on the community mattress, the springs poking me in the ass after everyone else."

   She smiled, and rubbed his forearm quite suggestively.

   "Dear… I do in-calls. When I even do it. Nice house, all to myself. Neat, clean. My days, of squeaking the cheap springs in some dirty broom closet in the back room? Are past me."

   "Now, that's more like it."

   "Just you and me?"

   "My girls can be in the living room. But yeah, just me and you. In the bedroom, the shower. I don't like to share, such… quality. Besides. Dixie and MJ? Well. They’re more out with each other, than they are with me. If you take my meaning there. They like rich businessmen, when they’re working. For playing? Well…"

   I leaned my head on Dixie’s shoulder and smiled, in case she didn’t get the hint. She just smiled and nodded. Elise and Wiz had already taught me a ways back, that a lot of prostitutes secretly liked only other girls. If they weren’t that way to begin with? Getting smacked around by pimps and johns did it.

   He ran the side of his hand lovingly on her face. She beamed and sparkled. She really was pretty. You could easily see this was where Little Lightning got her looks from. Her dad gave her the height and a little more muscle, but… the face, the skin… this was the fountainhead that came from.

   She leaned in and whispered something in his ear.

   "That's all night?"

   She smiled and nodded. Then, leaned in again.

   "What's that?"

   "All weekend."

   He smiled, and caressed her cheeks gently.

   "You? Are going to make me… a very happy young businessman. I'm just sure of it."

   "Hmm. If you're meeting goes good? We can spend some time together now and then."

   "Mm. I'd very much like that. You really are gorgeous, you know that?"

   "Oh…"

   "No, you know you're special. Come on, admit it. The teenage boys in town, they still look when you walk by. I bet they do…"

   She smiled and almost blushed under the complimentary attention.

   "Well… I try to keep myself up, you know."

   "And you've done a very good job at it. I know top shelf when I see it. You? Top shelf."

   God, could he lay it on thick. The rest of the night, was all sparkly charm out of Essy. They exchanged phone numbers. She agreed to get his appointment he wanted, and she'd text him when she was sure she had it set. And for their own little date, well. He had her number for that as well.

   Me and Elise teased him a good bit on the drive back to the cheap motel room. Elise took a bath first, then me and him took ours. A little quickie that the shower afforded us, before climbing into bed with him and Elise. We all continued to make little jokes about the evening, and the parts we were playing. He got mileage out of the Dixie jokes, and some hooker jokes at my expense, too. I teased him about what "services" I was going to render him, for putting his hands all over Essy.

   He reminded me he was just working. I reminded him? I was a high end S&M call girl. I'd be just working, too. Elise got a giggling fit out of it.

   Those two had something else going on. We were about to leave the next night, when he went off. I was lookout in the car. He had a roll of dark colored duct tape, and of all things a wrist rocket slingshot. The kind where the little cuff goes over your wrist for extra support and power. He glanced around, and worked quick. When a certain car pulled into a certain place? He waited while a woman in a uniform got out and went up a walkway to get towards a house she had parked behind.

   He worked quick. Disposable gloves on, he put tape in a tic-tac-toe pattern across the passenger's window. More than two lines each way, but using that crosshatch pattern. He let the slingshot go, then tapped the spider webbed glass with his elbow. Reached in, retrieved a small suitcase sort of thing, and dropped it into his backpack and returned to the car. He dropped it in the trunk, and we went back to the motel to get the rest of our stuff and go.

   Him and Elise went over the contents. They kept what they kept, and decided it was perfect.

    Part of me was a little scared, but a bigger part of me was excited and thrilled. Back to playing the part of the little kid in the backseat, poking my head up between the seats to bug the indulgent mom and dad with questions. When I asked about being nervous, traveling with the things we had with us? Elise flashed her city badge. Her gold shield hunting license, from her last job. Getting pulled over? Wasn't a problem. She was on leave, after her last successful "optimum outcome". She was technically still a city detective from that city, just on leave after a fatal shooting, and whatever time she required to recuperate.

   I suddenly realized that cops could travel with dead bodies in the trunk, and no one would ever need to check the trunk, even if they accidentally pulled them over. Professional courtesy. The realization made it easy to see where corrupt and power mad cops came from. Without a strict moral code to live your life by, the way Elise and Wiz and the others seem to have, well… it could get to that if you were the wrong sort of person for the job.

   When we got back, those two had another meeting in the basement with the others in at that time, before everyone came back all smiles and happy with the way the sausage was being cooked. Unlike normal, we had easy meals. Nights out to dinner, with all smiles and easy laughter and fun. The big case? Was coming to a close soon.

   Me and Little Lightning? Had quite a bit of fun with Wiz. The sweet kind, where love didn't have to hurt like it sometimes did. I used him particularly rough one night when everyone else was out at yet another celebratory dinner. Right in front of Little lightning.

   We left out all the details of her mom of the year and our dealings with her. I was the bad girl that night. I had him face down, ass up on our little wooden fuck frame. I fucked him into submission and then some. Little Lightning was good cop. I sent him down to her room, for the sweet after care. I continued to be the bad girl, she was the sweet girl that night. I woke up in the middle of the night, and the soft music covered the muffled strange noises we got out of him for a little middle of the night fun. We had the slut in the middle, and while we didn't put a mark on him? We took turns using him for all but a fuck toy.

   He was a little tired, but with a silly dopey smile on his face for breakfast. We had fallen asleep with one of our "boxers party" sleeping nights. He woke up in the middle of the night, with each of us on him, giggling. Winding up his ankles and wrists into the inelastic rubber bands that you could twist the boxers into. Then we had yummy fun with our captive.

   I was rougher on him because hey, I was the bad girl that night. Little Lightning was even a little sweeter than what was normal for her. He was starting to enjoy the fruits of her gratitude. Providing her with revenge and justice that she craved so bad. Trust me here, when I tell you this. The guy had a fun week, and we promised him more of it when it was all over and done with. This was just his preview, we told him. We had all summer to have fun.

   Me, Wiz and Elise left first. The boys that were in, had their bags packed and ready to leave, but they would be behind us in time. We'd had numerous little forays into Swellsville before. The big house, for instance. We stayed in the underbrush and observed it more than once. Wiz and Elise were excited to note that the infrared light from the cameras went off one time, when a nice car pulled in and two men got out and went inside. They already knew the schedule for the cleaning girls, and they were away as well.

   When important business was being conducted? The cameras were off, and the staff was away. Mister Big and Little Asshole were the only people in the big, nice house and property then. You don't want a record of those sorts of deals, staff seeing certain faces coming and going. It would make the visitors nervous, and the owners certainly didn't want a record existing of their shadier dealings.

   We were met at the front gate by a man maybe about Wiz's age, but a little older. Little Asshole. He lived up to his name. Haughty, above it all. Spoiled little shit. Free with his mouth, and his attitude. All rough talk. He was the son of the most important man in town, and had criminal as well as financial wherewithal. He could do no wrong, and he let you know it. Wiz was his usual self. Quiet, polite, unassuming. He smiled and played off all the thinly veiled threats the young man put through him.

   After having experienced Elise and how she conducted a pat down? Little Asshole clearly wasn't a professional at it. A couple of routine hand rubs on Wiz, who made a little joke about it. A young girl and an older girl, dressed skimpy with nothing other than those tiny little purses girls carry, well… Wiz was clearly what he concentrated on. We just opened our purses to let him see down in.

   My tiny purse was similar to Elise's, who had one a hair bigger. Mine wasn't much bigger than my hand splayed out. Hers, perhaps two hands worth. Nightclub purses. Lighter and cigarettes, some credit cards and money and makeup, that's all it was required to carry. Doormen at nightclubs were used to the things. Other than touching Wiz in a few places and glancing at our makeup bags, he wanted to see in the briefcase Elise carried. Elise looked at Wiz, who took it and opened it up for him. When his hands went in to rifle around for a better look? Wiz retracted it and snapped the case shut. He was visibly irritated, but just nodded his head. It was, after all, contents that he expected.

   The father, Mister Big. Completely different animal. These two? Had their own good cop, bad cop routine going. Little Asshole was the bad cop. Mister Big? The big smile, the easy grin and infectious laughter. It was instantly and intuitively obvious that he had put all this together, and his son was just a spoiled little ass. I smiled and told Mister Big that he had a pleasant way about him. He smiled not unlike Essy did, though with less wattage. Because who doesn't enjoy compliments. Elise did the same, I just followed her lead.

   The father had a little pot belly, the receding hairline of what you would imagine as the prototypical big businessman. Expensive stone walkway and driveway. Big, beautiful house and grounds. Ignore my son, he's a little rough around the edges, he said. He shooed the son away, and put a stop to his tough talk.

   "These people are here for a business meeting. This isn't the pool hall, kid."

   Little Asshole rolled his eyes and hung back after that. Wiz smiled and shook his hand warmly, told him what a pleasure it was to finally meet him, he had heard great things about him. The father smiled, and walked us in. Important people love to get buttered up.

   The father had an easy way about him, he could turn on the charm like Essy could. We walked through an impressive living room, with impressive and expensive looking furniture and decorations. Very tasteful looking. A brief stop in the big kitchen after the dining room. Big, polished table. Lots of big, polished and well upholstered chairs. I found myself wondering which one poor Sky had been made to sit in, forced to have dinner with the rich people she didn't any longer want to be around.

   Which big, expensive and tasteful back room the mother of the year had dragged her off to. Which corner she had been kicked into that time, after around the floor. Until she was able to be forced back to the table and keep her mouth shut to get through dinner with the people that made her skin crawl.

   The father was all smiles, and had a big expansive and friendly personality to match it all with. He sat at a big expensive and tasteful looking desk in his study office, that would befit such an important man as himself. In control of his little universe and all the little ants that scurried along to do his bidding.

   He was very polite about inquiring to make sure that it was okay to talk business, in front of the girls. Yank assured him, that they were more of business partners than employees. These girls had their own nest eggs, and were going in with him on the new location and set up. They hadn't squandered their tax free incomes on booze and drugs, and so they had the wherewithal to help set up the new shop. The man nodded sagely. Complimented us on having the business savvy to look into our futures so adroitly.

   He made my skin crawl, as bad as Little Asshole did.

   The man went over the basics of what he had garnered from Essy. His madam. His… Dixie. He nodded and liked the idea. High end rich guys S&M boutique needs being catered to. An untapped market for him. As a businessman, he assured Wiz. Bringing something like this to the table? Showed him he was dealing with an up and coming smart businessman, not the sort of thing he was used to having around him. He liked it.

   But, just like Essy. He issued his threats ever so sweetly and politely. He wasn't like his son, Little Asshole. He was all charm and cherubic good nature, though he did mention it. There was to be no mistake about it. He was the man in charge. Now, as long as that was established and adhered to? Well, the rest was just everything falling into place.

   Wiz assured him, he was the sort of man that knew his place in the world. Sure, he was more than the ordinary employee. He worked with the bigger man, not for him. But, he knew his place. As long as the deal was up front, and adhered to? He would do his part.

   "All right. We got the basics out of the way. Now… let's get the setup going. You, purchase one of the many small farm properties around the edge of town. You… make a little… dude ranch, you called it. Couple horses, bring in clients for the little ranch experience. On paper, the CEO's are going for a little weekend retreat, that sort of thing."

   "Yeah."

   Mister Big nodded. He could "see" it, envisioned in his mind.

   "Gotta tell you. I like it. Nice front. Little… exclusive bed and breakfast. For naughty CEOs, eh?"

   Wiz smiled and nodded.

   "Yeah. You know, the last week? I was curious. Thousand, two thousand. Sounded too good to be true. Looked it up online. Curious. I gotta tell you? Wow. Never realized there was such a high end market for that. I mean, the market's obviously there, I know that. But, you got clients from a city. Playboy millionaires, bored and want something new and exotic. I like it, I do. You, and your… investors? Set the little farm ranch thing up. Your dime."

   "That? Won't cost you a penny, sir. And if you ever wish to… let's say… dissolve our little arrangement? Hey. Its just a piece of property. I just figured if I make you money, don't cost you anything, don't cause you any headaches, running a little bed and breakfast thing. Why would you turn down the extra income."

   "And I can see what you get out of it. Too many hands in your till, where you came from. You get one hand, not many. And I can guarantee you, no hassles from any other… characters. I mean, I risk nothing. The worst that can happen, you can't get your clients back. You sell your property and move on. You make a profit? We discussed your… contribution percentage."

   Wiz smiled.

   "I try to be a good citizen. Why would a man making a living, a good living. Fail to pay his fair share to the local… chamber of commerce."

   "Well. Its a free country, last time I checked. You and your investors, are certainly free to scout around, locate a piece of property you think will be to your liking. With the understanding, of course. Once operating… we agreed on a percentage. Gross, not net."

   Wiz smiled.

   "Like I said before. I have no problem rendering unto Caesar."

   "Now. As we discussed. Its your… bed and breakfast. You, are free to split your fees whatever way makes you and your… independent contractors here, happy. That, comes out of your percentage, not mine. We're clear on that. My percentage, comes out first. Then? Whatever makes you guys happy? Fine by me. Remember. I don't just take my cut. I have expenses. You have a building? You have to pay rent and the electric bill. I have Swellsville. I pay those bills, to keep us all happy. You might wonder, how this all came about. Curious?"

   "Please."

   "I was younger. Dad, had a business. I was at the beach one summer. I ended up having a couple drinks, with one of the small shop owners there. Dad owned a little restaurant, we did okay. But there? They worked basically the summer, then closed up shops. But, they made enough money to live good… all year. I realized. A beach town? Was different, than a regular town. Everything, was just… different there. The cops? Rode bicycles and wore shorts and short sleeves. The shop owners? Dressed like people at the beach. The bars? Open all night, after they locked the doors, at… so called closing time. Everything was… fun. Lighthearted. Different town, different animal, than I was used to. No parking meters, no parking tickets."

   "A resort town."

   "Yes. You could walk around with a beer, no fines. Cops on bicycles? Weren't pulling people over, hassling them. Kids? Smoking a joint on the beach, it was all normal. People were making out on the beach, people just giggled. Everything, was just… fun, and done different. I never forgot that place. You just need a tiny town, and… you get it running right, well, all good things happen. You see, that whole little resort town? Was on board, with one thing. Make people happy, and they come back next time, with twice as much money. And talk about happy. Business owners? Made more money. The workers? Got paid better and things were more laid back."

   "No, I definitely see where you're coming from. I look around? This is… nothing like what I was used to, in my city. I like it. Seems to be good for business."

   "Exactly! See, normally. The cops? Well, they do their own thing. But, that place? They were on board. If no one's getting hurt? Just let people have fun, and spend all their money. And that? Is good for business. Bar owners, weren't carding kids. Why should a bar close at 2:00 am, when there's money to be made till the sun comes up. Doesn't hurt anything. Then? The diner's open all night, too. That guy's making more money. The tourists? Tickled pink to go out, have a few drinks all night, eat when they want. No. I realized. That little town? Was… designed, to run like that. Now. Only so many beach towns to go around, but little country towns? All over, and hey, I lived in one of them. I also, liked Atlantic City. Once dad retired, I expanded the little restaurant. Opened a bar next door. Didn't take too long, to… get things… you know. Running right. Not a beach town. Think, Atlantic City? In a tiny country town. Everybody makes more money. Everybody's on board. Everybody's happier. And I tell you. That? Is good for business."

   "I've done this before, around a big log cabin kind of deal. One of those… executive chalet kind of things. Was a closed down golf course back in the day, I leased it for a song. Owners didn't have much use for it, after the golf course closed. The naughty businessmen? Like the privacy getaway deal. There was always enough to go around before, and that was with all the extra moochers in the city coming at me like hyenas. I really like the idea, of only having to deal with one person."

   "I can imagine. Its why I'm here, instead of that bigger market, some city. Better to be a bigger fish, in a smaller pond, I think."

   Wiz looked around him, and nodded.

   "You seem like you've done very well for yourself, sir. I could do a lot worse, than not follow your example, am I right? Every new guy, needs a mentor to look up to. Pick one doing well, I say."

   "I do okay. Now. Essy mentioned, party favors."

   "Yeah. That's… another service you provide, I noticed. We… sampled a few things last time we were here. Sales, are sales. We're not looking to have your existing tourists for customers. I've always purchased candy in bulk, and sold at cost to the girls. Let them make what they can off of the customers on the side."

   Mister Big smiled.

   "See? That's one of the things I like about you, the way you talk about things. You treat your employees well. You make them want to stay with you. That's smart. I like it. You're not greedy. Now… greedy businessman? That's a businessman that looks to bite the hand that feeds him, tries to skim off him. But… a man that's generous to his employees? Well. That's a man that I feel like I don't have to worry about half as much."

   "Greed, profits a man nothing, in the long run. Now. Short term thinkers? They only see the extra payday. Me, I want my success on the long haul. I want… happy people around me. To me, its only good business."

   "So. You did say you had samples. Essy might have mentioned, that in the course of raising a little extra capital… you were a businessman. You buy and sell things. I believe she said you called it… diversified."

   "Hey. Money is money. I have some, and I can turn it into more. If I buy and sell a commodity. The bigger bed and breakfast I can get, the better of an operation I can run."

   "And… that's not sales for here."

   "No. That will be me… well, us. Going back to my… prior stomping grounds for a little bit. Not my regular business to deal in, so. Kind of a quick in, quick out sort of thing. Why not come with double the capital, have double the bed and breakfast. I'll be in that market, out and gone. Before I've ruffled any feathers. The only upside of the city, really. Takes a while to attract attention. I'll be gone by then."

   "What size of… commodity purchase, are we talking. Ballpark it for me."

   "Dixie? If you would be so kind as to show the esteemed gentleman, what our financial adviser has to say about our commodities trading position."

   Elise smiled and opened the suitcase she carried, after carefully arranging it just out of his grasp and lifting the lid. She let him scan inside, then slowly lowered the lid, after letting him run his fingers over the contents. He had the same glow and twinkle as Essy had, when confronted with green gold. For all his talk about how bad a thing greed was? He had a bad case of it. Just like Essy? It short circuited his little pea brain to see it in his face, knowing he was soon to run his fingers over it.

   "What do you want, then."

   Elise went back to her seat, with the suitcase that his eyes followed.

   "Candy and tobacco. Easily sold, easily traded. The candy's where the money is, of course. But, the candy customers? Always like to have tobacco, to wind down their little parties."

   They had a frank pow wow, discussing prices of cocaine by the kilo, and both showed off their seemingly extensive knowledge of the metric system. What sounded like simply a fucking bale of pot to go with it. Wiz and him wheeled and deal-ed, smiling. Him, happy to make a big sale. Happier yet to envision yet another profitable operation running after Wiz doubled or tripled his "capital investment" and returned to buy property. Then, round up what was left of his girls and clientele to get rolling again.

   Wiz wanted to maximize his investment, to maximize his return. Which meant that Mister Big got the entire briefcase he coveted so much. He called his son, and asked him to meet him in the study.

   "My son? Typically handles the physical transfer of… commodities. I handle business and financial concerns."

   "Hey. However you do it, works for me. I'm easy to get along with. I'm flexible. You tell me how this will work."

   "Its pretty straightforward. I get cash. You? Get merchandise. Just like buying a pair of shoes. There's just that awkward moment, that some people have. Making the exchange. But… you seem like an easy young man to get along with. You? Go with my son. Check your merchandise out, and you can return with it. I? Wait here. Have a drink. Entertain your… investors you brought with you until you return."

   "You get the money. I go with the son. I return with my merchandise. My girls wait here. With you. We get back? Me and the girls are off, happier. You? Get a little bit richer. And I, get to go see to my hot date I have planned to celebrate a successful business meeting."

   "Hey… sounds like a plan."

   He wrote down a little something on a scrap of paper off of a little scratch pad, and handed it to the son.

   "Be nice. These are important customers. Soon to be junior partners in a little side operation."

   Little Asshole made a show of displaying his handgun shoved in his waistband, to intimidate Wiz. Yank, I mean. He held his hands up, and smiled and shook his head. He proclaimed how he detested firearms, he was a businessman and not some common thug, after all. The father made a crack about how the son could learn a thing or two about how to conduct business politely, the way they were doing it. The son rolled his eyes, like a spoiled six year old. Wiz followed Little Asshole off and down and out.

   Left alone with Mister Big, we smiled and made small talk. We talked idly, about stupid things about the farmhouse and little barn we needed. Elise complimented him on such a nice house, which butters up any self important man such as himself, that figured he has it made in his little universe.

   Elise suggested she could make us a drink, seeing how everything had gone so smoothly, and how wonderfully things were turning out. She offered to make him a drink, too. He suggested what he wanted, and she smiled and said it would be her pleasure. While putting ice in expensive looking tumblers, the musical notes sounded off and suggested this wasn't glass highballs she was dropping ice into, but actual crystal. She put his drink in front of him, and was now standing near. Smiling. Talking friendly.

   She put the briefcase on his desk, directly in front of him, and allowed him to paw the green gold inside. It lit his face up, and made him beam and sparkle. She smiled, and said it was his. The merchandise, after all, was on its way. He could feel free to put what was his, where he kept it for safekeeping.

   All smiles and frivolity, he worked the dial on a wall safe that was behind a somewhat stereotypical painting that came out on hinges. Sounded like a magnetic catch, like a simple cupboard door might have. The exact sort of thing you never see in real life, only on TV in a movie. Unless I suppose you were rich and important, like this unctuous slug.

   While he was actually humming to himself merrily, happy as a pig in shit to be stacking green gold stacks in his safe, Elise struck. She stepped on the top of his calf suddenly from behind, and whipped his fat head around in a flash of violence that simply smashed his face off of his own expensive study desk. Before he could even think about recovering, quite stunned, she whacked him in the shoulder and neck area with the butt of her handgun. Hard. Her voice was even scarier than what she had just done.

   "You move, you so much as blink… you die."

   He started to say something. Something along the lines of… you'll never get away with this, don't you know who I am, I'll have every cop in the county out… etc etc. She smashed his shoulder with the butt of her handgun much harder, causing him to stop the speech and cry out in pain. She thumbed the hammer back, and the soft click shut him up.

   "Let's just add talking, to the list of things that will cost you your life…"

   He shook, and bled on his own expensive desk. A gun to the back of his head, rammed in hard to keep him intimidated. His hands trembled but more or less stayed in plain sight. Elise nodded to me, and I stood off to the side, and had my little snub-nose on him as well. She rotated his face, so he could see another gun on him, then rotated it back and down again, pinned by the barrel like a bug to a wax display board once more.

   There was no more talking. After a little while, Wiz was back. I wasn't surprised to see blood on his hands. He had his hands wrapped with what looked like the thick bandage material boxers wrap with before putting gloves on, but him and the boys had slip on versions. It was what they wore under their fighting gloves that allowed them to have padded gloves, but still wrestle.

   Mister Big wasn't so big anymore. He was more like any normal appearing middle aged out of shape guy now, with a gut and no real athleticism to him anymore, if indeed he had ever once had it. He asked what had happened to his son, and Wiz calmly replied he was just taking a little nap. No big deal, he himself would be taking a little nap, and soon. It was a simple robbery, and no amount of money was worth his life. He didn't like the idea, but he agreed with that logic.

   He was amazingly compliant, as Elise demanded car keys. There really was a string of expensive cars to pick from. Turned out, the keys were already in them. I hadn't touched anything the whole time I was in the place, except for maybe where I rested my hands on the chair I sat in while the business was conducted. That was wiped off before we left the study. Elise had put disposable gloves on, and wiped off the few things she had touched, which again was a limited number of things. In her case? Mainly her seat. The glasses she made drinks in. Ice tongs, briefcase.

   If something happens, and you have to under adrenaline remember where you touched, not having planned it? They had explained you were likely to forget something. But, going in planning on not touching anything? Amazingly easy to keep track of the few things. In my case, the chair arms. In Elise's case? The chair arms and the glasses and ice tongs and ice bucket lid.

   They made the arrangement simple for Mister Big. He was going to drink, or he would die. Would he rather be asleep, and wake up tomorrow, a little less rich but alive? Or, dead. He chose to sleep and live. They poured the contents of a small, dark glass bottle into the highball with a drink in it. Wiz held it firmly down while Elise provided the punctuation to drink from the straw, until he made sucking noises like a little kid finishing a soft drink.

   It wasn't long at all, before he was drooling in one of his own cars. We drove out to the back end of the property, to the weekend abandoned plant. The gravel path kept us well away from the main plant and yards itself. Almost like it was made to be gotten to and from without anyone noticing when and by whom the "blast shed" got used.

   They tossed the Little Asshole unceremoniously into the trunk of the car, and closed the lid. Wiz drove the short distance to his hot date. The last thing we did before leaving and after grabbing a few things? Was that Wiz was smacking the unconscious but still alive Mister Big's knuckles with a short length of wood that had sharp 90 degree corners. They were cut and mangled when he was done. His knuckles were smeared with blood, from the unconscious face of the Little Asshole in the trunk. Then, we set off. Wiz had disposable gloves under his slip on knuckle wraps. Wiz simply changed clothes, and used wipes to clean fresh blood off where it had landed. There was a lot of it, but fresh. It came off easy. He reminded me of a hunter cleaning up, after gutting a deer.

   Essy answered the door for her hot date, and let us in. Me and Elise exchanged pleasantries, and seated ourselves on the couch. Ess was all smiles, and just beamed and sparkled. She wore a rich lady version of my own sleeping T shirt. Hers looked like satin or silk. She smiled, pouted, primped and preened and pranced for "Yank", her date. She really was a looker. I saw the flawless legs and skin that Light sported, and once again knew where they came from.

   Looks, she got from this… thing. Her extra height and athleticism, from her father. She sure didn't get her morality from this woman, and I guessed that had been another genetic gift from dad.

   I could hear demure giggling and whispering from the bathroom. Really, it sounded like something I would expect to hear from high school kids sharing a moment, or even college kids making out in the next room. It didn't sound like what I knew in the back of my mind that it really was. After a short time, Wiz was out and standing in front of us.

   "It's done. Dixie, you wanna help me with the prints?"

   "Sure."

   They carefully wiped off another little glass bottle that was empty, and put Essy's own prints all over it by squeezing her hand around it. The same with the little container that had the long, thin flexible tube. Her own hand was rested on the little container on the edge of the sink that fed the tube. She herself was seated on the commode, the long tube going down and under the seat and out of view. We busied ourselves with wiping prints, then with what got Essy's prints put onto them. Then? We simply walked out the back door, to the waiting car.

   The last thing those two did, was check the pulse was finally done before we went away. As soon as that was gone? We disappeared as surely as the eradicated pulse. Little Asshole was still in the trunk, and Mister Big had been left propped up behind the wheel. His battered knuckles on the steering wheel. They were careful in the car, and had worn gloves. The only things that needed wiping, was a careful going over of the keys themselves. His fingers got pressed to them after being cleaned.

   With no fanfare otherwise, we simply walked off into the night. We got to our car, and pulled with the lights off next to Mister Big's car. Wiz grabbed what looked to be a small hay bale and dropped it in the trunk, and a box next to it. We just drove off as if nothing had happened.

   We got a little sleep, and got up before first light. Elise and me were suddenly jeans and T shirt girls again, that wore ponytails with no makeup. I knew from Elise's earlier demonstration throwing sugar packets at me to get my attention. Sit right near her in the restaurant? Totally different woman. That was me now as well. Elise had built up a lifetime of painting her face and hair up, and she was quite good at it. Between the clothes, hair and now no makeup? People that had sat and gabbed with us a week ago, would swear in court they didn't know us from Adam.

   The next morning, we drove back to town early. No more hiding, we drove near to a big conglomeration of lights and milling uniforms and suits. Target and Mike were flanked by the two state police boys. Everyone we knew nodded and said hello or hi.

   Target greeted us first.

   "Wondered when you guys would get here."

   Wiz did the talking.

   "Target? What the hell. I thought we were still in the quiet phase of the case. This? Does not look like… quiet to me. Or did I miss a memo or something."

   The guy standing next to Target that we didn't know, smiled and shook his head.

   "Who's your buddy?"

   "His name's Wiz. Wiz? Meet state police homicide."

   They shook hands. Wiz still wanted an explanation. Homicide, looked at Target. You or me, the look said. Target nodded.

   "Wiz? You want a coffee first? Maybe a doughnut. Shit went sideways."

   "I called you, because a CI didn't answer my call after a couple hours past due. I go to bed. I wake up to… what the hell's going on here, anyways."

   "We don't have a CI, Wiz."

   "Yeah, we do."

   Homicide looked away, with arms folded over his chest. Awkward.

   "Wiz? Okay, we have a CI. But, they're not talking to us anymore."

   "So? Smack the CI with a rubber hose. I'm joking, but…"

   Homicide was still looking around, it was getting more awkward. He glanced at Target, just do it, the Bluetooth moment said.

   Target sighed. Tried again.

   "Wiz? Let me rephrase. We had a CI. Past tense."

   "They… decided to quit cooperating then."

   Homicide smiled.

   "That's one way of putting it, sure. You're CI? Is… gone."

   "Well, where did they go to? Skipped on us, or… just grew wings and flew away… what…"

   Homicide gave a nervous little smile.

   "I'm… homicide. H-o-m-i-c-i-d-e…"

   "You m---, oh. Oh, hell. Tar? The hell we do now. When you said, shit went sideways? I was picturing something a little less… dramatic."

   Homicide raised his hands, and shrugged and grinned quite thin.

   "What we do now? Is I'm getting ready to do a walk through."

   Wiz looked around.

   "Well. Maybe fill me in, on what's kicking."

   Homicide had a hand up for emphasis.

   "Hey, I just got here myself. I was hoping you guys knew something."

   Target cut in.

   "I'm out here, for a pow wow with my CI we were developing. We thought we were getting ready to close, when… I get a call, my guy here says the CI doesn't make contact. After a while, he calls me. I get here, as scheduled with everyone else, we were going to go over stuff to see about closing and moving on this thing, and… here we are."

   Wiz calculated.

   "Where are we exactly, without our CI. I'm assuming, the CI got… homicide-d."

   Homicide wanted to know what made him think that.

   "Well, I'm no brain surgeon, but… I do portray one on the internet. I got a CI doesn't make contact. I get here? You're homicide. You're explaining how the CI is… gone. Homicide… dead CI… just putting the pieces together."

   "Oh. Homicide does more than homicide scenes. We do things like… suicide. Accidents. Pretty much if you have dead people? We just show up. Kinda a union thing."

   "Oh. CI got in an accident, then."

   "Looks more like a suicide. Which, could be an accident. But, I'm not here long before you got here. I'm getting close to doing my walk through. I don't know what I'm walking into. Look, the feds and the state police called me. Now, if anyone's interested in how I normally work?"

   Target and Mike looked at each other, Mike shoveled his hand at him. Go ahead, it said.

   "I like to look around. See what I see. I'm interested in whatever you guys know, that leads up to this. But, I got what might be a triple homicide, and that's really out of whack for this area, now…"

   Wiz cut in.

   "Whoa! Time out, there. You said, we got a deceased CI. What's with the triple homicide… Target, you said things went sideways. Not flushed down the toilet."

   Homicide waited and shrugged.

   "Sorry to ruin your day before breakfast. Welcome to my world."

   Target continued.

   "Wiz? I said sideways, I mean sideways. Now, this guy? Supposed to be one of the best homicide investigators, for the county. Mike asked for someone good. He comes highly recommended."

   "Great. Sounds like we can use all the help we can get."

   Homicide waved at them.

   "All right. You… you were supposed to make contact with the CI."

   "Yes."

   "CI never made contact."

   "Correct."

   "You called Special Agent Target here, said hey, Special Agent Wiz here, Special Agent Target… I got a no show on the CI."

   "Good on all counts? Except for one detail."

   "What do I have wrong."

   "I'm not a fed."

   "Oh. State police."

   "No…"

   Homicide raised his hands, questioning. Target cut in.

   "He's my consultant."

   "All right. Let me get the players down here. Just for my own sanity."

   He started pointing.

   "Fed… fed… state police… state police…"

   When he pointed at Elise, he said state police, Target shook his head. He corrected himself to fed, and got another head shake. He lifted his hands again, and Target explained.

   "City detective. Helping out. This was a very quiet and coordinated thing, well, up until this morning, anyways. She was riding shotgun with my consultant, until I got here. I gotta have someone riding shotgun with my civilian consultant. I'd of sent some manpower, if I knew we were walking into this kinda shit, for Christ's sake, I'm telling you."

   "Okay. So, we're talking… a quiet, multi jurisdictional, investigation. Was ongoing. How am I doing so far…"

   Target and Mike nodded. He pointed at me next… I waved and said "hi".

   Target explained me.

   "She's his assistant."

   "Gee, you feds. You got consultants, the consultants have assistants… I'm lucky to get any manpower. Must be nice."

   "She brought the victim to our attention, which started this investigation, actually."

   Homicide pointed back to the mess of people staying outside of a police tape barricade.

   "Which victim?"

   "Oh. This victim… nothing to do with here. Just, that was the case starting."

   "All right. I'm just curious, not like I care, but… why are the locals not here? I'm used to locals trampling my scene like yahoos, I mean its nice not having that feature this time, but… what gives."

   Mike piped up.

   "Without going into too much detail? The state police are investigating this one. FBI is just rendering aid and helping coordinate. And… yeah, the locals aren't to set foot on scene."

   Homicide looked to the state police investigator I already knew.

   "This is your ball game, on paper. You good with that?"

   "I ain't happy with shit. This is all one, big, fucking, mess. And that was before… this goddamn circus this morning. But… yeah. I get the paper on this mess, and… no locals."

   "Any particular reason? I mean, the locals know the players, they lived here…"

   My state police investigator dead panned him.

   "No comment?"

   "Oh."

   Homicide sighed.

   "And, it just keeps getting better and better. All right. CI? Misses check in time. Him, his shotgun, and his assistant… call and report the no show to you. By morning? Hello, mess."

   Mike and Target both looked at each other, nodded and looked back to homicide.

   "That's about it."

   "Oh great. So, I got dick to start out on, except… one of my decedents, is a no show CI. I was kinda hoping for a little more, but… that would make it too easy, wouldn't it."

   Everyone shrugged.

   "Fuck it. The bodies ain't going anywhere, until I can get a decent forensics team out here. They're gonna be a while. Answers? Practically none. But time? We have. Let's get breakfast…"

   We all followed to a state police cruiser that had coffee and a couple dozen donuts and some danishes. We all had a bite and a coffee.

   "All right. Who's going with me on my initial walk through? Who thinks they can't keep from puking all over my scene."

   I raised my hand.

   "Yes?"

   "How… you know, how bad is all this."

   "Honestly? Not bad at all, but I do this for a living. My clients are fresh, you've seen worse on the movie screen, if you like slasher flicks."

   "All right. Target? Do I really need to play with dead people? This really isn't my thing."

   "Feel free to miss out on all the fun, dear."

   Homicide pointed at the coffee danishes car.

   "Help yourself, ma'am. If you decide you want a look, let one of us know. And… off we go to a fun way to start the morning."

   He led us back, and I decided to tag along.

   "Okay. Here's where we start. Now, by start? I don't necessarily mean these people go to heaven or hell first. I mean, they get found first. State police are here first, and… bypass the locals and call it in. Anyone notice anything?"

   Target looked in, leaning like homicide did, not touching anything.

   "Well, just the obvious. I… got what looks like drinking and driving up on the dash. If he wasn't dead, I'd think… passed out from a DUI."

   "Yeah. Anything strange about his hands, maybe…"

   "Looks like he was in a fight, I guess."

   "That's what I was thinking. Before I tell you the ID on the dead guy and the ID on the car, anyone want to launch a wild guess?"

   Target and Mike both said, it was one of the suspects.

   "Hey. Progress already. See, before you said that? I was trying to link up the three bodies. I know one of them is your CI. Now, if this is a suspect in your case, well… I get an obvious link."

   Target asked where his CI was.

   "She's in the house."

   "You said probable suicide, maybe foul play. Bed…"

   "On the shit-er."

   "You said maybe suicide. How did she decide to punch out. Pills, cutting…"

   "Oh. Very creative. I was actually saving that one, for last. Its entertaining. I can't say I ever saw anything just like it before. Been a while since I saw something unique, you know?"

   Target and Mike pow wowed. Mike asked the obvious.

   "I got a dead suspect, here. You say the CI's in the bathroom. You said possible triple homicide. Where's contestant number three. Or, dare I ask."

   "Come right over here…"

   The keys were in the trunk.

   "I find a guy passed out behind the wheel, then I figure out he's dead? I do a quick look-y loo of the vehicle. I mean, call a dead guy behind the wheel, my probable cause, you know?"

   He had the disposable gloves on, and he twisted the key and popped the trunk of the expensive car.

   "Voila. Contestant number three. Anyone wanna play name that victim?"

   Target volunteered that was another suspect.

   "Hey. So, keeping score. I got a dead CI. I got a dead suspect behind the wheel, I got another dead suspect, in the trunk. Not too hard to figure out what I find suspicious about the guy in the trunk, right?"

   "Looks like he was in a… car wreck, really."

   "Yeah. I was thinking that. Until we remember the knuckles on the dead DUI driver…"

   "Oh. Gotcha."

   "All right. So… I got the driver, looks a hell of a lot like he… I don't have cause of death yet, but… I got no ligatures on the neck… I got a hell of a lot of head and facial trauma here on this one. I got them swollen, cut up knuckles… off the top of my head? Barring something from forensics confirming or denying it? Looking like the guy beat this guy, possibly to death. Throws him in the trunk… drives here."

   Everyone nodded. Seemed plausible.

   "Anyone know what the relationship between the driver and the luggage is? I'm waiting on ID of this one. Since you guys knew it was a suspect, and another suspect…"

   Target piped up.

   "The trunk? Is the son. Well, the face is all… pretty sure that's him though. The driver, that's the father."

   "Okay. Any reason, why the father beats the son to death?"

   "Not off the top of my head, no. Other than they're both suspects."

   "Because that would, again, be way too easy. Now, am I correct in assuming, that the CI? Was confidentially informing, on these two suspects."

   Target and Mike nodded.

   "Hey, more links. More tiny progress. Okay. I got… driver beats son to death, he's in the trunk. Drives to the CI's house, who is informing on them both… and… CI kills herself? This sounds… I don't know."

   Target raised his hand, like a kid in class.

   "Hey, jump right in."

   "This guy looks like he got ran over by a truck. Why, is the driver dead? As bad as his knuckles look, that can't be cause of death."

   "Well, I'm waiting on that, but… I have a theory… come over here…"

   "Yeah?"

   "I'm waiting on forensics, but… see that bottle, there…"

   "The, dark one?"

   "Yeah. I didn't open the door, waiting on the scene techs, to clear it, but… I took a picture, blew it up, and… pretty sure its some kind of morphine."

   "Morphine?"

   "Morphine. And, you can see its on the seat, right next to the driver, so… until I hear otherwise? I wouldn't be surprised, to find out he killed himself with drinking morphine."

   Mike asked now.

   "Drinking… morphine? I thought you, you know… injected it."

   "Oh. Normally, yeah. But, it comes in syringe form, which is what we're all used to seeing. Also comes in tablets, and… in liquid drinkable form. Kinda like cough syrup, but… you know. Way, way… more potent."

   Target wanted to know where you even get something like that.

   "Now? There's a good question. Its something I wouldn't normally expect to see, outside of a hospital. But, its in the car, next to the dead guy."

   Target went on.

   "My case? Does involve drugs, but… standard illegal stuff. Not prescription and hospital stuff."

   "I do, have a theory on where it came from. Anyone wanna hear it?"

   Everyone did.

   "Here goes. A visiting hospice nurse, not too long ago? Reported someone broke her window, and stole her briefcase. Anyone wanna guess what she reported stolen in the briefcase?"

   Mike shrugged.

   "I'm gonna go with… morphine?"

   "Give that man a cigar. Now. Follow me here. As an investigator? I tend to not believe in coincidences. I got a briefcase of papers and medicine stolen not far from here. I got an empty bottle of liquid morphine, here. Another link. No answers, but, the plot thickens."

   Target got glib.

   "Oh, go on. Muddy the waters more."

   "Yeah. Link from this guy, to the stolen morphine."

   "How."

   "The nurse was no link. But, the patient she was administering end of life care to, making the elderly woman comfortable in her last days? Is the driver's, dying mother. Anyone wanna guess what she was giving her?"

   Mike and Target both nodded and said slightly out of unison.

   "Liquid morphine…"

   "Yes. So. I now got, the driver. Looks like he beat his son possibly to death, stuffs him in the trunk. Drives to the house of the CI, who is informing on him. Who… commits suicide, or there's foul play. I don't know yet. Oh yeah. I gotta wait for confirmation, but… looks to me? Like the driver, the one with the skinned up knuckles… might have a broken nose. That, with the knuckles? Sounds like the son got at least a good shot in, before dear old dad beats him to death. After stealing his mother's morphine off a visiting nurse, who he would have easily known the schedule of, by the way. He paid the bills on the hospice care. I got that much, when the same last names of the driver, and the name on the house were matching."

   Target asked if there was anything else.

   "I got all links, and no clear answers. Other than dead CI, dead suspects… suspect drives dead son looks like he killed violently to the CI's house, that was informing on… both of them. Its all links, no answers. Now, moving right along, we gotta go see little miss creativity in there. I mean, call me an asshole, I'm suspecting foul play."

   Target asked why.

   "Oh. You'll see. I mean, you take this… car of death out of the equation? I would be willing to see the dead CI as a… more or less accident or suicide kinda deal, but… this outside the back yard in the alley? Makes that thin."

   Target piped up.

   "Can we see the CI?"

   "Yeah. I already made entry into the house. I'm pretty sure, that two dead people parked outside your back yard? Equals probable cause for a health and welfare check on a missing CI, so… stay on my path in… and, follow me…"

   "And, here's what I'm calling… creative."

   Target looked in from the doorway to the bathroom.

   "CI, otherwise young and healthy looking. I got what looks to be… someone dead while giving themselves an enema."

   Target couldn't contain himself, it seemed.

   "I got a dead CI, and you're telling me… death by enema?"

   "Well, if you look down here…"

   "Let me guess."

   Homicide squatted down and indicated with his pen as a pointer.

   "Liquid morphine, again. Looks identical to the bottle out in the car, that it looks like the driver offed himself with. I'm… guessing, before forensics goes over everything, but… driver wasn't drinking just booze, in that glass on his dash. Now, this shit? Enemas are uncomfortable, but not deadly. Unless…"

   He pointed to the empty bottle of liquid morphine.

   "You're trying to tell me, my CI… enema's herself to death? With liquid morphine up her ass?"

   "Wild ass guess on my part. Seeing the link? Another link, more questions with no answers. I mean, like I said. Without the car of death, and another liquid morphine link? I could pass this off as suicide, accidental OD, but… you take it all together…"

   "So, do we have two suicides, and one homicide? Or…"

   "You called me, I have no knowledge of your case. I was honestly hoping, you guys could fill in some of the blanks, but…"

   Target played along.

   "Okay. What's the timeline here."

   "Morphine gets stolen out the car, broken window, first. Dead driver? His mother's house, so… then, the empty bottle of morphine in his car, next to him, dead, so… now, I find another empty bottle of morphine. Another… decedent. Gentlemen? This is all linked up."

   Mike asked how many homicides we had.

   "Well. We're not really sure. Are we. I'm gonna call off the top of my head? Barring the examiner's findings, but… let's say father homicides the son, looks like. So, we'll say one homicide, there."

   Target weighed in.

   "Then, we got two… maybe suicides, maybe homicides."

   "About it."

   "You're homicide. We asked for someone good? We get you. What would you do next."

   "Here? I'm hoping for forensics to come up with something. Maybe, I can find something in the car, after forensics clears it. Some prints, would be a godsend right now."

   "Witnesses?"

   "Pffft. Make the game too easy. I'm hoping on some prints. Now. If this one died from a morphine enema up her own ass? That wouldn't be the first dead body found, that expired while putting drugs up their ass."

   "How common is that…"

   "Oh. Idiots put booze up their ass, and drop over. I get people OD from having cocaine or meth tooted up their ass. Now. Booze up the ass? Eh. Typically a teenager, college kid retarded kinda thing. Blame the internet for that bright idea. Now, drugs up the ass? I expect that more from… well, from drug users."

   "The CI was involved with prostitution."

   "Okay. I look at the nasal cavity? I see absolutely no sustained cocaine use. Condition of the teeth? No sustained meth usage. This lady? Was pretty, and kept herself up pretty good. No track marks. This? Was no run of the mill hooker. Age, good health. More like a better quality call girl, really. My impression. How's that square up with your knowledge of this one."

   "Former prostitute. Graduated to madam. That's my intelligence."

   "I nosed around. Carefully. I got no forced entry, that I can see. Door was locked. I got zero signs of a struggle. No signs of any bedroom struggling either. Bed was neatly made, not rolled in yet. I can't find a single thing that says drugs. Nothing. Not a scrap of the tiniest bit of paraphernalia. No booze in the house."

   Mike asked if she died there.

   "Good question…"

   He lifted up the edge of the silk shirt jammies with that pen.

   "We wait on confirmation from forensics, but… lividity? Looks right for died in this position. I didn't see any obvious drag marks on the carpet, nothing. Now. Soon as forensics clears the dead driver? I'll check lividity on his position. See if he was staged or posed. Same for the guy in the trunk. I'm honestly not holding my breath on any answers. I'm praying for prints. Something. Anything. I don't feel like you're getting your money's worth out of me, all I'm doing is stating the obvious stuff, and its all linked. But, you could have guessed that."

   "You're the guy good at this. What's our next step."

   He walked out and we all followed.

   "Glad you asked. Car, comes back to… the dead driver. Driver? Lived in a house. Not far away. Call a dead guy… reasonable suspicion. We're gonna go look around there, see if anything pops out. Unless you wanna eat something first. House can wait. I sent one of my guys out, no staff, no one home or answering the door. Big, nice house."

   Homicide paused then went on.

   "Can… the feds or my fellow state police… clue me in on what I'm looking into here? Come on, what were all these people into. They had to be into something juicy. People into nothing? Die from old age and disease. Not… drinking morphine, squirting morphine up their ass, getting beat to death. Or, can't you level with me."

   Mike and Target exchanged looks, as did the state police investigator in this from the beginning.

   "Roughly? I got a laundry list."

   Homicide smiled.

   "Now. How could I guess that. Including but not limited to…"

   "Prostitution. Underage prostitution. Multiple gang rapes. Contact with minors, kidnapping, all the fun stuff. Running illegal drugs. Probably gonna find methamphetamine manufacture, my crystal ball says. Buying, selling, packaging, distribution of cocaine. Over state lines. Racketeering."

   "Oh, okay then. This, is the madam for the prostitution ring?"

   "Yep."

   "Snitching on…"

   He pointed up towards the car.

   "On the father, and the son. They ran a… fuck, they ran the whole town."

   "Oh, no locals. Makes sense now. Fuck, this really is a mess."

   "Amen."

   "Well. Does dead suspects, close the case?"

   "Oh, hell no. This town? Little Las Vegas."

   "Wonderful. We're here all day, I can see that one coming. Who votes on a real breakfast, before the house?"

   Some hands went up.

   "And… who votes on some kinda lunch, at or after the house. Its a big house and grounds. Got a big business, too."

   Other hands went up.

   "All right. We'll take another vote a little later. Right now? I'm waiting on some more warm bodies to arrive. I want guys to post the scene, keep people out, before I leave. I want forensics in here. We should wait a little bit for the van to get here? I need elimination prints from everybody. Someone is bound to touch something, I don't wanna chase my tail for three days, thinking I got a hit, find out its off of someone legit here on the scene. So… we all get elimination prints, then… either food then house, or… house, then food? Whatever we decide. Or, we can do both. Who knows. We might get some answers. Or? Just more links and more questions. But, the amusement park ride that is homicide? Is still running."

   I breathed a little internal sigh of relief. Kinda funny, really. My prints will be taken to eliminate them as anything of any value to find here or anywhere else. Wiz and Elise too. No wonder they wanted to be here for this. They know this eliminates them as suspects, even though they wouldn't be anyways. Forensics will probably want our hair, too. If one of us left a hair somewhere? It'll be eliminated as coming from people legit on the scene. Pure, simple, genius. I left a hair on the seat of the car, or on the sofa here? Well, it blew in the window we all looked in at, or came off me when I walked through following the herd. Any slight nervousness or anxiety I even had, just dissipated.

   Standing out at the coffee donuts danish car? Homicide kept up his constant stream of thinking out loud.

   "I didn't get any real priors on the driver. Son either. I got asphalt, so, no other tire prints are possible. If I don't get prints, witnesses, something? I'm spinning my wheels. All right. I'll bite. How does a mess like this even start?"

   Target shrugged.

   "It starts? With a victim. Five six years ago, there's a rape victim. Underage, maybe 10 or 12, possibly more… gang rapes. She's drugged and… you get the idea."

   Homicide just stared and shook his head.

   "Fucking, animals. And that's…"

   He was pointing at the car, the house. Target nodded.

   "Okay. You start to look into the gang rapes of the minor."

   "She comes clean, to a therapist. Story's wild. Drugs, corruption, underage gang rape. You fucking name it."

   "Oh, god. I'm afraid to ask, the condition of that vic… strung out hooker?"

   "She's doing sort of okay, all things considered. But… girl's a hot mess, believe me."

   "Poor girl."

   "Yeah."

   "The girl around somewhere? Nearby…"

   "States away. In college. On scholarship. Hot mess, but, doing great, when you take it all in."

   "Priors on her?"

   "None. Too far away, for this. She runs away from this little slice of heaven, oh… five, six years ago? Never sets foot here again. Her only connection? Is she starts the case. To the therapist. Therapist? Ends up getting it to me. I'm FBI. I get state police, to look into the allegations… shit starts looking good, then checking out… it goes from there. When something crossed jurisdictions, then something else crossed state lines? It comes back to me… that's about where we're at. I developed my CI quietly. And… now this. Like I said this morning. My case went sideways and slid not just off the rails, but over the hill."

   Homicide investigation smiled at him, and shook his head.

   "CI was half the case?"

   Target shrugged, looked around as if slightly embarrassed, and nodded.

   "What do you have left, with the CI out of the picture now. Or, is that too personal."

   Target sighed.

   "Now that the CI is gone? I have a stack of notes and even some transcriptions. We were going to close on this. No more talking, talking was done. We were going to sign statements."

   Homicide made a face.

   "Statements… no CI signature…"

   Target shrugged.

   "There you go. I can light a fire with it all. See, once I had a CI and had a quiet investigation up until that point? I put the CI into talks with my people. Working up those statements, you know?"

   "And, you said this town is…"

   "Little Las Vegas. State police? Are having a quiet field day looking into it."

   "So. You, flipped the madam, got a snitch CI out of it."

   "Bingo."

   "Father and son, your suspects. They're…"

   "Running Little Las Vegas."

   "Organized? Or…"

   "Looking local."

   "So the locals are about useless as anything, I already know that much."

   "Useless would be an improvement. That's all I'll say at this juncture."

   "Eh. Typical. Well. I got the father, maybe killing his own son. I got a CI, snitching on the father and the son. I'm having trouble with the son suicides the father with morphine, then gets beat to death, so… now its looking like the father steals the morphine, and… what. Suicides the CI, then takes himself out? I'm just guessing out loud."

   "How he figures out the CI is the snitch, I don't know."

   "They can give themselves away, they can throw it in their face during an argument, plenty of ways. Now, what I like about the father suicides the CI? Is I got motive. I got means and opportunity. Cause he pays the bills for taking care of the dying mother, so… he gets the morphine, does the CI, suicides her… and. A man that could beat his own son to death? Killing the CI afterwards, is no stretch at that point."

   Target went with it.

   "If we assume that the beating is the cause of death for the son, the knuckles… assuming forensics supports or doesn't contradict it… means, motive and opportunity for the CI."

   Homicide wagged his head, maybe.

   "That gives us two homicides, one suicide. Father takes himself out."

   "CI suicides the father? Then herself? Doesn't sound right."

   "No. It doesn't. Any of your suspects have anything resembling a history of violence? I mean… give me something to work with."

   "If you go back several years? The CI, has medical records of what looks like a really bad aggravated assault."

   "Gee. That? Sounds familiar. Look in the trunk, to support that wild ass theory pretty good. Hello. Who banged the madam up?"

   "Medical reports I saw? Head injury so bad, she doesn't know what hit her. They had pictures on file. Looked like a truck ran her over, she knows nothing. She's sitting watching TV? Next thing she knows… wakes up in critical care, head as big as a watermelon."

   Homicide smiled.

   "Well. Head and face, like a truck ran her over. Critical care? Almost died… sounds like the son in the trunk."

   "Father's running a long standing local criminal operation. Prostitution ring, corruption, drugs, illegal booze, underage rape and hooking, you name it."

   "Madam gets run over by a truck, in her living room. And, who usually smacks the madam up?"

   "The pimp."

   "Hey. She did something, once. Years ago. Got half killed for it. Now, he finds out she's a CI? Goes and suicides her. She, CI's and rolls on his ass, figuring he was the one who did her years ago… I mean, is everything coming into focus? Not crisp and perfect, but… fuzzy focus is better than no focus. I got a pattern, I got things like means, motive, opportunity. I got history now."

   "Local crime boss, with temper… accidentally beats son to death instead of the critical care, like normal. Suicides himself, too?"

   Homicide wiggled his hand.

   "Better than anything we had… so far. I mean, if you can support the CIs former head injury…"

   "I have the report. Well. I saw it. It exists."

   "Gotcha. I get a warrant for her medical records, that'll free that up. But… that's… eerily similar to what's in the trunk. As an investigator? I don't usually believe in coincidences. Once? Is luck. Twice? Eh… something fishy in Denmark."

   Target and Mike both wanted to know where we go from here.

   "This is progress. We have a surprisingly valid theory. Its not airtight, but, so far? Holding a little water. But from here? We keep sniffing. We let the facts, the evidence… influence the theory. We mold the theory, until everything makes sense. I mean, will we know exactly what went on last night? Hell no, not without a witness or some prints. But… we still have the driver's and the trunk's house to look at."

   "We do. And, we work in breakfast, lunch."

   "Oh, to be sure. We're just waiting on forensics, and some manpower to hold the scene. Plus? I'm gonna want the house scene held closed, too. So, this all starts, with looking into a 5 year old underage gang rape."

   "Yeah. Trust me here? You will puke, if you read the notes from the therapist, on that."

   "Its that bad."

   "On a scale from one to ten on the rape scale? Like, a 14."

   "Christ."

   "They were selling tickets, to an underage girl, gang rape parties. Like, 10, 12, 14… who even knows how many times."

   Homicide whistled.

   "Wiz. You got some home movies to show him."

   "Unfortunately…"

   High res smart phone clips, played back in hi def on a laptop? Turned the homicide investigator's stomach, but he did hold the cookies down. Hey, now I don't feel half as bad for tossing my ass hairs up through my mouth learning about it myself.

   He whipped the SD card out of the laptop, and handed it back.

   "Oh, fuck."

   "Yeah. Tried to warn you."

   "Wow. You undersold that one. I got a daughter."

   "Sorry."

   "Five years ago… this shit goes down."

   "Well, five when it came to light. Six years by now, just about. Give or take."

   "Okay. What's the victim's relationship, to… any of this we're seeing today."

   "Brace yourself."

   "And, the hits just keep on coming. Go ahead."

   "The CI?"

   "Yeah. The madam. Oh, gotcha."

   "Better. That's not just any underage hooker, runaway they took in and turned out."

   "Okay…"

   "That? Is the CI's own daughter."

   "What?!?!"

   "Yeah. The son was over 21, banging a 14 year old."

   "Not the CI's son…"

   "No. Girl's the only child."

   "Thank god… you scared me for a second there."

   "Yeah. Son in the trunk? Was banging the 14 year old. The madam's daughter. Son? Smacks her around and turns her out. Rapes her himself, cause its his teenybopper girlfriend. Bad enough, but… the father and the son run drugs and prostitution… madam mother… next thing you know? They're drugging the 14 year old, and having these cute little parties around town, they sell tickets to."

   "They're all making money off the little girl's ass. Literally."

   "Its a wonderful world we live in."

   "I gotta be thorough. Father? He has fucking motive."

   "He would, but. He's outta the picture, before the daughter hits pre school. Mom's an actual hooker, so…"

   "We're not generating any new suspects. Well, what's the daughter like. Priors?"

   "Nothing. No drivers license. In private therapy. Scholarship to a really good college. Poor thing made good, and is doing about as well as you can imagine a basket case could do, living through all that. She ran away and never looked back… six years ago. Won't set foot in this town, if you pointed a gun at her."

   "Smart girl. I'm not one to go… rubber hosing the underage gang rape victim… but, she has motive."

   "Okay. I'll grant you motive. Let's talk means. Not like she's down the street. She's… hours away."

   "Well. When do the state police, checking up on the no show CI call in? Around first light. That's before six. Anyone have any contact with her?"

   "That's cold, even for a homicide detective…"

   "Hey, I just wanna eliminate the poor girl if I can, not bring her in. Fuck that. You don't even have to ID her. Hours away?"

   I raised my hand.

   "I'm the therapist. I'm the one that… started asking for help. I can tell you how many hours driving time it is. Made the trip to get here…"

   We calculated driving time.

   Target offered up more.

   "No drivers license. No car. No priors."

   "I hear you. Last contact…"

   I piped up freely.

   "I talked to her…"

   I went through my phone.

   "She sent me a picture, from the hot tub party she was at. That's… 2am. I got another call… this morning. Around 6am. Her and her room mate are out jogging."

   "Okay. 2am, still in… four hours away, something like that?"

   Elise shrugged.

   "I'm the shotgun ride out. Four hours, and I got a gold shield. I don't exactly worry about speed limits. More like four and a half, with a normal human being driving."

   Everyone giggled, at her admission of a lead foot. They all used the no tickets perk driving.

   "So, with no drivers license, with no car. She makes a four, four and a half hour trip one way… that’s an eight or nine hour round trip… in two hours here, two hours back. Not possible. There. She's eliminated. Plus? The father's knuckles, the son’s face. The CI, got the same treatment years ago. The liquid morphine is stolen a couple blocks from here not too long ago before this happens. Hospice nurse's car, parked out by the father's own dying mother's house. No, this is… all local, folks."

   Target shook his head.

   "We pray for forensics, or a print, or a witness."

   "And? We have yet to hit the house. We have a quasi working theory. Let's see what else we can get into, and then--- hey!"

   Someone happened up to us. Short thin man. Dead pan face, sipping coffee.

   "Morning."

   Homicide smiled.

   "I didn't say it was a good one."

   The guy shrugged.

   "Like it ever is. We make a living off of dead people and crime scenes. We're ghouls, for Christ's sake. What's the fun like this morning."

   "Oh, we got the usual."

   "Crime scenes? Dead people?"

   "Naturally."

   "How many this time."

   "Scenes? Or dead people…"

   "Both, I guess. Just trying to plan my day and all."

   "Well. Starts with a car. One in the front seat. But? Don't wait too long on the trunk, if you catch my drift there."

   "So, two bodies, one scene."

   "Well… one big scene. Car is just outside the house. Which had contestant number three in the bathroom. Died on the shit-er."

   "Elderly, then."

   "Nope. Prime of life. Now, you won't get bored today. You can help confirm or deny the theory, that the bathroom? Is death by morphine enema."

   "Style points on that one. Suicide?"

   "Well, without the two dead guys in the car out back the house? I'd lean that way. Tell me something about the driver. He? Has the same empty bottle of morphine, laying next to him. See what was in the glass, on the dash."

   "Morphine, booze cocktail?"

   "That's what it looks like. You tell me if its right or not. Can you get anything quick on the blood?"

   "Its summer. Estimated time of death?"

   "Not even ripe yet. Neighbors? Had a backyard BBQ, saw nothing, that broke up after dark. So, sometime between after dark, and around first light at the latest."

   "It was reasonably cool last night. I get liquid blood, I can tell you positive for morphine, quick. You think it was cause of death, or… a little festivity before the actual cause."

   "You, tell me. Me homicide. You forensics."

   "You said liquid morphine. One, you think ingested. That's the car… and the one in the bathroom, enema?"

   "Uh huh."

   "I have liquid blood, I can test that quick. Positive for morphine, has them still alive, when it hits their system. I can't call cause of death, that's a union thing, with the examiner and all."

   "I'm most curious about the bathroom lady. But… both."

   "Anything special besides the blood morphine connection I'm looking out for."

   "Yeah. Double check all lividity, and pooling. Tell me if anyone moved our contestants around, or if they stayed put after they died."

   "All right. I'll start peeking around. Party van. About 15 minutes out."

   "And, when you get done there…"

   He sipped his coffee, and shrugged again.

   "You got more bodies planned?"

   "We're hitting a big house down the street some. When you get done here, or get it down to a dull roar, get some techs down to there. Probably a scene, I'll let you know if I find any more stiffs."

   "Is this all foul play? Or, am I just cleaning up after stupid people played stupid games and won stupid prizes."

   "Uh, smart money is on one homicide right off. I'm gonna go and guess one of the two suicides? Had a little helper. If I had another suspect, I'd say maybe even three, but…"

   "All right. Then? When we're down to mop up here, we hit the house."

   "Let me know if you find anything. Prints? Would be great."

   "All right… keep your phone handy. You'll be the first to hear about anything."

   "Oh, hey!"

   He turned around again, and schlepped his tongue and mouth, for that ultra deadpan dry humor effect.

   "You forget about a couple more scenes and stiffs?"

   "Nah. But, we need… all of us here? Elimination prints, elimination hairs."

   "Take your little circus out to the party van when it arrives. And… the ladies need vaginal swabs, too…"

   I swiveled my head when I caught what he said on the way out, and was up and after him to turn him around and ask him what in the hell he thought he w---

   When everyone's chuckles made me smile and come back in and sit back on the bumper where I started.

   "And, just like that? The one civilian on the crime scene, is flushed out…"

   Wiz yelled why couldn't he get a fecal swab taken, just for shits and giggles. Everyone chuckled more. Guy turned around.

   "Got a guy your type, will check your prostate, Gaylord. The fun way. We'll give you some privacy in the back of the party van, bub. I try not to judge…"

   After elimination prints and samples, just in case any of the three of us screwed up and left anything at the crime scenes, so they could unwittingly rule out the real perpetrators? We voted on breakfast. We opted to hit the house, and wait a little and just order pizza there. Kind of a late breakfast early lunch sort of affair.

   I now saw the way to go, was to tag along quietly and walk along with every walk through they did. It might look suspicious if an "elimination" hair or print showed up at a scene I didn't actually visit and anyone noticed. No wonder Elise and Wiz were so calm about this.

   Talk about a strange day.

   At the big house, someone whistled. Another one quipped on it.

   "Now. Whoever said crime doesn't pay? Never been here, I guess."

   The intrepid and much beset upon homicide detective, led us around with his usual thinking out loud style.

   "Gates still open wide. Car driver and trunk son both lived here. Got an empty parking spot right there…"

   "Front door's locked…"

   We walked around carefully, and all the doors were locked. Homicide made a notation he made entry and elbowed some glass out, and reached in and opened the side door. It was ironically, the one we had come out of.

   "I've looked at every door. I got no signs of forced entry at a quick look. Doors locked, but… I don't hear any alarms. Could be silent. I got cameras all over the place. Hoping for something there."

   "Stick together for the first pass… anyone sees signs of a struggle, blood, anything… don't keep us in suspense about it."

   Target paused in the dining room. I asked him what…

   "Aw. Just remembering. The notes? Unless they moved rooms around, this is there she was forced to eat dinner, with the people turning her out at 14. I wonder what room in the back the mother dragged her off to, to kick her around and take her back to the table. I never forgot that, watching the video notes."

   Wow. Same thing that had run through my head, when I was here. I just couldn't say it. I left it at one of those "now that you mention it… yeah" kind of statements.

   When we went up to the second floor, nothing was amiss until homicide found the study office room.

   "Well. Open wall safe… robbery, maybe? Could I get that lucky…"

   He looked around.

   "Fuck me. No robbery. No self respecting thief, would leave bundles of money in an open safe. And, hey… what have we here. Anyone wanna stay up all month? I'm betting on what that is, next to the cash in the safe…"

   Homicide stood looking at the open safe. The stacks of money and stacks of what appeared to be kilo bags of cocaine. Then he looked at the desk. Back at the open safe, back to the desk. There was a briefcase on the desk. He opened it with his pen he touched things with carefully.

   "Well, well, well. Someone, was doing something. I got drugs and money in the wall safe. Open. I got a brief case, with… surprise, surprise, surprise. More money, more drugs. I mean, I hate to earn my money, making these Sherlock Holmes level deductions, folks, but… someone, got interrupted."

   Target wondered aloud.

   "Was… the stuff going in the safe, coming out… a buy or a sale?"

   "If you think of a way to tell that, let me know. I know one thing though. Two things. No robbery. And, assuming the father and son were the ones typically in here? One of them, was interrupted. I assume, maybe by the other one. Wasn't someone else, they'd of at least taken the cash, maybe the drugs too. That's as good as cash and you don't even need to know the right people, really."

   Target had started thinking out loud now too, the homicide guy had him doing it.

   "We think the dad might have beat the son to death. Dad, catches the prodigal son, helping himself? They argue…"

   "I mean, yeah, but… I expect signs of a struggle. Anyone see signs of a fight in here?"

   No one did.

   "Well. I'm seeing… one booze glass missing. Right here… I gotta wait for forensics to clear it, but… I'm betting that's probably gonna be the missing glass, from this set here… on the dash of the dad's car."

   "Hmm. Suitcase. I wonder… if…"

   He got on the phone and tracked down someone that could tell him about the hospice nurse that had her car broken into, and the briefcase with the morphine in it stolen out of her vehicle. Instead of asking for a description, he gave a description of the purloined case instead.

   He already knew by that point, but matched the initials of the hospice nurse to the briefcase initials inscribed in elegant, flowing letters that were somewhat tastefully engraved between the handle bases.

   "Yeah. Solved that one, on accident… what? I described it to you. The initials match… huh? No, no morphine or anything else in it, but I got the briefcase. It has other stuff in it. Its part of a murder suicide foul play thing now. If we can track numbers off the bottle or something, the liquid morphine ends up at my murder suicide scene. Two places… well? Get the nurse, see if there's numbers to track. I can't believe there's not some way to track who let the good stuff get out… no, I don't know, I'm guessing though. Find out, would you? I'm up to my ass in stiffs this morning… yeah, love you too."

   "This is the briefcase, had the stolen morphine in it. Where the other drugs went? Anyone's guess. Hopefully, some junkie that knows what he's doing is enjoying it, and I don't get more bodies showing up."

   Mike said it.

   "Well?"

   "Same story as before. Another link, this is all local. Doesn't make sense. But, that's nothing new for us. You all want me to state the obvious?"

   Target did.

   "Okay, follow me here. Look, at the house. This place spells money. Now, you go out, and you steal morphine. You keep the briefcase? Like this guy needs a briefcase. He's a rich guy, if he wanted one, he already has one. But… the briefcase with the morphine, ends up right here. Morphine out… money and drugs in, or… case used, money and drugs going back in the safe…"

   Mike said it.

   "Well, the son or the dad, steals the briefcase. It ends up back here. Which one?"

   Homicide thought about it.

   "Son can't give dad the morphine, after he's beat to death or dying… dad steals it. Or, kid steals it, but dad takes it. Now, son or dad, is interrupted here. I'm thinking loading up the now empty stolen briefcase… no robbery. I'm leaning towards the dad, is loading up this stolen, empty briefcase. Because… would you give your son the numbers to the safe with the drugs and money in it? He could, but I'm guessing."

   Target surmised aloud now.

   "Then dad's filling up the case… son interrupts him. They… argue."

   "I mean, yeah, but… I'm homicide, I'm used to seeing a struggle. I don't see one. I mean, I don't technically have what I would even call a crime scene, not really. Not yet, anyways. Just the… interrupted moving cash and drugs, into the briefcase…"

   Mike said it.

   "Its what the son and the father argue about?"

   "Wouldn't be the first time, drugs and money led to an argument, I'll say that much… or, the kid has the empty briefcase, dad knows he stole the dying mother's morphine… I don't know…"

   Target went in again.

   "We already knew the son and father argued, this just tells us… where the argument started, and or what they argued about. But without a struggle…"

   "The argument starts here. It doesn't get real bad, until somewhere else. Where is that somewhere else."

   Target grunted.

   "Well, that could be anywhere. Found the son in the car."

   "Yeah, but… he tosses the body in the trunk. Empty parking spot, I'm betting he gets tossed in the trunk here, then he drives to the CI's house."

   Homicide's phone rang.

   "Tell me you got prints… naturally. Okay, go on… well, all right. So, she's definitely alive, when the morphine enema hits her ass… no no, I know, to be determined later, but… its in her blood, it happened pre-mortem, right?… okay… and the driver?… yeah… same thing… what about the driver?… all right. Yeah… thanks. Keep me posted."

   "I got updates. Son in the trunk? Blood pooling in the body doesn't match how he's in the trunk. But, that makes sense, when you toss a dead body in the trunk. The son dies somewhere else, but the driver and the CI in the bathroom? Both were alive when the morphine goes in, cause its in the bloodstream. Both died where they were found. Little tidbit? A piece of what looks like a chunk of tooth, is in the driver's knuckles tore up, so… not that we didn't guess he put the facial makeover on the son in the trunk, but…"

   Target got back in.

   "Broken teeth?"

   "Yeah. You saw the face. Worked him over."

   "Well? I don't see blood and teeth in here. You want signs of a struggle. They have words in here, it interrupts filling the brief case. The fight starts somewhere else. Before he throws the kid's body in the trunk."

   "Yeah. Probably here somewhere. We'll probably notice it when we see it. Teeth and blood, can't miss that."

   Target stayed in it.

   "What's a briefcase for."

   Homicide looked at him.

   "Carrying stuff?"

   "Why do you empty out a safe."

   "Uh… oh. I need money, I need… oh! I see where you're going. Good, good. Stolen briefcase. Fuck the clothes, I just need stuff I can grab and go… dad, is leaving town. Quick."

   "Okay. Why would dad be leaving town quick."

   "Well. Mike, Target? One of you said this morning, you were close to closing on this."

   "Yeah. Told you and Wiz both. Case went fucking sideways, and quick."

   "Okay. Adjust the theory to fit what we know, and can guess. You're working a CI. Dad, doesn't suicide the CI, for no reason out of the blue. Either he knows, he suspects, or the CI tells him or spills the beans on accident somehow. Either way, same thing. Dad has a dying mother, and would know the schedule of the hospice nurse. Goes, gets the briefcase out the car. With me so far?"

   Everyone nodded.

   "Okay. Gee, I'm going down. Soon. I? Need to get anywhere, but here. And quick. I… start emptying out my safe with cash and drugs that are worth more cash. I need traveling money. I'm gonna… morphine my CI in the ass on the way out. How am I doing."

   No one objected.

   "Son comes in. Dad, what are you doing. Where are you going… well son, that madam? Rolled on me, on us. I'm the fuck outta here."

   Target shrugged.

   "Okay… keep going."

   "Where are we going, dad. We? Fuck you, you little shit. This is my stash… you're on your own. Stay here and take the rap, or do your own thing…"

   Target continued.

   "Briefcase is interrupted, here it sits. They… move around, having words… to somewhere…"

   Homicide raised an index finger.

   "We find blood and teeth? To there."

   "If its here, we'll find it when the forensic team hits this place."

   "Okay… I'm fuzzy here. But… dad ends up getting into it with the kid. Gets out of hand. He beats the kid half to death, like he most likely did the same to your CI, years ago… he has that in him… shit, I need a better head start than to leave a body here. Goes to… suicide the CI, with the morphine, like he planned originally. Goes back out in the car, distraught. Just killed his son, just suicide-d a woman he works with for years… they're closing in on me anyways… fuck it. Drinks the morphine?"

   Target thought out loud some more.

   "Left the briefcase with his running money and stash… took a drink glass with him… might of abandoned running after killing his kid… and…"

   Homicide finished that line for him.

   "And, I'm checking out, gonna take that rat madam with me. How thin is that?"

   Target and Mike both shrugged.

   "I've heard worse."

   Homicide sighed, and the new plan was to look around for signs of a struggle. Blood, teeth. Or? Anything else. As always, pray for prints. Now? That they get some video from the security system, too.

   We milled around aimlessly, supposing about the incomplete, but now not horrible theory. The homicide investigator related that at least one of his biggest fears was over. When asked what that was? Well, he explained. Whatever happened? There's no robbery, its son and dad, its personal. He had been worried there might have been a pro or a semi pro hit team running around loose, and that had him rattled. Now? With money left out, and suicide, and father son fighting, CIs getting taken out… it was all just interpersonal bullshit, which made him feel better about it.

   Hey, made me feel a lot better, too. Go figure, you know?

   The state police investigator that came with us, related the story about the blast shed and the chemical deliveries, and the fact he had bad stuff getting shipped in and out, on deliveries he had spot checked and documented where things came from and went, so he could spring that end of the case as well.

   Waiting for forensics to come, he showed roughly where he figured it was. We all hiked back. In time, we were standing near to what was the blast shed. There was the cement pad, that the chemical deliveries came in and went out on. We walked around, and stood there. The little building was a hair bigger than you thought, looking down on it from satellite photos. Which on a bird's eye view, did not take into account the height. Making it bigger inside than you at first figured. A tall, wide set of industrial steel double doors? Hung wide open, you could walk right in.

   We all looked around, and homicide told us to walk around the edge, and not to touch anything if we didn't have to. He found his "signs of a struggle". There were interlocking pools of blood in the center of the floor. Upon closer inspection? Yeah, what appeared to be chunks of bloody teeth scattered around.

   Homicide was not happy, but not unhappy.

   "Well. Here's where the father beats the son to death. Unless we got another body floating around that has yet to be discovered. And state police, were working close to pinching off the big drug case, huh?"

   "Yeah. We were."

   Homicide chuckled.

   "This, put you any closer to that end of your case?"

   "A little, maybe."

   "Anyone wanna have a party? This, is the place to be. We got… goddamn it, bales of pot stacked up right there. That? Honestly looks more like meth than cocaine… okay, see this smoother, less crystalline looking stuff? That's gonna be your cocaine. And then, hell. There's your fucking meth lab you were wondering about. If that ain't a meth lab? I'm a monkey's uncle. I see them on a regular basis. I just never saw a real one, with a proper ventilation system, the scales, the driers, the filters. This? Is the commercial version of what the assholes blow up their grandpa's basement with. There's your restricted solvents, in those barrels right there."

   Our state police investigator seemed slightly dejected.

   "I got my drug bust. Yeah. But, both my suspects I was gonna charge? Are dead. One killed the other, and the other looks like he killed himself after killing him."

   Homicide shrugged.

   "You closed the drug end of the case, anyways. The suspects saved the taxpayers the trouble of trying their worthless asses, and keeping them alive in prison for decades. You get some nice PR pictures, posing with all this."

   The state police investigator asked what the big vat was. Homicide opened the top after clambering up and opening the lid cautiously, then hazarding a peek, and finally a sniff.

   "Pretty sure? They were making booze, too. Don't know if this is mash for the still, or just gonna be beer, but… that, right there? That, is a still. Couple hundred gallons. The condenser coil? Gives it away. There, those are beer kegs. Half barrels."

   Target wanted to know what we do now.

   "Now? Well. I need to get the money and the drugs in the study? Into a chain of custody. That's evidence, that's not… freebies for whoever walks through next. We get that, and this place? Something resembling secured, and… we can trust the stuff isn't disappearing. I say, we got somewhere already. We order out pizza. We should all see where we are. Let's make a rough timeline. Decide what we know, what we're pretty sure we can surmise. Form out the basic timeline and outline a theory. That, gives me my basic… preliminary report, looks like I have some kind of handle on whatever the hell actually happened here."

   Target asked what after that.

   "We sit around on forensics, see if we get any lucky prints. See about the security footage, if it was even running. You guys wanna lock the locals out of everything, but let them think they're just being bypassed, and not spook them, right?"

   Target nodded. Homicide asked if there was anything they were forgetting. Target peeped up.

   "Not today? I'll let it slide for now, like the locals. But… a little later, I'm gonna come out and round up all the underage rapists, and try to get a game running on all of them."

   "Oh. Try some interrogation tactics and strategy, huh?"

   "Why not."

   "And the locals?"

   "Oh. They come last. I want them thinking they greased by, before I hit their ass. This town's better off with no police force, than that shit they got now."

   We ordered pizza. We all milled around the house. We all talked about the theory and the timeline, and tried to add or subtract or change things that made more sense. At some point, the homicide investigator was sort of happy. He admitted, that you often times will never know exactly what went on, but if you can grasp the general idea, that's often more than enough.

   The fact that here, the two suspects were dead and gone took a lot of pressure off of him. He had a homicide victim, he had the matching perpetrator that got him. He had what looked like a suicide, but "probably or most likely" wasn't, and what he felt was one "most likely" a suicide. The security cameras and system were off, so they got no log entries, no video, nothing.

   Forensics called homicide, while we're munching pizzas for the second time. He gabbed a while, and hung up. We asked why he was beaming.

   "Forensic techs. Going over the study. Found something weird in the desk."

   We asked what it was.

   "Well, they found a little blood pooled on the desk. We're guessing on either the dad or the son's blood. I told you earlier back there? I thought the dad had a broken nose, like the son got a good one in before dad beat him down. Gets them looking through the desk right there, and not like they weren't going through it eventually, anyways. Piece of cloth. Shred of jeans material. But? It was soaked in blood. Dried blood. Techs said it was old, dried blood. Not recent enough to be from all… this shit."

   We asked what that meant.

   "This is where it gets weird. They typed it. Blood type? Matches your CI's blood type. The father and son? Share a different blood type."

   We asked where that fit in.

   "Like I said, its old blood. I'm gonna wait on lab testing, at the examiner's place. My money says, it'll be the CIs blood."

   We continued munching.

   "This is where it gets weirder. The old, dried, blood soaked jeans material? Was inside a calendar. They said it was like a book marker, in a book. To a page of the calendar. Techs have to wait for confirmation. But, at a glance? Looks like the father's prints on the calendar."

   We asked what that meant.

   "Well, if it was this years calendar? Maybe something, maybe nothing. But, this was an old calendar. Old… Olympics calendar. That month? Pole vaulting. Some Olympics chick, pole vaulter. I mean, just gives me an excuse to contact the pole vaulter in the calendar, but… does anyone really think when I track down a former Olympics athlete, I get anything linking to here, like this pole vaulter fills in any blanks for me? Fuck no. Honestly? I'm dotting I's, crossing T's. Won't lie. Fun little trip for me. They said the pole vaulter looks like hot stuff. I get a fun lunch date out of it. Nothing."

   Homicide went for another piece of pizza.

   "Oh. Little stuff. One of the techs… tossing the desk? You know how in the old movies, you'll see someone rub a pencil on paper… you get to see what was written on the missing paper above it?"

   "Yeah…"

   "They do that. Get this. Straight out sales receipt, basically. For a h-u-g-e drug buy. Like anything else, its not official until a handwriting expert gives it a once over, but… all the techs agreed, the father's handwriting is a dead ringer for it. Rest easy now, guys. Its all local. Its all personal. This whole mess? Is your run of the mill… something with a big drug deal gone bad. I mean, unless something crazy turns up, but… this all makes sense now. As long as I can show I got some kinda handle on what went on? My office is happy. You guys? Can document what happened to your CI. Look around you, boys… your big drug case? I don't know what you consider 'solved', but… you're looking good, I'd guess. That's your offices, somewhat happy. You guys said, you were tracking and documenting shipments in, out, whatever. Now, you get to close on all those peripheral cases, right?"

   Mike munched and nodded along.

   "I do. We do, I mean. Hell, I still got the prostitution, the racketeering and gambling. Now? That's all just mopping up. Got the rapists yet to round up and have fun with. That's another one for the mop bucket. Still got the dirty locals, and I can't wait to close on those assholes."

   "Yeah, but now? Its all just taking curtain calls and bows, smile pretty for all the cameras. Christ, how big was this whole thing, anyways."

   Mike ran his fingers through his hair.

   "Well. We basically got this whole damn town. One or more of the original, case germinating gang rape parties? Over town lines, so… hello state police. There's a cute little local club I just happen to know the address of. We'll hit that on the way out of all this. That's just over the town line, too. Again, activates the state police there, jurisdiction-ally speaking. And I mean tag along for the fun. Homicide will like it, for once. No bodies and you can see what racketeering central, looks like. The booze? I hand that out to the ATF with a big bow on it. They're happy to get a free lunch. The drug runs out, the chemical runs in? Some of those, crossed different state lines. That's more state police happy to get presents, take down teams rounding up low risk setups, and they look good to their states. No… wow. This is a load off. I mean, I woke up this morning? Great day, went to my worst day ever…"

   "It happens."

   "I asked for someone good. And you? Come exactly as advertised. Couple hours chatting and eating with you? Shit… woke up, to the great day… goes to worst day ever… now? Hell, you just made my day even better than it already was. Good god, I need a pencil and paper, just to keep score, but… I'm having trouble figuring out exactly how many happy agencies there are right now. Hell, my boss, would probably like to try to recruit you to come to the FBI, you do this on a regular basis."

   Homicide laughed.

   "Thanks, but… no thanks. Sounds nice, but… DC? No way, you can keep it. I got enough hassles at the county state level. I don't even wanna imagine what its like to try to wade through all this shit, at the federal level."

   Mike chuckled.

   "Well, I tried. Misery, does love company."

   More munching pizza. I was crunching the crust. Homicide kept his running commentary going.

   "Those bloody jeans. My take on it? Its a trophy. Like a serial killer takes. We already liked the father for putting the CI in the hospital, years back. This was his trophy, from doing it. Makes him great for doing the son, like I needed anything else to make that link. This? Just confirms our working theory."

   Running around with law enforcement in general, as a civilian? Opens you up to all manner of practical jokes. The pretty good one, with the vaginal swabs for the ladies? Had been but one example. The crime scene techs were all dragged in on one. They supposedly acted all serious and had "evidence" that proved I was at one of the crime scenes.

   While I'm eyes bulging out, spastic? One of them picks it up and says "Oh, wait. That's not her hair, that's the cat hairs I found on that other case. My bad. Gee, we gotta get a better filing system."

   I'm gonna kick one of them in the nuts by that point, but hell, that's the kind of shit they say and do to each other. So, they're actually treating me like family. Remember, these are people that if you get shot in the face and are lucky to live? You get the lifelong nickname of "Target". Why I would have expected any less out of them, I don't even know what I was thinking.

   I told my boyfriend that when I got him home? At some point in the future, he was in for a very serious interrogation, down in the sub basement. He asked if I could get a real "beat cop" uniform and everything for it. When I half jokingly approached Elise about the possibility of a real uniform to play "cops and robbers" with my boyfriend for a fun time? She surprised me, by explaining that we might be almost the same size.

   She's pretty tall, she's fairly big. Apparently, every city she's been a detective in over the years, providing "optimum outcomes", requires her to purchase a couple of regular uniforms even though she's an undercover gold shield detective. They're needed for certain mandatory uniform sessions, example being an officer dies in the line of duty and they all parade for it.

   Which she explained means that she has every piece of cop uniform, from every major city she ever hunted in. Most have their own differences, each has their own belt, etc. Would also be a kick for Halloween. I figured Wiz can wear his MP uniform, and I could wear a real city cop uniform. But trust me, Wiz will be placed "under arrest" by the "dirty" female cop, long before any Halloween usage takes place. Hmm. This should give new meaning to the term "undercover" work, right?

   Okay sorry, I'm getting as bad with the puns and word plays as he is.

   Now the last week, he enjoyed quite a fun time. When we first got home, we had to sit Little Lightning down, and explained what we had decided to tell her. Right off the bat, was that her mother was no longer with us, and it looked like it was suicide. She wasn't exactly dancing around the room, but she clearly wasn't broken up about it, either. I honestly didn't know how that would go, and called it a success.

   Then? That Mister Big had killed his son. Again, no dancing, but there was absolutely no depression over that news, trust me. Finally? Mister Big was deceased as well, and most likely suicide. We eased into how her mother's suicide was "possibly" foul play and that Mister Big was implicated in that eventuality.

   In the end of it? She just wanted to sum it all up, sort of a let me get this straight. All three of them are dead and buried? She shrugged.

   Wiz explained that "soon" they were going to "take a run" at all the guys that had participated. That a certain number of them were dead to rights because of the old cell phone videos, some of them had been located. She asked to continue "therapy" after a nice vacation from it, so that she could sit and do the slow and even voice they expected of the "best case" victim testifying.

   Wiz explained that they were going to try a sort of "trick" interrogation, to try to get a large number to kind of tell on themselves.

   For the time being, we kept it to ourselves about the little bonus the three of us had grabbed while things were going on during what I will euphemistically refer to as "that night". For one thing up front? Elise is the one out of all the guys that lives alone, has no kids, no spouse, and even lives cheap in a nice sized travel trailer. So, saving up over time for her judo gym dream? Has a huge portion of her income going into savings, and not paying house payments or sky high big city rent. Well… she has six figures in the bank, and just won't say exactly what the first number of those six is.

   Elise bankrolled a number of things for the whole operation to happen. Burner phones here and there, if they wanted a little piece of equipment? She got it out of her pocket. Etc. This, is in addition to her taking a h-u-g-e sum of money out of the bank, in order to provide for the suitcase full of cash. Her little cash outlays added up, I'm sure. And risking that much, well… that's above the level of what a family member will do for you, usually.

   Now. Just because robbery was not a motive, because there was a "substantial" amount of cash and cocaine half in the briefcase, and half in the open wall safe when it was located? Well, please don't labor too long under the misconception that a certain amount of it didn't disappear with us. Right off the bat, Elise needs her gigantic risked money back, plus her cash outlays paid back and then some.

   There was more than that. Wiz tried to get Elise to just take most of it, and get a quicker path to her judo gym. But, she said she was ahead of pace for that anyways, and only would accept a certain amount over her risked suitcase she wanted back. She suggested splitting it in half, as in half for us, and half for Lightning. Wiz came up with the idea of she just got a gift card every month, like she was used to getting already. A debit card every month, instead of a gift card.

   Rifling the safe, Wiz had grabbed a small bag of "cool looking crystals". You know how you buy crystals at the mall, or certain gift shops? Those look better than these things. They were in the safe though, so they're probably not curios. Wiz is starting to wonder if they're uncut diamonds, or some other perhaps semi precious uncut stones. We have no idea what the hell to try to do with them. We have zero way to explain how we came into possession of uncut stones, and the more valuable they are? The harder they are to explain. Are uncut stones traceable if they're stolen? Like this is our field. And like Wiz says, going to a "professional"? Is not a good idea.

   Example. We go to a gemologist jewelry store. Hey, what is this. I have some more. Oh, that's not uncut diamonds, that's just white topaz or quartz, or whatever they tell us. We have no way to know if they're lying with a straight face. Later on down the road? We'll try to figure that out.

   Wiz grabbed a stack of "cool looking stock papers". You know, stocks and bonds always come on that awesome old time-y looking watermarked and embossed banknote paper, with all the intricate designs that look like gigantic paper money. Much like the "cool looking crystals", he just thought they were "neat-o". He figured they were just for looking at, because he figured stocks and stuff are registered in some way to the proper owner.

   They turned out to be, he thinks anyways? Bearer bonds. At least, they look "thoroughly similar" to a couple other similar but not exactly like, images of real bearer bonds on the internet. This is yet another case, of we have no idea exactly what we might or might not have, if its stolen or if its traceable, or what. Once again, we're afraid to seek any professional, who could spin us any yarn and offer us dirt for them.

   So, we might be keeping a couple handfuls of uncut diamonds in a little drawstring bag, in the back corner of a locked bedroom closet, inside a shoe box. I guess one day after we graduate, we'll figure out some way to find out. Take one somewhere, and see what we can find.

   The one thing we got that he grabbed, that we know for certain is valuable? He thought he was grabbing silver. You know, silver metal, those little one ounce credit suisse gold things? These were silver. They turned out not to be silver, just silver-y in color. If you read them? They're platinum. Which as it turns out? Is more expensive per ounce than gold itself.

   Once again though, we have absolutely no way to explain where in the hell we got one ounce of platinum, let alone a handful of these things. We came to the decision? We have years of university left. We have a place to live, and a nice one at that, for years until we're both receiving doctorates and graduate for the last time. I play sports, so we'll always have more healthy food than we can ever eat just from that. We'll both start drawing small salaries as grad students, then higher little salaries again, when we go for our doctoral candidacy.

   Wiz said its like having a really cool and very expensive, but stolen, gun. Nice to look at, but you can't enjoy it in public at the range, because, well… you'll get into trouble. We have absolutely no idea how to handle this stuff, so its all sitting in a shoe box in the back corner of the closet until after we graduate and we can figure out some way to slowly find out the truth and how to deal with explaining "how" we have platinum, or whatever uncut gemstones if that's even what they really are. The bearer bonds? I don't know. When we graduate, I figure we'll take "one" and say we found it in some dead relative's closet and see.

   But… its not like even if we could legally claim it all? Like it wouldn't be super obvious that some kind of chicanery went on. We both agreed, that no matter what? If Light ever needs anything or has any kind of a problem, well… its there. After we graduate, we move and figure something out, legally and quietly? Not like we couldn't share with her then.

   We were perfectly happy before we got all this stuff, and we have no way to explain the bundles of cash anyways, so… once again? Even the cash itself is kind of useless in a way. Like we could go out and buy a new sports car, and have any kind of rational explanation that would sound credible.

   We don't even know if the "serial numbers" on the platinum ounce credit suisse pieces? Are traceable to some "proper" owner, and are scared to ask around. Wiz said after we graduate? We just buy "any" abandoned house and just claim we found it digging up the basement to install a water line or something. The veritable hay bale of weed, is about the only thing we're comfortable "knowing what to do with it", so to speak. We already had a decent sized plastic storage tote from number three, now we have this in addition to it. Honestly, its just a positively silly amount of pot to have around.

   The upside, is replacing number three's stash? With this newer, bigger stash of the stuff. No, not that having more is better. No, its not better stuff, either. What it is, is the simple fact that its a little depressing to smoke number three's stuff, that she more or less "willed" to us to enjoy.

   Wiz had an "inordinate" amount of kinky and sweet fun for the two, almost three weeks until we were set to go back and try the interrogation trick tactics the boys spent hours discussing. I don't consider being rough on him, or anything like that "punishment". If I were to quit or even slack off? I would get quizzed and dared and even begged to come at him rough. Likewise, I therefore don't hold it as any kind of "reward" when I go sweet or anything in that range.

   I wanted some kind of treat though, to hand him. I settled on two things. One, I had seen Light once make him stay perfectly still. Legs together, hands at his sides… and she kept shushing him to stay motionless as she simply gave him a super sweet, slow working over. One of her ultimate vanilla soft serve things I guess. After the lengthy blow-star and tease, she settled down onto him, again having him stay still. Then, did nothing. She stayed motionless. When he eventually began to lose a little hardness, she gave a flick or two, then went back to motionless on him again. She kept this up for quite some time, and extended it out for quite a lengthy… fuck? Tease? Whatever it was.

   I decided to try my version. I didn't have to tell him to stay still, I simply wrapped several belts around him and had him in that position motionless. Two around the arms and torso, one above the elbows and one below. One above the knees and the other below.

   Thus mummified, I smiled and went to my best imitation of her blow-star. I always thought of myself initially as… not superior in bed to her, but. I had a handle definitely on the rougher and the kinkier. She had mastered whatever art of sweet vanilla was possible. So, I found myself imitating her and putting my added spin on it.

   I settled down onto him, and did what she did. I remained motionless with only little blow-star kisses, the tongue and lip scrapes. At any hint of loss of his erection? I gave that tiny flick or two of the hips, then went back to motionless and another long, slow teasing blow-star. The belts made it so much easier, and my eyes said it all. I have you, you will not go anywhere, and this is going to take as long as possible.

   I really should have watched time, but I know I shattered whatever record I had witnessed her set at this. I didn't "cheat" with the cock ring on, I just did what I described for as long as I could. The eye contact, the staring, the intimacy of face to face, and the extended time. And yeah, the mummification with four belts to establish my ownership of him in bed. He eventually started to sort of lose it, and go somewhat nuts. I smiled and shoved my panties in, and kept at it. The more noise, the more I shook my head no and stayed my course. I made him beg me with his eyes, to finally retrieve the panties and hear him beg for release.

   The fast chugging that only took several authoritative lifts and drops with heavy hip rolls after each drop down onto him, produced the explosion I finally granted him. I never thought of myself as "superior" to her at sex ever again. I had learned my lesson or taught myself my lesson. She could induce in him the feelings I could. Mostly without sexual pain or control. She could "dominate" him softly, if that even makes sense.

   So, I thought of this as a treat for him. And as I said, I was rather trying to reward or treat him. I also made it somewhat of a repeated point? To offer myself to him. To goad him to rail me with authority from behind. I lifted my ass up, bit my little bedclothes sandwich, and looked back at him with my eyes half slits of pleasure. Staring, begging, daring him to punish me at kitty style. I offered my backside up to him, wiggled it as suggestively as I could between attacks. I had developed the habit when I did this of both lifting my rear up, while spreading my legs a good bit. All while tucking my feet in or even crossing my ankles. Spreading and lifting are at odds with one another, and I'm not sure what bringing the ankles in does.

   Its hot as anything though, and the eye contact is sublime. I dare him to tear me up and make my eyes go moist, and he does it. Hair pulling, or pushing my head down by my hair, its all there and just works. Again, treat or reward is not the right word, just… I'm trying.

   Light is trying too. She spends time just blow-star attacking softly, and shushing and begging and thanking him for extended periods. Yeah, he seems to love that as well. He fulfilled her desire for revenge and justice, and it bonded them more than they already were. I have no idea how she would react if she knew the real story, what we did. I keep it to myself. Now, I didn't see with my own eyes what happened out at the blast shed, but… I know the result, and I can easily imagine it.

   He quite simply did what he had done to another monster. He caught him unawares and alone, and beat him senseless until he had to pretty much learn to eat, chew, walk and talk again. Which is I'm sure damn near killing him. This one, he didn't stop. He simply beat him to death. The pools of blood and the cracked teeth were so macabre that I wonder how bad the sight would have been, the sounds. Simply too big a bad karma debt had been raised, then left go for far too long and the interest crushed him when it came back to him.

   I later got a peek at the report. My god it was terrifying to read. The jaw wasn't broken, it was shattered in almost too many pieces to count. He broke almost all of his ribs. He sent pieces of rib into the internal cavities and one through a lung. He snapped things or broke them. A collarbone and another wrist for example. There were shredded joints, being dislocations that were twisted further until tendons stretched and ripped apart. The skull had fractures. The brain itself swelled until it broke, burst, something.

   He had once idly, and I thought half jokingly said that if he ever got him alone, he was pretty sure he wanted to beat him to death with his bare hands. He simply did. He once said that people often mistake his words. He simply states what he's about to do, and they take it for a joke, but… apparently the Little Asshole thought having a handgun and displaying it was going to save him. They found it tossed up onto the roof of the building later on, when they document going over the whole scene with a drone taking video. I can only assume he disarmed him and said now what.

   I can only imagine which sounds would have been worse. The crunches and ripping sounds of things snapping and rending apart, or whatever sounds came out of Little Asshole when he realized how far it was going to go. I asked him once late at night, whispering. Unable to look at his face, did they speak? All I could get out of him, was that he told him what he was going to do to him, and why. Then, he did it. He didn't seem to have much emotion to answering it. I decided I'd not broach that subject again.

   Elise pops into my mind when I'm daydreaming. Her and Wiz. She's some kind of, I don't know. Ultimate tomboy or green queen or something. I theorize, that if she hadn't of been raped? She would not have switched off to boys, and turned on to girls as a substitute. Or, had she gotten proper therapy and been managed right… either way, when I see them together? I think she liked him, loved him, and they would have been some sort of power couple.

   I have absolutely no idea what she's like in bed, but… if she is aggressive and physical? Hoo boy, that must be something. I'm his rodeo calendar girl, his one soccer calendar girl. Light is the other soccer calendar girl, and that pole vaulter calendar girl. Elise? Had she ended up with him, I can see she would have been one of those fighting calendar girls to him.

   I think he'd have been happy and fine with her, as much as I can guess. Of course, he'd have been fine with just Little Lightning, if she hadn't of had her issues and I hadn't of been invented. I think, the phrase… oh, that's "the one" is a misnomer. There are other keys that can work the lock, just not many of them.

   I'm impressed with myself. I'm not jealous of Light and her deep relationship with her Wizzy. If I got run over crossing the street tomorrow, he'd be taken care of physically and emotionally and romantically. I'm glad this big case project is drawing to a close, and the big scary part is over. Kinda mopping up now. And good riddance to that whole chapter. Light has moved on, integrated the personality, recovered from the trauma. The last several months, I don't know, maybe I could assign another whole year. It seems to go in little fits and spurts. Nothing, nothing, then a "clack" and she ratchets forwards all at once in emotional age.

   The new personality that seems to stick, is great I think. I can't wait to see her by the time she graduates. I'd love to see her get some kind of grad degree, stay on the team, and we can dominate our conference and have our precious dynasty. Her extra two years would be that much more emotional growth. She's clearly growing faster than a week for a week… she'll catch up and her emotional age will overtake her chronological age.

   She abashedly tried her little black dress and heels for her Wizzy. Some costume jewelry fake pearls. She peeked around the corner of the kitchen, to see us in the living room. Crept out like a little girl ashamed of being seen in her PJs or something. She ended up running back upstairs, and came back in her sleeping shirt, promising to try it again some other time. She was trying to play Giselle for him, and the look on his face when he noticed her get up and look said it was working.

   Ritual. The lure of the familiar. What's scary and new at first? After several times becomes familiar and turns into… the ritual. The drive there has become a ritual now. Its time. For the boys to decide and implement whatever trick strategy they think they can pull off, to get them all to admit their gang rape. They knew it was a hometown girl, they knew she was 14, they knew they were destroying something beautiful. That the mother was a madam is no excuse.

   Target said, that if they would simply admit that they thought it was "okay" if not legal, simply because her mother was a prostitute, and she seemed to have started early at the trade… it likely would swing a lot of weight. The defense would have material to work with. You could hang a jury of half men and half women. The prosecution would be forced to reduce penalties, to coerce juries to think about finding guilty.

   Not that the prosecution didn't have its ammunition too, it would be a tug of war. But Target sighed, and admitted that if he didn't get anywhere, and started to get "the attitude" and smart comments, he wanted to try the trick interrogation. Which technique to go with was as much art as logic and science.

   The ones whose faces appeared on videos? Were dead to rights. Men were either fathers or could see themselves as fathers. They had sisters and girlfriends they could envision this happening to as well. Women on the jury? Would be equally as enraged by the videos. There would be no keeping the jurors from seeing them all. The girl was 14, that was their face, and… the overall attitude of the crowd was… just bad. Simply lining up, and three pumping and dumping wouldn't be half as bad. The degrading acts, each trying to outdo the others and earn the cheers and applause? The jury would get pissed.

   It was the ones whose faces weren't on the videos. Target said they could try to threaten those with faces to accept reduced pleas, to turn on others they knew were there. Then the videos would still be entered, and testimony of a face guy that the defendant was there, just not caught in one of the found clips… damning.

   But, they were coming to a consensus of what they wanted to try to do. Mike explained to me what was permissible. The police were allowed to lie and lie and lie more, in order to try to get you to confess. It was no defense against a recorded admission of guilt, that you had been lied to in order to get it.

   So, deceit and cunning was going to be the main weapon. As I had heard Wiz repeat in the past once, quoting his oracle mentor. By way of deception, thou shalt do war.

   First of all, once there and the boys were assembled? The locals were bypassed. The state police sent manpower as if this town had no local force. Remember. The gang rape parties went over town lines. That meant that it was partially in Swellsville jurisdiction, and out of it. Which meant the state police had jurisdiction over the whole sordid affair. First, the list of charges itself was gone over at great length to make certain every possible charge, no matter how small or how big was on the list. It was daunting to hear them all read off. The state police hit as many as they could in places where no word would get out they had been snatched. They wanted to get as many as possible, before word got out and the remaining had to choose. Some would turn themselves in, others would scatter like mice. The only one ignored temporarily, was that one young cop who participated. They didn't want to spook the police department until it was their turn.

   They had naturally a few scatter and flee, they simply issued warrants for them. They got most of them though. They got every face on the videos, and then almost all of the others on that list, the one that Wiz's real CI had volunteered. Hey, man. In addition to all the faces, and I put names to them for you? Here's the list of guys who ever admitted more than once to being there, and these marked ones bragged.

   The main strategy was to pick them all or as many as possible up, and hold them in an odd area. They decided a grassy field with a fence surrounding it that could be manned, was about right. Then, they needed someone to play district attorney.

   They decided? No law says the police can't lie and claim to be another job. As long as you were read your rights and agreed to start talking, it was admissible. You could technically send the "janitor" in, and if they got them talking and an admission came out and was audible on tape? Fine.

   Mike ended up playing district attorney. More specifically, he claimed to be an assistant district attorney. Assembled in ironically the fenced field that the junior high soccer team practiced and played home games in? He left them there a while. To stew. They had gone over the fence to mend a few breaks here and there, and posted enough state police around every possible exit, that it was like an open concentration camp.

   Mike made up a last name to play assistant district attorney for the county. Sure some people would know the real name of the real district attorney, but who could claim to know every name of every assistant district attorney? It was declared no one but someone in the legal community. Mike came out, and had a card table. He sat down, and had them form a line. One at a time, they came up and he quite pleasantly explained the list of charges and read the daunting list of each and every charge off, and they were numerous.

   He pleasantly explained any charge they questioned, and how it applied. He also explained to every single one of them, that they were being charged as a whole. He could and would fight separation of defendants. They would all appear in court as one gang of defendants. They would all be assigned guilty or innocent verdict at once.

   Then Mike took a break, after impressing each with the long list of charges. Then, he came in again. He again lined them up one by one and had them approach the little card table one at a time as he held out a tablet computer with great screen and resolution, and made them watch each and every video of the gang rapes he had located. Twice. The second time, he stopped and started. Pointed out particularly damning acts. Reminding a guy with no face visible for instance? The women and men on the jury… were going to see the guy going from the 14 year old girl's ass to her mouth, and everyone cheering. They would be as guilty as the guy in the video.

   Then another break. Then the card table again. Another line. One at a time, he patiently explained that he was advising them of their rights, being under arrest for all those many charges. He explained that he was advising them that they had these rights, and by signing they were merely acknowledging that they had been told what their rights were. They were not being asked to act on it, merely that they had been informed.

   He was particularly happy when he took the next break. He had a stack of signed rights advised. The game plan was to get them talking later on, and forgetting that they had been advised of those rights. They had a right to remain silent, and if they gave that right up… it would be used against them. But, a long break.

   Then? Pretext, after pretext, to line them up and do simply anything. He eventually ran out of excuses. Then, he had them all gather around, and all this time start to finish? He used his friendly guy voice. His little speech was unique.

   "All right, guys, everyone can hear me, right? Yeah. Okay. Here's the deal. My name's Mike. Michael Depar. I, am one of the assistant DA's for the county. Now. Here's the deal, way I see it. Every man here? Knows exactly why he's here, and that's for certain. You were all there, you all participated. Now, here's the thing. First off? It was 6 years ago. That, is a long time. Second. As the prosecutor? Yeah, I'm well aware that the mother of the victim, was a goddamn prostitute. Let that sink in. Mom? Was a hooker. Pretty much her career, right? Everyone knows it."

   "Now. Six years ago. Mom was a hooker. And hey. I'm also aware, prosecuting this? Everyone and their uncle knows, she was a fast little 11, 12, 13 year old girl. Going out with 18 to 22 year old boys, sleeping around, out all night on car dates with college boys, keg parties, and it don't look good. I mean, here I am, the prosecutor. Admitting? My case has certain weak points. Things that defense can and will use, that are effective? To sway the jury."

   "Sure you all know the term Lolita? Yeah, she was a dyed in the wool… Lolita. Fast young girl, ran and put out with older boys. Now. Here's what I'm prepared, to offer all you boys. And I know, most of you are married, have jobs, houses, cars, wives, kids, grandparents… you're not bad men. So? Here's the deal of the century, and I'm going to offer it to you. No one speak."

   "The deal, that I am offering. To all of you… or? None of you. Is the following. Two years, in state prison… but hey, suspended sentence. That means? No jail time. You'll serve 30 days, maximum. Not in general population with the animals, the murderers and real rapists? Temporary holding. You'll live and sleep in the cafeteria, separated from the animals. 30 days. Nothing. Then? Suspended sentence. Then, two years parole. Now, parole? Is just probation. Same rules, same deal. And what's probation. Nothing."

   "So basically? You do 30 days of… day camp. Free. Basically 30 days of boredom, followed by four years of just… basically probation, called parole instead. And yeah. Community service, some fines… some classes you have to attend. But… I can't make a sweeter deal than that. Basically you're being offered four years probation, and you sweep roads and take classes. Some fines."

   "But? Here's the catch. You all have to take it? Or none of you get that sweetheart deal. Now. I realize this is a hard choice. I want you guys? To all talk among yourselves, until you all say yes to this deal? Or, you all say no. You all did it, I know it, you know it… you take this sweetie pie deal, or you reject it and we go the other route. Which is… you don't wanna go there."

   "Now. I don't want you to decide now. I'm gonna back off, and let you all talk among yourselves, try to convince each other which way to go. Here? Is my deal, on paper. You all get a copy and there's extras… I'm out of here. I? Am gonna get food, drinks. Pizza. Maybe even some beer… just, discuss it, privately. Think about how sweet of a deal you're being offered, and imagine women, or men? Seeing those videos. Women like children, and men have daughters and little sisters. Now. Think about it. I'm gonna go, and get you guys pizza, drinks… maybe some beer. Relax, talk."

   "But remember. Everyone takes the sweetheart deal? Or, no one can have it. There's no other way."

   Then? Mike backed out, and let them go. True to his word? He brought them no end of pizza, and soft drinks. Stuff to make sandwiches. He saw hundreds of dollars spent on food, drinks and even beer. They could leave? When they all arrived at a yes or no reaction to his one time sweetie pie deal.

   What they did not know was several things. For one thing, the light poles? Had a light removed from every set of high up lights. Removed lights? Had been fitted with parabolic audio receivers. That's the clear plastic "salad bowl" that can zoom in audibly and hear the quarterback clear as a bell, from far up in the booth in a huge stadium. The mechanism that allowed a camera to be moved around some? Was adapted to fit these parabolic microphones.

   They would never see anything looking up? But every set of lights had one of them missing, and a different one in each pole set high up. Yet, they were there, and they were movable. That high up, you could not see them moving slowly. Lots of guys were recording snippets and even whole conversations.

   There was more. Wiz had gotten his way, and tossed his trick in with this mix. His CI, the real CI. The guy that had liked Light, that thought she was dead. That saw her as a diamond in the rough, and tried like hell to get her to open up to him and just talk to him. Wiz had him arrested and "charged", along with everyone else.

   On the way though, Wiz had himself "arrested" as well. Tossed handcuffed into the same state police squad car. Halfway through the ride, Wiz asked the state policeman driving, why couldn't they go through the drive through. The officer smiled and did it. Fast food drive through. Unlocked cuffs. Wiz winked at the guy, and showed him a playing card.

   Four of clubs.

   He got the guy to agree, to just be himself. Why the fuck am I here, I didn't even do it, I wasn't there… you assholes all know I wasn't there. And he was wired. With a particularly thin, tiny wireless microphone, that was a little expensive. Sewn into the hem of the T shirt he gave the guy. The guy agreed. Just, complain how everyone knows you weren't even there. Their admission, that they know you were not there, we know, will you please shut up now? Will be admission that they were there.

   Wiz let him go and just mill around with them, complaining how he wasn't there, why is he here now. The story of Wiz getting "arrested" and the funny way he told the story of suggesting they get drive through food, and he bought the guy lunch and explained what he wanted, was kinda funny.

   When the guy arrived? Wiz instructed him to "put on a show" kicking, calling the state police bringing him to the field pigs, to make him look good. He assured him? It was the plan, and he would not be manhandled and hurt.

   Mike's plan by itself? Worked. Wiz's plan? Worked as well. But, between the two of them? Hoo boy, the "admissions" they got. Wiz had one parabolic recording guy, keep his microphone constantly at "his guy". He went around complaining until every man one at a time was sick of it, and said all right, all right, I know you weren't there, now shut the fuck up already.

   Which was an admission he was there. An admission of guilt. In addition to Mike's other recordings, of them discussing it that night? All told, was all together priceless. Mike wasn't done with them. Hours later, they sent a guy up to say, as if a jury? They had reached a decision. They would, in fact, take the deal.

   Mike smiled? Said he rescinded the deal, they could go fuck themselves. He said he changed his mind. When they went nuts complaining? He laughed and told them that his last name? Was made up. Michael Depar didn't exist. It was "raped" spelled backwards.

   Apparently, word of this stunt got out. Every man claimed he had been offered a deal. The real prosecutor, asked where was the signed deal. They didn't have one. All they had? Was a worthless piece of paper. It looked official, but it was just words on a paper. It was legally no different than jailhouse microphone confessions. And all of those stand up. Wiz's CI he put in there? Had every guy just about, one at a time… admit he was there.

   Mike's conversations were gold too.

   You can imagine the effect this had as a weapon to get the guys to plead guilty, to sentences that weren't that small. The man's "admissions" in recorded conversations? Were gold for the prosecution.

   To say Little Lightning was somewhat overwhelmed, was an understatement. I would like to list all the hot sexy games I played with him the next month before we went back? But, the way Light just looked at him, was priceless. She looked like a silly 12 year old girl in puppy love. She sat and stared, the big pupils. She followed him around, standing near him, smiling. He literally ran into her when he backed up sometimes.

   The begging, pleading, thanking sessions she put through her, with her extended blow-star and ultimate sweet vanilla routines were extraordinary. I truly wasn't even jealous, I was happy. For her, for him. She started blushing, and creeping around the corner, trying to get her "Giselle" look and outfit just right. He got her to go out a little like that, and she was starting to do it more and more. He drove her dressed in her Giselle getup and she smiled and blushed the entire time.

   When she finally got over her shyness, and started to adopt the confident walk of the real Giselle? It kind of just happened finally. I never once laid eyes on the real Giselle, but… his open mouth said it, I could see the change, he said it was perfect. She paired her walk with her little smile, the eyes had that sweetness mixed with come hither.

   She had been off the market over a year now. Her new look. Her new integrated personality. Her sometimes Giselle dress and mannerisms. Wiz had been right. She was learning to command the room. 5'11" in her socks, with the heels she towered. Those extra long legs with all that lithe dancer's muscle. The smooth creamy skin. The flat, toned tummy and body. No stockings needed, summer or winter. That somehow flawless look.

   With no haughtiness, no conceit. She remembered being dirt and human garbage, and treasured it. She first tried it out, when it began to "work" on the computer crew. They stared. She had handsome athletes dropping drinks when they noticed her when she did it there. Boys stammered. Girls got catty. I just loved it.

   She still worked out with a vengeance. She wanted her ring more than ever. She said she owed me, and wanted me to have it too. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

   All that was left now, was taking a run at the dirty cops. Wiz didn't even really need to be there. But it was summer, the other former MP's and even Mike from the FBI wanted him there. It was the ceremonial bow at the end of the case. To see the chief taken out of the station in handcuffs. The cop that had participated in the gang rape along with him. Various other charges against others. Financial irregularities, corruption, lots of stuff.

   The chief's safe at work, produced a signed statement. Target and Mike and the one inside State Police investigator, shared knowing looks. They had been waiting on this little gem. They had the lawyer dragged in front of them, in short order.

   Comically like a scene out of high school with a group of kids intimidating a smaller kid, that's what they did. They made a crowd around him, and talked about him as if he wasn't even there.

   "Yeah, that's this lawyer."

   "Wonder what will happen to his poor ass."

   "Oh. I can tell you that. This asshole? Is going to have to choose. Which team he wants to play on. See, there's three lawyers in town. This one? All rich. The other two lawyers in town? Kinda fly by night. This lawyer, has his signature on this agreement. He can play ball, and help our side out. Gets to look like a good guy. Or? He wants to go down with the other bad guys, that's his choice."

   "I wonder which choice he'll make?"

   "Since he was the big man's lawyer? I'm betting he's just smart enough to play ball for our side. Because if he goes the other way… that ain't any fun for him. Charges filed. Disgraced. Disbarred. No… he's going to introduce us to a load of paperwork, all with Mister Big's signature on it, right? Why, I bet he can come up with some idea just how Mister Big, gets the money to the police force. Because coming up with something? Saves his lily white ass."

   The squeezing hand on his shoulder, surrounded by all the bigger and more intimidating law enforcement men smiling none too friendly at him. Yeah. He was on board with this team. I thought back to Wiz and Elise talking about a squirming snitch they picked up. I recognized that this was one.

   Elise had taken out 100 thousand dollars in cash from her six figure life's savings. To have secure buy money quietly, for the final night of the operation. That is not to say, that was the only money she had in play. Wiz had to explain it to me, how it worked.

   He started off explaining, that the "dark web" was nothing more than internet addresses, that were not on catalog. We buy a baby monitor, it's audio and video feed is now technically part of the "dark web".

   A ways back, the dark web was a real and mysterious thing. Websites were offering the most outlandish things for sale. Drugs and weapons of any and all kinds, often times enough in bulk if you wanted. After the first one went down, the most famous one? Others came and went. Some were busted, some were reputed to be "honeypots" ran by the FBI to catch people.

   So. There were both real and fake dark web sites. From which to use crypto to buy highly questionable things from, anonymously with overnight shipping. If only a person knew for sure, that a dark web site was real or one of the fake honeypots.

   Wiz explained with a smile, that "one" of the FBI agents in the circle either knew or could find out. When Elise went ahead and got her 100 grand out of savings to have hand cash to play with? They bought a sample package of counterfeit bills on the web site. Excited once the trial purchase went okay, they had made a large purchase and it arrived safely. Wiz said overnight delivery, to an abandoned but decent looking house was the best and safest way. Elise agreed.

   They took a percentage of the large withdrawal, and bought basically a counterfeit duplicate of the stack of money. As they arrested individual members of the local police force, searches of their house and grounds were turning up packets of money. The chief's desk produced a much larger stash of counterfeit money, hidden in the back of a drawer under and behind the expanding file folders.

   You can pass a special felt tip marker over these, so you can actually spend them. The state police noticed, that each individual packet of money? Had all the same serial numbers on them. There was a huge pool of serial numbers, but every packet of ten thousand dollars had the same roster of serial numbers. The occasional key of coke or crystal meth turned up here and there on these searches, and once again the chief had a bigger stack that rivaled Mister Big's stash.

   Sheds and garages were ending up popular places to hide their ill begotten booty. All places we had camped out and conducted surveillance on, during various forays here. Or, leading members of this investigation? Were all members of the inner circle. They could be dropping thin bundles of funny money and cocaine and meth around. And yeah, we exchanged real money for counterfeit bundles and left enough real cash to make it look good, that night at the safe.

   It was the final chapter. I felt my life, with him? Was now perfect. I could see a clear path to it. My ring was within my grasp, multiple rings were likely to follow once the first came. The dream beyond the dream, of maybe a good showing in the nationals or even a national championship? Could be discussed after we took conference a couple times.

   Light was doing perfect. I was doing perfect. Wiz said he felt life was great, too. Me and him were great, Light and him were great. Me and Light were working. All three of us together, was somehow… just perfect. If only for us and no one else.

   Elise was there too.

   We were all standing around, kind of verbally breaking our arms patting ourselves on the back. It was over. We had done it. We were planning where to eat for the celebration dinner and drinks. Elise had forgot her cell phone where she had been parked, it was in her car. She went to retrieve it smiling. She wanted a few pictures and videos. Of us all smiling, celebrating. Life? Was just so perfect at that moment.

   That was when "it" struck. I was standing near to Wiz but not right up on him. I was glancing over at something someone had said that had been witty. I was smiling and laughing. I was waiting for Elise to get back for the pictures and videos. Others were getting them, she was tired of putting it off and would be back momentarily.

   I heard an odd sound. Not really scary. Like a snap, a crack, a pop. Something like that. Not unlike a firecracker a block or two distant. There was a nearly instantaneous blow to my shoulder, too. Which was weird. No one was near enough to strike me. It felt like a hard punch had been delivered to my shoulder… but by a ghost. Not the center of my shoulder, a little to the outside of center. It spun my torso a little bit.

   Directly after the phantom blow though, was a weird sound that followed the firecracker, and it was almost but not quite after my blow. A sort of slap or squish, a kind of ka-plah. It reminded me of the time I lit up a soup can, sealed and full just right with a perfect shot from my bullwhip, and it exploded just right. This… wet slap.

   My eyes burned and stung. Weird bits of… something were in my eyes, my mouth, in my nostril's edges. I felt a burning sensation, along with the punch then the numb shoulder, whatever the hell it was. That wasn't the worst of "it".

   I was coming back to see Wiz's face. He was smiling, I was catching him just looking at me, smiling like he always did. I was starting to smile back when the thing happened. His body lurched in a weird fashion. As if someone had kicked him in the center of his back, low, perhaps behind his solar plexus. That portion of his lower torso, the abdominal general area thrust forwards and he fell back immediately.

   His face went from a smile, to a sort of what the hell, who just kicked me… that kind of look. He sort of undulated, a wave traveled out from the blow, then he collapsed. His legs buckled, and his hands were on his lower torso. He was staring, dumbfounded. He looked up at me, and the look in his eyes froze me solid. He just shook his head, flabbergasted.

   I screamed. Others were yelling, shouting. People were running, diving, rolling. I was transfixed looking down at him. He just smiled at me. He Bluetooth-ed me, the way we can do. Sort of a facial shrug. Hun? There's nothing I can do. I dropped and tried to cover his… can't even call it a wound, really. It was more like a sort of rounded wedge or canoe shaped opening.

   As if a cartoon character, swallows an explosive? But not funny, more macabre and sickening. I could smell, weird smells. A burning smell of some kind was mild, overpowered by the reek of… shit, bowels opened, bile? Something. Something that smelled like raw sausage, too. What's in the casing, not the whole thing sealed up.

   There was too much blood, too quick. And other than the blood, there was an odd sort of not quite clear thicker substance. It dribbled and ran, but not like the blood did. I reflexively tried to stop the opening up with my hands, but it was useless.

   Then I heard smaller firecracker noises. Many, one after another, in a long series. I could see what looked like Elise off in the distance, standing over something, her one arm out. Hearing those little pops. The long series of them ended, then they began again and about as many went off in another series of the tiny firecracker noises. There was one final pop, by itself. Then that noise was gone. It took seconds, to begin and end. Just an instantaneous blow from a ghost on both of us, then Elise and her noises in the distance and off a bit.

   Everyone had been screaming at me, to get down, get behind something? I never did listen. I wouldn't leave him. I remember putting myself down on the ground on that far side of him. Not thinking how stupid it was, that I was trying to instinctively shield him with my own body. I was getting screamed at by people going hoarse trying to get me to listen and move, but I wouldn't.

   It all seemed like forever, but we're talking seconds start to finish. I don't know how long it took for that ambulance to get there, but the others were all around us. T shirts were jammed into that canoe shaped opening, and others ripped and tied around it, trying to extend time before… but you just knew it wasn't going to work. It was as if it could bleed right through the fabric like it wasn't even there. Like a hose runs through fabric. Like little kids crowded around a hose on a summer day, just red fruit punch instead of water coming through the shirt held over the hose.

   I tried to grasp the edges of the opening, and stretch them together some. Because in my mind a smaller hole had to be better, right? I tried pinching at little squirting things down inside the canoe. I got a high pressure squirt in the eye once for my efforts. I didn't care.

   The ambulance was there, and how long that took, who knows. I climbed up in with him. Some damn fool was trying to get me down on a cart? I grabbed this smaller guy by the throat and just tossed him off and went back to right beside him. The other one, had little stainless scissor like contraptions, the kind you can clamp shut. He was probing around, trying gamely to stop little squirting things just like I had almost succeeded with my fingers, but had just failed.

   The flow went down a good bit, but… was that because the fluid was low, or because the guy putting clamps in the right places was having effect. I didn't dare ask.

   He just looked up at me, and of all goddamn things? He smiled. Tried to shrug. Kind of a what can you do thing. I couldn't scream, I couldn't cry. We just squeezed hands. The ride was wild. It sounded like some kind of racing engine, in this big van with the ambulance box on the back. The thing seemed to haul ass. It lit up tire at will and slid around bends.

   You just know. No one had to tell you. This is it. We're not going to make it. By which I mean, of course? He's not. Its clear. He smiled, and we did the over and over again, I love you, I love you, too… back and forth many times. Then, he stopped me. Little smile again.

   "Listen. We can do a hundred or two hundred more I love you's back and forth, but. We know. We loved each other. It was real. I don't have much time left. Rather than waste it on more I love you's? This is more important. Okay?"

   I shook my head yes, fervently. Whatever it was, this would be it.

   "All right. When I was little? I had that little dog. My best friend. Had him, a lot of years. Finally lost him. Now. Years later? Neighbors dog, we kind of fell for each other. One day I'm looking at this other dog I'm in love with now? And he's trying to tell me something. You know how a dog tries to tell you something, you have to guess it and say it. You want water, you wanna go out… and when you get it right? They run around, and go nuts."

   I was confused, was he out of it? I just shook my head, yes.

   "Well. I just saw my dog's eyes. In his eyes. And once I saw his eyes in there, really saw my own dog's eyes? I said, hey, is that you? And I swear to god, the dog went nuts. I started calling him by my dog's name? He loved it. He played like mine did. He did everything the same. We snuggled the same. It was really him. But, not until I saw it. In his eyes."

   He had to be confused, but I shook my head yes.

   "Now. You? Are going to one day. See me, in some other man. Only if you look for it. But, when you see it? You'll just know. He'll… talk like me. Say things you can just hear me saying. He'll… be just like me, and it will actually be me in there, I just won't know it. But, if you see it. In the eyes, and how everything he does is just like I would do it? That's me, that's like my dog came back to me. Doesn't work, until you see it and realize it. Then? I got a couple more years with my dog, till that dog was gone, too. But… he came back, and we got more time. You? Will get the rest of the time with me. I'll be in him. Look for it, don't ever forget I told you this."

   I promised, I would always look, and never forget. He was fading. I heard someone yell "Hit him! Hit him now!!"

   The guy I had thrown down by the throat under adrenaline, came down and punctured him with a sort of double syringe and plunged hard and steady. Looked like a double tube of two part epoxy, except in his body. He came back again after that. Found out later, that was adrenaline.

   "I'm back, but… not for long. Remember what I told you. And Little Lightning. That guy, the one in the gas station that night? My CI."

   "I remember him."

   "Play her that cell phone video we have of him talking. Let her see, that he really cared. She might… if she seems moved by how he talked? Let him just see her play. Maybe that will work for him. Oh. And him? We took his plant down. That guy, the football guy. The one with the calculator talk that first party? Him."

   "I know when I see him. Styles. Calculator guy. Construction."

   "Him. That guy needs a job, that he can work anywhere and make money. In case Lightning likes him. Get calculator? To give him… my union card he promised me. It goes to him."

   "All right. I love you."

   "I love you too. Aw, man…"

   He was fading again. He rolled his head over, and grabbed at the guy that had "hit him". He said to hit me again. The guy looked over, the other one said no.

   Real faint, he said it.

   "I ain't gonna make it. We all know it. Hit me again. Give me a little more time to talk. That's all I get, give it to me. Please…"

   The other guy shook his head no, but the guy looked at him, and me… then hit him again. He came around a little.

   "Yeah. I think that's it, hun. Now. Last thing. This? Happened for a reason. You, are being made into something by this. Just… let the universe, put you where you need to be. It'll be something great. I… did this. Must have been what I was here for. You do what the universe wants. Let it put you where you need to be… then I'll be back. You'll see. The eyes. And then? We'll do something even bigger, and more important? Than what we did this time. I promise."

   "Okay. I love you."

   "I love you too. Its all right. I know where I'm going. My mentor? Prepared a place for me. Valhalla. I get to go there cause I died with my sword in my hand. Then I'll be back. Just watch, the eyes, and how he acts. It'll be me. I promise. You'll see."

   "I really love you."

   "Me too. Love you. He can hit me again, but, I don't think it'll work this time. So. I love you… don't scream and cry for a couple minutes. After I go. I'll be able to hear and see for a couple minutes. Just give me that little bit."

   "Okay."

   "I love you. Bye…"

   "I love you…"

   I kept my word. I didn't scream and cry. I figured he was right about all kinds of weird trivia, and if he could hear and see for a couple minutes, before brain death? Why should his last sounds and sights be screeching and me hitting him. So, I just kept telling him I loved him for a little while, then quickly switched to reiterating the promises I made, that I would listen to the things he told me. In case he could hear me.

   I kept it up far too long. I had no sense of time. He was… long gone. They were trying to claw me off him when we arrived at the hospital, but I was fighting people, I wanted to stay and talk more. More people were pulling at me and grabbing me. I was fighting them, with that spastic adrenaline. My shoulder wasn't that fucking bad. Yet, anyways.

   Eventually enough people grabbed me. Someone stuck some kind of epoxy plunger in a stabbing motion into me, and then another one. I woke up with that patented fuzzy feeling, and the sense your shoulder is sewed to your hip or something. Elise was there. Target. The others. They were all there.

   I asked who shot him. A couple people tried to say we'll do this later. I asked again. Quiet but firm. That Mike FBI guy, said it.

   "One of the fucking local cops. You never get everyone. Always a few stragglers. One of the stragglers? Got him."

   "Well. Did you get him."

   Mike looked at Elise. She answered.

   "I got him. I was coming back the other way. I was near him. He was… you know how there's like two or three steps to an old house? He was crouched down behind one of those little sets of steps. I ran over behind him. I got him."

   "You kill him, or just pop his ass."

   "He got the one in the pipe. Then I stood over him, and dumped the mag. You keep shooting if there's any movement? His pinkie finger was twitching, so I was already reloading, and I dumped the second mag, too. Point blank. Last couple? I bent down and got him right in the face. So he can't have an open casket funeral. Fuck him."

   "You in any trouble?"

   "I doubt it. But if I am? I don't give a shit. I'll just teach judo in a smaller city not a major one. I don't care."

   "The hell did they shoot me up with. I feel weird."

   "Oh. Anesthesia of some kind. Painkillers? I don't know."

   "Cause I feel funny. Like I can't feel anything."

   "Oh. Probably morphine, I guess."

   "No. I mean, I cant feel anything. I should feel what? Angry. Sad. Mad. Something. I don't… feel anything. At all. Just… cold. And its like… I'm in someone else-s body. Looking out through their eyes. And, I can make this body do anything I want it to…"

   Everyone looked away. Except Mike and Target and Elise. Mike spoke quiet.

   "Shock. Adrenaline. The anesthesia, painkillers. That should pass."

   I clenched and opened my left fist. I marveled at it. Like I was making the other body I inhabited, and it had to obey me? Do whatever I wanted.

   "I kinda like it."

   I was kind of numb. Not the kind of numb you can't feel stuff physically. Numb. I felt… nothing. I just… talked. No reactions. No emotions. I could have looked down, and my foot had been amputated. I sensed that if I did that? I would just go… oh, damn. My foot got taken off. That sucks. Like I was observing it was raining or not.

   I figured it was probably lingering shots they had given me. But, when I woke up after falling asleep, it was still there. Well, more accurately? It wasn't there. Then, I figured shock of it all, so a couple days? But no. It took a while before I realized it. That this new condition might be permanent.

   I tried to hide it from people. But, people that knew me? There was this new, weird look that would pass their faces. Some looked down. Some? Away. Some made a slightly pained expression. They quickly righted it, and forced a smile, but… something was up.

   After a while, I started looking at my face in the mirror. What was it. People that knew me, did this. But, that was the mild thing. The bigger thing, was that people who didn't know me? Would meet my gaze, then immediately look away.

   I asked Lightning, what was going on, as I explained it. She just told me to ask Teddy Ball. After several times, I did. I sort of knew how to use the Teddy Ball oracle. I had to actually ask him, and genuinely want the answer. Then I would answer for him, and it was coming from within me. But somehow I could only say that truth, because I was pretending it was him saying it.

   Teddy told me. Because you're different now. They can see it on your face, and in your eyes.

   Wiz had been my oracle. Now I just had Teddy Ball. Hey, it worked for Little Lightning. I remembered what Wiz had said, in his last little bit of time left. I told Lightning what he said. I showed her the video record of how he had talked about her. I asked if she thought she could… talk to him, but. She said no, she wanted Wizzy.

   Well, I tried. I tried other times, explaining it was because he had been saying things he thought were important. She said no.

   My shoulder healed up fairly quick. Just when I was getting worried, because the high school camp was getting close? It dissipated, that last bit of nagging soreness and all that. Exercise felt good, in a way. The more the better. I followed Lightning's example. I threw myself into working out, and trying to win.

   My parents came and got me, after it happened. It didn't last long. I mean, I'm not crying. I'm not falling to pieces. I'm… taking it. And, the better I could take it, the more my parents would hassle me. I tried to explain calmly to daddy. You, are yelling at the cat, for pissing in the litter box. Quit yelling at me, for handling this and not freaking out.

   My dad? Started screaming at me. What the fuck was I thinking. I got myself shot. The hell was I even doing. Running around with former MP's, and having a "case", and I just let him go on. Blah blah blah. He finally went too far. He asked me what the hell kind of a man I had picked up with anyways, that he dragged me into that bullshit and almost got me killed.

   I fucking snapped. I let him have it. Verbally. Pushed and shoved at him too. I kicked and swung on him as well. My mom was screaming and crying. Begging me to stay, at my dad for doing what he did. My dad tried to stop me from going back to school. I just looked at him, and told him to get the fuck out of my way. He kind of froze. Stepped back, and held his body back to let me pass. Like he was afraid to touch me.

   It was better than his other bullshit. I got my shit in the car, and went back. I had always been pretty good with the high school kids. Not any more. They shied away from me. Like lots of people did. I kept asking what was going on. Someone that knew me, tried to say it. That my eyes. They were… scary.

   There's just schoolwork now. And working out. And soccer. I zen with Lightning on that, at least. At least when I'm playing, and giving it my all? The crap stops. I'm like Lightning used to be now. The only time things are okay? Is when I'm playing. If I'm not the best? I might lose that tiny approval.

   The nightmares and the image came. My own "bad Moody". You get that image burned into your brain and eyeballs. Flash, there it is. Mine? Its him, on the stretcher in the back of the ambulance. I'm looking at his face, and he smiles, and gives that little shrug. What can you do.

   I don't want to take medication, or drink. It might prevent me from seeing him. When it finally "went away", after long months. I could still see it, if I thought about trying to see it, then there it was. I do it now and then off and on, all day, every day. I never want to lose the ability to see such a lifelike picture of him, anytime I want.

   I became like Lightning now. Practice, with the intensity of a game. A game, like a playoff. A playoff? Like the final game that wins the final series.

   We won conference. I got my ring. Lightning got hers, too. We all got one. Wow. Pretty cool. Doing the dance for that huge crowd, when we scored. I drew more penalties than ever, doing my Hurricane thing. I drew more penalties, because I play with a higher intensity than ever. I can make this body, do anything I want almost. Pain I feel, but it doesn't hurt like it should.

   When I do my Hurricane thing? It draws them to me. I can't get mad, not really. So, more penalties. Which helps the team, which is a good result. So, I get knocked around more, to help more. The coach tells me when its time to get angry. So? I get worked up. I can make it happen. Because that must be what's best to win at the moment, or the coach wouldn't tell me.

   If the coach tells me to adjust the roster? That number he gives me, they get hurt. They go out of the game. On the rare times I'm told to fight, that its time? They get hurt. Bad. Worse than ever before. I'm like Lightning now. The nut with a screw loose during games, and that's the only time its all right, and people tolerate and even like and encourage it.

   Lightning lets me sleep with her sometimes, or she comes in and stays in my bed more often than the other way. I hold her, she holds me. We fall asleep with Teddy between us. We got our ring. Which is cool, because now that means we're instantly favored to get it again. Most teams when they finally get it? They tend to get it at least one more time. I figure we will.

   I can't bear to part with a single thing of his. I sometimes wear something of his. But, not all day, and not often. Can't wear it out, no way to ever get another. I sometimes put his MP uniform on. Doesn't really fit me right, but oh well.

   Touching his MP uniform one night, I remembered his gun under the false bottom of the footlocker. I thought I was just looking and touching another of his possessions. Why the big automatic handgun was so fascinating to heft and gaze at, took me a little while to figure out. Daddy had put down animals suffering at the farm. I had done it a few times, but it was usually his thing to handle.

   You at first can't bear the thought of putting something down, but… eventually the day comes you're looking at one of your prized animals that you actually liked. They're down. They can't be helped back up. They keep trying, and keep failing. They wear out what little strength they even have left, gamely trying. They're laying in their own shit and piss. The face, the eyes, the body language… it tears you apart. You're finally old enough to understand a mercy killing. To end suffering.

   That's how it started. I remembered it was there, then I would look at it. No thoughts of harming myself, just a mild fascination. Next time, a night or two later? I remember daddy going off and coming back, saying it was done now. Next time, I'm remembering a time I had to do it.

   Was I contemplating suicide? I decided I wasn't wanting to do it, but the option was there. Thoughts and memories of mercy killings were no accidental thing. Did I want to kill myself? I didn't think I did. But, this numb thing I had. No emotions. Cold but logical. Psych classes. I only have these "memories" of mercy killings of suffering animals, when I'm hefting his handgun. If I'm just handling the uniform, they don't come.

   I decided to remember the homicide investigator. He didn't believe in coincidences. I decided, that I shouldn't believe in coincidences about this either. I decided to let the handgun stay in its false bottom locked up. The uniform and other things in the footlocker were fine to touch and handle, just not that particular item.

   And just like that? Hmm. No more memories of putting down suffering animals, and knowing you did a good thing. Then, it happened. I was driving, and had a sudden "flash" out of nowhere. That I could just jerk the steering wheel, and… yeah, there it was. I pulled over, and thought about it. I didn't want to. I didn't feel a desire to. It was just an option.

   These were early thoughts of suicide. My "male" brain was hinting at the male way to commit suicide. Quick and violent, you don’t screw around. Men typically shoot themselves or run the vehicle into things or off cliffs. I decided over a couple days, that I didn't want to. This was no different than that fun idea to run behind the counter at the bank and grab an armload of cash and bolt. Its just an idea or impulse. It doesn't make you rob the bank, not if you don't otherwise already want to and keep obsessing on the thought.

   It passed in a short time frame. Instead of handling the handgun in the evenings, I replaced it with a new thing. Writing down his important instructions delivered from his deathbed. Once I started concentrating on that? I got better. I realized that this was me concentrating on what he had told me to do. I had to be alive to do these things. And what if he did come back, and I was gone.

   I suddenly realized, what the hell would have happened if I didn't have this numb unemotional state. I was cold and logical and calm. If I hadn't of gone numb? I might have been hysterical. I wasn't scared at that point, I was very much relieved to find out I must be like Little Lightning back in Hellsville for her four year sentence after the trauma. Unable to take myself out, I didn't have it in me. Well, that was a good thing. I kept this all to myself.

   I wrote down while I could still remember every word, everything he said at the end. I don't want to ever forget any of it. Fuck it. I started looking men in the eyes, searching. You? Nope. Then I move on. His dog came back within years. I'll give it ten, at least. The mentor, was his oracle. He? Was my oracle. So, he can't be wrong, about anything.

   Sometimes I sit, and lean down and hug that damn footlocker. I stay like that for a long time. I want to cry, but I really can't. I want to get mad but I can only get worked up on purpose, then it dissipates as soon as I let it.

   Ritual. That's all there is now. After a while, my parents showed up. My dad begged me to come home for the upcoming break. He was sorry. He shouldn't have said that. I finally gave in. I was home for a day then two. It was starting again. I calmly and rationally explained to dad. Just stop it. If I don't get mad? You get mad that I don't. If I get mad finally, then you're mad. You can't do that to me. Be mad, no matter of which two ways possible I go. How irrational is that, dad?

   Just… let me be calm. I'm always calm, rational. Is that so bad? Jesus. Then? Oh, I knew there was some bullshit coming. Gee. My old boyfriend? Just "happened" to be coming in. So, I come in from walking around in the winter. To dinner. There he is. Fuck, its pre med boy. I said hi. I don't feel anything for him. He's not my boyfriend anymore. Wiz was.

   He's a good bit through medical school he went off to. That's nice. My mom keeps repeating it like I don't speak the language? Mom. I get it. He had 4 years of pre med. He's about half way through med school. I know, in 2 years he can be a doctor. I understand. He's making all these plans.

   He's going to get a tiny practice. I'm going to be a therapist. I? Can get my therapy patients off him. He? Can be my pet MD. Prescribe whatever psychiatric medication I recommend. I shrugged. Like I wanna be this guy's… pet. After a couple days of this, I stayed calm through it all. I finally simply said it.

   "You? Fucked my team mate. I don't take back cheaters. I don't forgive it. Its done."

   Mom is half frantic.

   "But… he's going to be a doctor."

   "I know what one is, mom. Just trust me here on this one. Familiar with the concept. A doctor? Sewed my shoulder up, when I got shot."

   Now? He's got other plans. He's going to have me on this medication, doing this plan to make me feel better. Blah blah blah. I can only take so much of this.

   "Try to understand this. I didn't call you. I didn't write or email you. I'm not going to have you prescribe me this medication and that medication. At random. Until you get something you think you like. Not going to happen. I'm not going to be your… pet therapist. Getting your patients you toss me. So? Just quit."

   He had the unmitigated gall to try to come into my room one night. I told him to get out of my room? Or I swear to god, I'll punch you right in the face. He started to him and haw, and tell me this that and the other. So? I punched him in the face. A nice bloody nose. He was shocked, and I simply grabbed a box of tissues, shoved him over and slammed my door so hard I shook the house.

   He's still at dinner, next night. With tissues up his nostrils. I ignored him. My dad finally started with blah blah blah. I calmly set my fork down.

   "You. I didn't want you here. Dad? You like him so much? Why don't you fuck him. And you… you ever come into my room again? You get the lamp. Over your head. Bad."

   I packed up all my shit quietly. I sneaked off in the middle of the night, to escape. Let him stay with my parents. I can stay at school year round, there's no need for this shit. I was co captain, my senior soccer season, and we took conference. I like my ring.

   After this break ends I'm a graduating senior, my last semester of undergrad. Of course I'll get my masters. My first year as a grad student? I get paid. I get my own townhouse. I can remember I'm supposed to be here with Wiz. I talked to housing up front, ahead of time about it. I'm sure the coach helped, too. I managed to get Lightning in, instead. We sleep together, but not like you think. We’ve never done anything like that, since Wiz was gone. We just hold each other.

   When you take emotions away, like this existence I'm in now? You’re left with nothing but cold, hard logic. That part I kind of like. Reminds me of how Wiz used to be able to suspend his emotions, and make a logical decision. Without the emotional sway to a bad argument.

   I still see Elise now and again. Target, when he visits Right. Mike? Curiously, he sometimes visits. I'm a little bit like Elise now. I like being around Target and Mike. Somehow, they don't pull the stuff other people pull. I guess its a service thing. They know how to treat people that went through something.

   I have to do something. I know I have a condition. No matter how I try to accurately self assess myself? I come out like a… sociopath. No emotions. I'm not a real one. I wasn't born without emotions. It happened, through trauma. But, no pill can magically create emotions. There's no depression or anxiety to treat. There's just… a kind of nothingness.

   I need a hobby. My new hobby? I stare in the mirror, and practice making faces. Emotions. Fake ones. My smile is plastic and fake. Took me a while, but… I've been working on this little half smirk, thin grin kinda deal. Its something. I keep working on it. So much time every night. Ritual. A new ritual. Mirror time.

   Its getting automatic. As long as I wear it? I get less of the… business from people that don't know me. People that know me, too. I'll keep working on it. Maybe I can get another one going one day. I have time.

   I think I might have Elise's face now. The one she gave the kid that looked a hair too long at the hot tub that night and he oozed away when she used the face and the voice on him. I remember so fondly, pretending I was Vaquera. Or sweet mommy, or stern mommy. When I'm alone? I sometimes do them, for myself. Okay, when no one's around? I do them talking to Teddy Ball.

   Maybe if I keep at this hobby long enough, I can get a character going and just be that character. Can I design the character how I want? Silly me. If I could do that, I could just "design" the character to be… the old Hurry, and just "be" her again. Which is crazy talk.

   But, maybe I can get "some" character going. Get a few faces to go with my half grin. I like this one waitress, I imitate her after I've been studying her for a while. When I'm alone. Teddy Ball doesn't like her yet, I'm not good enough at doing her.

   What would Wiz say? He was always my… oracle, my Teddy Ball. He would tell me, just be myself. I like you, I love you. You don't have to "be" anyone for me. Which is odd. Wiz, is the oracle. He can't be wrong. But… I'm just being myself? I'm being a cold, sterile… blank thing.

   I study people now. I'm bored, I go to the place with coffee and refills. Sit there, and pass time watching people I find interesting. I know what I'm doing. I'm trying to pick up mannerisms, and facial expressions, and little tics… that I think will "fit" me. Hard to find the one perfect person to imitate, and trying to just grab this and that from different people? They don't all seem to "go" together. I feel like a girly girl trying on items of clothing, one item after another changed and switched out. Its clear to me after a short time at this. I can’t grab a piece from different outfits. I need a whole set, a whole outfit. I need all the mannerisms and expressions from a single person. So the ensemble matches. I can’t go mix and match, like a little kid allowed to dress itself.

   I started studying this one mom. Has a young kid. I keep going in at her coffee times, sitting across the way and watching. She's got this "basic" mannerisms and other stuff. Maybe I can learn that one, you know. Damn kid. Didn't notice, and the kid got frantic. Tugging on mommy's sleeve. Mommy mommy… the scary lady, its her again… the lady with the monster face is staring at you again, I'm scared mommy.

   That hurt. Bad. The mom just looked up at me, and turned away. I left. The mom was getting up to leave. I apologized, and told her I would leave. I was sorry I scared her kid. The mother came running after me, but… I left.

   That's it then. I'm a monster now. I have a monster face. Just be yourself, huh? Now, where in the hell would I ever once find a guy, that liked my blank scary monster face. I tried a little stupid drama club. Supposed to be a sort of an intro to intro to acting. I'm a tree, I have to actually "be", a tree. Now? I'm a rock. I must become, the rock. Fucking retarded. I wanna "act" a normal person. Not a goddamn rock or a tree.

   I asked a drama teacher. One I saw could actually take on characters, and they would seem real. I explained what I was and what I wanted. I don't wanna be a rock, I wanna learn to "be" a real person. He gets what I mean. He said not everyone can act like that, and even if you can? It takes a lot of time to learn it slowly.

   Two main kinds of acting. One kind? The most common. I call it "stage acting". There's this… over dramatic thing. Over emphasized gestures, overly dramatic. Most college kids studying "drama" do this overacting stage projection shit.

   Reality acting, I call the other. You… "become" the character. That character? You learn it. You become it more and more. You wouldn't get mad? But your character would. So, you get mad then too. I can't do it. That's too advanced. That's the kind of acting "real" movie actors can do. The good ones. The ones? That stay in character even between takes, and have trouble breaking character to go back to normal when the movie filming ends.

   That's what I need, though. I just need to find a character in real life I like, and a way to study them over time, without getting caught staring. If I pick just the right one, and get good enough at them, maybe I can get somewhere. I have a little half grin I wear. Its my mask. I don't wear a mask to become scary at Halloween. I have to wear a mask the rest of the year. So I'm not scary.

   A cat came up to me. I was sitting on the wall out front. Its not scared of me. I don't have to make faces. I started feeding it. Learning its times. I dote on it something fierce. I gave it, its own little steak the other day. It was my last one I had. I wanted it to like me so bad, and I wanted to reward it for actually liking me. For being me.

   I threw a girl around for kicking it for no reason walking by. Don't kick my friend. I was actually mad. I had a real reason to be. I wasn't acting. It was fleeting, but it was something. The cat comes in with me now. Everyone is, I think, a little nervous to say anything bad to the cat.

   I can talk to Lightning about how and what I am now. I was all excited, to feel anger, don't kick my friend. The cat. I'm reminded of Lightning being all excited to have gone in the car. Lightning said, this is not the same as she was? But its familiar in some ways. Watch anger. Its the easy one, and you can't use it too much. Or you'll be nothing, or angry. Two choices.

   I found a coffee shop, and I like watching this one waitress. Her name is Mary. I feel good just hearing the name. Reminds of when I played MJ, the hooker character to help Wiz on his case. I'm learning how to watch people carefully, and not set their creepy meter off. I'm reminded of Wiz telling me about looking out the corner of your eye, can't stare right at the prey. Or you set their sixth sense off.

   I have my masters left. Couple years. I'm going to study and become, this Mary waitress. I practice her for a little bit when I want to, down in the sub basement. I bought myself a little waitress uniform, a second hand store thing. I put it on, I got a little coffee pot. I practice her. I'm starting to get her finger gestures.

   She's cool. One of those expressive chicks. She does the "big" expression, to show an emotion. She does the little "ahh" body pose, to emphasize something, to be cute. She has this sort of cute "blah" display on her down days, too. That deadpan "yeah, right" thing.

   I'm graduating. Really good grades. I think that ring, didn't hurt my chances of landing the unofficial "nod" to get picked up for my masters program. I'm going to be a captain from now on. How cool. Wiz would have loved seeing me win my ring. I want two of them. I co captained the first ring. I captain the second one? I'm on my way.

   I mean, on my way to what, even.

   Sex now? I concentrate on the Wiz image, so I can bring up that PTSD image. I can touch myself, when I "see" it. Its almost like he's there. Sort of. Closest thing I get to love now. Beyond the cat. Team mates told me that I'm bribing him, its not real love. If I stopped feeding him? He'd quit "loving" me. Pains me to test it. I left his food dish empty for a second day. He went out and in like normal. Same cuddles and tender nose touches. Then, that penultimate kitty kiss. The tender nose touches? Are sometimes, at our best moments… followed by a couple little gentle licks at the tip of my nose.

   He kept doing it with an empty dish, I showed it off. Cat brought a dead thing in, and laid it at my feet. The food was gone? It wanted to feed me.

   I thought back to Wiz. His last words. I got the paper out. One of his final commandments. This? Is being done for a reason. The universe is making you into something, and its for a reason. Just, let the universe make you be who it wants you to be. Let the universe put you where it wants you.

   Now. For what reason was this… oh, wait. You can't know that. But, the universe is making me into something. Let it. What. The universe wants me to be a cold, sterile… blank thing, with a monster face? That doesn't seem right. When its right, you'll just know. So, that ain't it.

   The fuck is the universe trying to make me into? Then, it dawned on me. The universe wasn't wanting me to be a blank monster face. That was just how it was prodding me. It was pushing me into learning how to act like someone else. Why would it want that? But, that's what the universe wanted out of me. That, seemed a lot more right than… the universe wants me to be a monster face.

   Wait. This, was not the first time the universe had pushed me to this, was it. No, not at all. Wiz had liked my characters, and I liked doing them for him. He said, wow. That was hot. Sweet mommy. Stern mommy. Vaquera. Then? That had been so I could be MJ when the time came I had to. MJ came easy. Because I had done the other three.

   Wow, Wiz. I'm finally getting it. Now? The universe wanted what it had always wanted. Me, to learn how to be other people. It was forcing me now. It took away me. I had no choice, but than to learn to be someone else. If I wanted to be anything at all. I was filled with a new sense of purpose. Okay, Wiz.

   So I ostensibly now know, exactly who the universe wants me to be. A person that takes on characters. It had been doing it to me all along, and it had led to something really big. Something that actually mattered. I was going to get my masters. And play soccer. The universe clearly liked me playing soccer. Now? It wanted me to play harder. Win more. Take it to my enemies more. The universe? For some reason wanted to take my pain away. My emotions away. Why? No telling.

   Good emotions, disappeared. I missed them. But, the universe enforces balance. It had taken away the bad emotions as well. Fear was one of them. I no longer felt it. Not like normal. I wasn't suicidal. I still had the rational sense to get good at things that seemed dangerous, because only a nut wants injured. But, the fear of that injury? Was gone.

   Hmm. The universe wanted me to be able to play characters. The universe wanted me to not have my own emotions. Anger, I could conjure up. Use. Then let it dissipate when its usefulness had passed.

   Ritual.

   I started my masters. Male female relationships. Why? Why not. If I ever chanced into something that ever worked again, if I ever saw those eyes, felt that presence. I had to be goddamn ready, and I had to know what to do. I was drawn, to Mary the waitress. I remembered Wiz's verbal descriptions of watching correctly, and not tripping the sixth sense and kicking that feeling of dread off. I could now watch Mary, as long as I wanted. Only out of the corner of my eye. I could study and copy her to my heart's content. She was none the wiser.

   Now, armed with this corner of the eye only trick… it worked too well. It made me feel creepy to be observing a particular human being, like studying a bug in biology class. Got used to it, though.

   Now with the ability to watch, I could move faster. I became Mary more and more over time. I slowly was able to turn her on and off, like a switch. By the end of the first year of my masters? I had some faces starting, too. My half wry grin was my first, and became my go to face. Default. My first happy smiles in the mirror? Scary. I looked like a nut grinning over impending doom I was about to cast.

   I finally got an "actually" happy face going. I moved on to the next one, and came back to perfect happy. Little pouts. To show that slight sad. Pooh. Surprise face "Aah!". Little head gestures went with some of them.

   Okay, I periodically took stock. Fear? Removed, along with others. I had to learn how to watch intently, and not give myself away, and trip that sixth sense. Hey. I had already been taught to be an effective lookout. The universe had been teaching me how to fight, for a while. Then? It sent me Elise, as a kind of mini finishing school. I found a girl that actually fought some, for real. I played around with her. Just some heavy bag and speed bag. A workout, something to do. This had been done before as well. It had sent me Wiz, my oracle for a bit. Wiz had always approved of me being physically tough that way.

   Wiz had loved his oracle, too. Then the oracle was removed after a short time. Wiz had been mine, but… he had also been removed after a short time. Huh. Weird. I was struck by the funny thought, that I don’t want to become an oracle. The universe? Takes oracles “home” after a brief stint of mentoring. Can’t have that, I need to be here when he returns. What else did the universe want. Male female human relationships. Felt right. I was studying the mechanics and the science and chemistry of male female relationships. The hell was this all going to get used for. Something.

   Whatever I was accepting, being made into? It felt right. The universe was pleased. My completely empty feeling? Was a little less empty. I could feel, just not a whole lot. I had a happy emotion, but it was tiny. I needed an emotional microscope to feel it. The others were there, too. Just tiny. I wasn't dead, I was just… dormant.

   Wiz, had been my oracle. He said if I let the universe put me where it needed me, and became who I was supposed to be? He would be sent back to me. And we would do something way more important like we had done. The case. I was to eventually have an even bigger, and even more important case one day. And I had to be ready.

   This was exciting. What else? I was always comfortable around boys. And? Big guys. Men in my family were huge, I was at my ease around the giant linemen of the football team. They were no different than the men in my family were. I was meant to have disdain for little girly girls. What all this was for, I didn't know. I didn't have to know, I couldn't possibly know.

   I found myself taking flights of fancy and slowly deciding, deriving and arriving, point by point? My back story. Who I was. The little details emerged slowly. Why I enjoyed the fantasy, I didn't know. But it felt just right. I had a sister. She was almost as tall as me. But not quite. She played some sports, but not as much as me, not as well. I didn't grow up on a farm. City? No way… small town. My dad wasn't a farmer, he… was a manager at some big company.

   It became second nature to imagine all I had decided, and always add that one thing more. I found myself for fun? Sort of becoming her in public, in places where no one knew me and could never find out.

   Sometimes, I went down and went around Wiz's computer crew friends. It felt good. I couldn't be around him? But I could be around people that had known him. They just were? What he had been, underneath it all. Before the universe had turned him into what it had wanted him to become. They treated me so good. It was painfully obvious that they missed their Wizard so much. I was a slight reminder of the good old days. It was a novelty to be making people feel better, instead of scaring them.

   It was just that sex and love was going to be missing from my life. Hmm. I couldn't have love, not now. Could I have sex? I could concentrate on his… PTSD image and conjure it up. Touch myself, while I actually saw him. And climax. I was mechanically capable of having sex. I got wet, my clit made me climax. I found myself thinking about it. I had always wanted the relationship. The love. The sex was part of that, a big part. Love was gone now, though.

   I realized, that I was damaged goods now. Like poor Little Lightning had been. She had gone out and gotten sex, when love was impossible. It had been over a year and more now. Could I? Would Wiz understand. I was no sociopath, but I had sociopathic features. And a sociopath, can feel sex just not love. Yeah, I could have sex. It would be physical, and carry none of the emotional impact. Like going to the bathroom. An urge that needed filled.

   I was down at a computer crew house. Gaming. I didn't want to pick one of Wiz's friends. Someone new. Had to be. Didn't have to be taller and stronger, either. Could be, did not have to be. I wanted a transaction. A trip to the bathroom. Not… the rest. I wanted to limit this transaction. Not use it like overusing a credit card. Only for an important and needed purchase.

   I never drank anymore. I was worried about being damaged and liking it. I finally, to a few cheers? Had a few little drinks. Been so long, it hit me. I wasn't hammered, I just had that slight glow. I was looking around. I wanted touched. Down there. I wanted a boy, to touch me. I picked one out.

   When he went in the kitchen, I followed him into the restroom. I was taller and physically stronger. I smiled, and blocked the doorway out. I had him trapped. I grabbed him, and made him kiss me. I kissed big, like I liked. I started and stopped, I led. He got the idea, quick. I was in charge. I had him. He was mine.

   Wiz had liked being "forced". Other guys, probably liked it as well. Maybe even this one. I didn't ask him, I told him. You? Are going to touch me. Understand? He nodded. Nervous, but… I told him how to stand, where to stand. Unbutton my jeans. Now unzip me, slowly. Slip that hand down in there, little boy. Do it. What fingers to use. Wiz always got to the one side, switched between middle finger and index finger. I instructed him, I gave running commentary. Orders, not suggestions.

   He made me climax. I told him don't you dare stop, until after I tell you to. He did. When I was done? I told him to arrange my panties even again. Then to zip me. Now. Button me up. And, just where do you think you're going. I turned him around, and stood behind him. I reached around him, and made him stand still. While I returned the favor. I made him watch my face, me watching his face in the mirror as I pulled him off. Stopping and starting. Teasing. When I felt like it? I finished him off. I made him stay still, then told him he was allowed to get fixed back up.

   I grabbed him, and kissed him. I told him this was our secret. Did he enjoy it. He was nervous, but he nodded that he did. I told him not to ever tell, or he wouldn't get that or anything else ever again. If I ever felt like it? Maybe. I'd let him know. When I grabbed him again, if ever? That's how he would know.

   "Now. When we go back out there? I want you to sit right next to me. All night. I want your leg touching mine, till I leave."

   "Okay."

   "I'll be kissing you later. I'm going to teach you how to kiss, like I want you to. Learn to do it the way I want. Now get. I'll be out in a little bit."

   He sat next to me. He did keep scooted over to keep our legs touching. I treated him to a little smile in between the game action. I was one of four controllers in the game. He was one. The game? Was war. There were two versions of this game. It was a minor, or middling "hit" of a game when it first came out. Code of War. The update came out later. Warcodes II.

   Wiz had made me feel beautiful. I always felt like I wasn't ugly, but I always knew deep inside. Being a tall, strong girl? Was not the ideal of beauty in my world I lived in. I grew up around boys, and it made me a realist. When we were all about fifteen, we rode our horses to camp out in the woods where we did it. We had a stone fire ring, we had lashed saplings to make little "walls" we lashed together to make little shelters. We could camp there round the year. Get out of the rain, the sun. Keep snow off of us.

   At fifteen or so, the boys wanted to know how I as a girl rated them. Just on looks, as if they were strangers. I shrugged, I made them do it back. I'm one of the guys. We're all honest. I'm in the fives, when I wear coveralls and work boots, the leather deerskin farmhand gloves in my back pocket. Plowing snow like a guy to clear the parking lot of the little diner, going in to get a coffee with the men. Men dressed like me, doing farm work like I did. Bitching about the weather but with a good nature about it. Old men smiled and nodded at me.

   I'm in the sixes in jeans and T shirt. And that's at best. I don't shy away from coveralls and work boots. If the weather calls for insulated bib coveralls and work boots for the snow that day? Then that's what I wear. I don't fret going to high school in the fives instead of the sixes, no jeans to save me. Fuck it. Grew up one of the guys, we don't think like that.

   Apparently, when I wear shorts and people can see I'm not slightly chubby but my legs are solid tan muscle? Or a swimsuit in the summer, and they can see I really don't have a scrap of fat on me… only then, displaying it, can I get high sixes, into the low sevens. My face, my hair, my body? The honest guys I grew up with, when I demanded boy honesty? Its fine, but I'm just too damn tall, too strong. Lowers my number. Its just reality.

   Saw it on campus when I was a freshman. Guys were sort of checking me out, wearing shorts in the early fall when school started. Came running up, to see the girl they saw passing by every day at that time… and I could see it on their faces as they got up to me. They hadn't seen me around other people. No way to scale and gauge my height. Now, they see it. I see that shining face, hey… the girl I smile at? Smiling back. I'm walking right up, and…

   Guy's looking up at me. I'm used to it. Don't even think of acting like you're doing me a favor. Letting my height and strength "slide". Yeah, I know I'm sort of pretty, but hamstrung by this body. Its either six foot tall guys who can look into my eyes and up, which is rare. Or even if the guy likes me, he hears about it from his "buddies" and it kills it.

   This is the first physical affection I've had, since my treasured Wiz died. I thought I was dead inside, but found out I'm just dormant. I can feel all my emotions, but they're turned down so goddamn low that its like a thermostat set on 50 in the winter. Keeps you alive, but nothing special. Emotionally? I guess I'm in a coma. The breathing machine sends a couple squeeze bellows of air every minute through me, to keep the meat warm.

   I can now barely feel strong emotions. And when they’re slight? Like nothing is there at all. Cold, sterile, rational and logical thought is all that runs through my brain at all times. I dispassionately judge and rate things. Choose things with logic and reason, instead of letting emotions sway me. Took me a damn little while to learn to put masks and faces on, and now I've begun figuring out parts or even whole characters.

   That little kid, was honest. If I drop my face, and don't wear my mask? I'm hideous. I frighten small children and I don't mean to. I'm hamstrung by height and muscle, limiting my 5.1 to 6.9 rating. And, that's even before the monster came to live inside me. Love, is gone. Turned down so low, its like its not even a thing. But? The universe is balanced. The monster took fear away too. Love gone, is harsh. Fear gone? Kinda nice. No more hate, either. No jealousy. All the negative emotions? They're gone, too.

   I'm really not me anymore. I'm learning to be Mary the waitress now. For a couple dollar bills, I can drink all the bad coffee I want, and read textbooks or jot notes down. She's seen university students before. I leave a couple dollar bills, she likes me fine. As a customer. I'm quiet, never a hassle. I tip okay for just coffee and leave me be. To my books and work. Which Wiz used to do a lot. In that way? The more alone I am, ironically I feel a little bit closer to him somehow.

   There's times and days I wanna just sit and cry. Simply bawl and get it over with. It doesn't come. I can't. I can sort of detect that big hurt, but its on 50 like the rest of the thermostat controlled emotions. Almost can't believe I just picked out a guy that was physically okay to me, decided he had Wiz's quiet and nice streak, and… just took him.

   I know, it was date rape. I just went into the bathroom at the game party behind him. After watching him, cutting my victim from the herd. Stared him up and down, then grabbed him and made my move. If he really wanted away? He could push harder, yell out. I'd let him go. He didn't. He just melted. He's sitting next to me, our legs touching now while we play Code of War, with two others on our team.

   I know I'm not great at this. Most guys are better at these games. I always knew that. I make it my business to do what I can. I hide and take potshots, to cover the rest of my team. I practiced getting the rocket launcher, and learning to take out those damn attack copters the team winning gets time with. Best result I can get. Best result I can get for the team.

   He smiled back when I gave him my little smile over at him, sitting with me. This guy's new down here. Freshman, or just transferred. He's just heard about me. Everyone knows my Wiz is gone. Some even know he got shot. Very few realize I got shot at the same time and that my boyfriend's blood, bits of guts and juice, were all over me. Not the kind of thing you broadcast.

   This guy, leg touching mine. Newer guy. He doesn't know I'm a monster. He just buys my smile. I'm "Princess" down here, with the computer jocks. This guy? He's going to get high fives. Princess was always Wiz's girl, and he's gone now. Over a year for me to glue the pieces back over. I've decided to treat him to some public make out a little later, when we're both out of the game. It goes good? As I leave, I'm gonna tell him that next time? He gets to see my legs.

   I did, too. Got him in the kitchen, and grabbed him and drew him in and kissed him. Felt him gently struggle and quickly give up. Melt into my embrace. I told him, I already scoped out an empty room upstairs. First door on the right. When I get up there? I better find you without a stitch of clothes, on that bed waiting for me. I'll be up.

   I got a couple drinks for us, and sneaked up a few minutes later. He was waiting naked for me. I gave him a drink, had one myself. Took my belt off, and wrapped it around his arms and got on top of him.

   "Now. This time? I want licked. Can you do that?"

   He smiled and nodded. I gave him my half grin.

   I got undressed, and laid back. He's not helpless with my cowgirl belt snug around him, just above his elbows. I guide his head to make him do what I want. As long as I want. I eventually had him doing well enough, we took a break. I rolled us up a number, we finished our first drinks, and… I got on all fours. His face right where it needed to be. So technically speaking? I didn't "sit" on his face. Maybe sitting, but leaned forwards, forearms crossed. I continued getting what I wanted. How I wanted. As long as it pleased me. After another smoke and drink, and a break? I went 69 on top of him, and pleased him. For a while. No, he didn't get deep throat. That was for Wiz only, for now. Not a lot of talking for me now, just that little half grin, mostly. Its what I can manage during sex, that I don't lose my presence of mind and let my mask slip.

   I obviously never say a word about it, but I concentrate on thinking about Wiz, and… I can actually see him while this guy is with me. I like seeing my PTSD image of Wiz so much while touching myself, and this is even better. Reminds me of drinking water, when you wish you had something better, like fruit juice. And that's when I touch myself while seeing his lifelike presence. I guess it goes from water to iced tea, when someone else is with me. But I know before, during, then surely after… I wanted fruit juice, can't have it because its impossible. I make do with water or iced tea.

   I don't feel love, and can't. I dread any conversations, about where "this" might be "going". I asked him if he liked my legs. He does. Were they what you expected? He said no. I smiled. Told him its okay, people think I'm a little chubby, until they see my legs like this. I told him we were gonna go back down to play the game party again, but I liked this. He said he did too. I told him this time? I wanted him to try to sit at my feet when we played, or just hung out waiting. You can hug a leg, if you like them. I eventually treated him to a leg slung over his shoulder, and he would touch my shin when he wasn't playing.

   Eventually, it happened. I came up behind him in the bathroom. We were showering after I stayed over. I was checking out his butt I thought was cute. Lost in it. I glanced up, and I saw it. His shocked face in the mirror. He was scared. I had slipped, and my mask fell when I was enjoying checking my boyfriend out. He's nervous. I tried to calm him, turn the smile and Mary's sweet face on, but… he was just agreeing and biding his time.

   He disappeared on me. He was scared of the monster. I would never hurt him, but… poof. Yeah, I'm hurt. But? Back to ritual. A "Little Lightning" romance. Over now. When she was hurt, she had been first a fast girl, then when disaster struck? She was eventually a once a month kind of girl, doing this. Unable to love, but craving some contact.

   I wasn't a fast girl before the disaster struck. I decided, three months minimum for me. Then, eventually try again next time. Back to my rituals. After several of… these? It became a ritual in and of itself. This, was what my mating ritual had become.

   I didn't want to move out of the townhouse, and into my own. That was supposed to be Me and Wiz together, through grad school there. I told you I had already talked to housing, and the coach. I got Little Lightning instead. She's devastated by Wiz being gone. She's not back to… what she was, before me and Wiz helped her. The integrated personality stayed, but… I can tell. She's noticed. I go out to mate, I don't bring them back. I explained the once a month thing she was once used to? Mine is… when it ends, three months minimum. She understands.

   When I made captain, Lightning became co captain. We're working on our second ring. The Bloody Bridesmaids are on a holy tear, and we're a statistical and physical nightmare to our enemies. Coach loves the recruiting now. We're getting up on top to stay now. Lightning's star power is like a tractor beam for talent coming in. Her training videos? Have little Hurricanes trying to get in. She’s the big giant star, and has that huge gravity to pull them in and hold them for us. I used to almost exclusively use sports analogies to explain or understand things internally. After wiz and his science documentaries he loved watching? Just listen to me. I’m using astronomical metaphors to understand and explain things now. He’s forever changed me, in so many different ways. His math terms as well. I transitively miss him. He had loved and missed his oracle, his mentor. Now, I miss him because he had been mine. Its transitive, because in some way I “miss” this great zen master who I never once met.

   Because we won the big Midwest conference, we won a tiny spot. Women's soccer conference champions? Get a little gold star. All your games get taped, by a tiny cable station. You get play at, like, 2:30 in the morning on a Tuesday. This is a great year, that way. Me and Little Lightning stay up late. Eat ice cream and popcorn, every time. You get to be an actual star, just for a little bit. Oh god, why couldn't Wiz have lived to see this. He'd have loved it, I just know it.

   If, no… when. When we make the conference playoff this year, I'm the captain. I get the five minute interview clip. I told the coach, I need Lightning with me. And I want Right and our new young center there, too. Sunny. Either me or Lightning, is gonna give the team speech. The real one. In taped games that play late at night in worthless time spots? I get to see my face for a few seconds, hear away announcers talk. Playing, is one of the few times I get to let my face slip, and its fine. The enemy sees that intensity and focus, and takes it for insanity. And that's fine. Be terrified. It works for me. Look at that face, Bob. That? Is what complete dedication and focus and intensity, looks like. I do it in a big game? I get approval. I do it in regular life while out and about? People look away and avoid me. There’s no functional equivalence there. More like complete and utter functional inequality. How can it be better than perfect in one situation, and worse than terrible in all the others. It is what it is, though. It just is what it is.

   Me and Light both love seeing one of our dances, after scoring. The tron interns, have a favorite one. They play it when nothing else is going on. The big screen is supposed to be never blank, always something. Little Lightning just scored the winning goal, and I got the assist. Broke the tie late, it won it. Me and Light are in the middle, flanked by Right and Sunny. We're all covered in dirt and mud. I have blood on me and we're all four of us tore up, naturally me most of all. I'm all marked up, its what I do.

   The dance is perfect now, though. Perfect lock step. That gravity defying sideways stutter. Its the greatest thing ever, and I wish Wiz were here to see me enjoy it. I hope he can see me up there. He said he goes to Valhalla, because he lived his life by his code.

   The thing about ritual, though. It eats up time. I get two, two and a half years on my masters. I might extend it to three, so I can do a bigger and better and more in depth master's thesis. Not just enough to get by and get my degree. Wiz wouldn't have done that.

   But, I got two and maybe three years left. To decide. Time to keep letting the universe make me into what it wants and needs me to be. Then to decide, where it wants me to be at. Best paying job? Simply ain't it. Wiz said, you don't live your life like that. Its not fulfilling enough. I wondered if Wiz really does come back, now where would he even be. I checked out the Air Force recruiter, and told him up front. Not real serious, just curious. Don't push me.

   What was I interested in. I said don't laugh, but. MP. That, was a different thing, he said. I explained that I was no girl power girly girl. I carry my own pack. I know what greenwalled is, and I know what a green queen is. I'll be a green queen or nothing. He was surprised. I explained briefly about Wiz. He got the idea. I showed him who I was. Team captain, the Hurricane. Leading a conference championship team to another championship.

   Based on just having my bachelors, and with high marks? He could offer me officer's candidate school. 90 days later, I'd be a freshly minted female second lieutenant. Now, making the grade as a female MP? Different story, but… as a big strong girl, a tomboy, the brawling Hurricane? Well, I just might actually be female MP officer material.

   Told him I was in grad school. Hey, maybe when I get my masters. He said… you get your masters? Same deal, but… first lieutenant. Told him I'd think about it. Just curious about options. Don't push me, don't try. And I'll think about it. Hey. Its a plan B. Maybe end up a sort of… Elise. She was damaged, she went there. I'm damaged. Maybe.

   Back to the ritual. Back to my… couple Lightning romances every year. I got two last year. Three would be a record breaking year. I found I can't exactly be Lady Vaquera with these guys. That was something special, just developed between me and Wiz. Just for us. Oh, I lean towards it, trust me. But… no. No full Monty with these guys. That's an expression of love, and love hurts sometimes. So, that's toned down too, like everything else. I essentially date rape a new guy. But, it doesn't lead to any more of that yummy training, and sweet torture.

   They basically get picked up by, or I should more accurately say… date raped by… Lady Vaquera. I play Mary the waitress, then watch and plan. Cut him from the herd, and take my meal. It goes half decent? After once or twice, its stern mommy. Then, if it goes really well they get to sleep with sweet mommy. No full Monty, but they get those characters.

   All my… gear? Its locked up and put away. There was room in Wiz's Green Weenie footlocker.

   I'm sitting here with Little Lightning right now. It was her turn to cook for the two of us tonight. She still likes cooking, but I've noticed. It still brings the occasional tear to her eye. She's been fixed but is now damaged all over again. In a way, I can't help. Not the same way I could help her when I was her rape therapist. This is grief, anguish over a lost loved one. I might even have a worse case of it than she does. But, this is totally outside my field of psychology.

   For four years of undergrad in Psych, I more or less picked classes and projects to be a rape therapist. Male female relationships, kind of a minor. Now as a grad student? My masters is psychology, but you have to pick a specialty. Male female relationships for emphasis. I can't help myself, not in the sense of fixing what's wrong. So I can't expect myself to be able to help her. If I try? I'll just be like Elise's bullshit bored rich wives complaining therapist. Spouting hurt locker bumper sticker slogans, and screwing things up worse than they are already.

   Me and Little Lightning tried the grief counseling. All punching pillows, imagining your pain as healing white light. Try aroma therapy and scent therapy. Try relaxation candles. And yeah, the much vaunted hurt locker. Bitch was lucky I didn't bounce my coffee cup off of her forehead and give her stitches. While she's sprawled over her desk bleeding, just casually drop on the way out. Hey. Elise says hello. And let the smug buzzword bingo pamphleteer "therapist" analyze that.

   I'm not gay, I'm not even bi. I know that now. Me and Light sleep together regularly, but its a teddy bear thing only and nothing sexual ever. Light was right about that one. We were just playing porn star with Wizzy. We had a perfect three way relationship that actually worked. We were more than the sum of our parts. The two musketeers doesn't really have enough zing to it.

   "What are we gonna do, Hurry."

   "Bedtime soon, hun."

   "No. I mean… really do."

   "We? Are gonna get our second ring. I'm in grad school, first year. Got two or three more years to go. You? You're a senior, and you're a great co captain. I'm hoping you do grad school."

   "I mean after school ends."

   "Get jobs, I guess. I know I'm not exactly on the fast track to getting married. Not anymore."

   "Me neither. Conference title was awesome, but I wish we could have made it to the second round of the national playoffs, you know? Bloody Bridesmaids got a bloody lip."

   "How many years were we in the conference playoffs, every year. We got better each time. Just being in the national playoffs for the first time, was a big step. This year? We just get there, we'll do better. Coach knows which teams to study now."

   "I hope so."

   "This time? We just get there. I can't wait to play the same team for the first round of playoffs in the nationals. Big rivalry now. Light? We did it. We got a ring. We're on our way to another one. We got a couple more years, to get a couple more rings, if we can keep it up. Every one of them? Is a ticket to the national playoffs. We just might squeak out a national title, before we're outta here. We're in the middle of making a dynasty, Light. That's really something."

   "I just wish Wizzy was here to see it happen. He'd have loved it."

   "I know, hun."

   "Are you gonna still get your doctors?"

   I sighed.

   "Maybe. Maybe not. We'll see, I guess."

   "I'm lucky I got a masters spot. Not really a doctorate for me to get, Hurry. I'll be out and on my own, while you get yours."

   "Light? We each get a fist full of conference rings, you could maybe get a permanent assistant-ship for the team. Free room and board in a nice townhouse like this one. You always say, soccer is all you have in your life. It would be a decent one. The pay is half decent, but the free room and board? You'd do okay. Or, the same thing somewhere else. Or? Coach at some small, out of the way school."

   "I just had nothing and nobody all those years, Hurry. Then? You, then Wizzy, too. Now, I just have you. I'm afraid of losing you, when its all over."

   "We have another couple years, before we cross that bridge, honey. We'll figure it out. Right now? We do good in school. We get another ring. See if we can make it to at least the second round of the nationals this time. That's our job, and its paying for our degrees from a really expensive school."

   "Hurry?"

   "Yeah, Light."

   "Can I ask about your… pictures?"

   "Yeah. Sure."

   "When I had mine, they went away. Just like Wizzy said they would. Do you still see your picture?"

   I sighed.

   "Yeah."

   "I said goodbye to Moody. I got better. I don't wanna see you never get better, Hurry."

   "I told you before. Your… bad Moody picture? Mine, is… not as bad. My picture, comes from he was on the cart, and I was leaning down, closer to him. I can't see that… you know. Just his chest up. And… he smiles, and he shrugs. That's my picture. I like it."

   "You still have trouble sleeping."

   "I get four hours. I'm up a half hour, 45 minutes. Then I get another 4 hours. Like clockwork. I've read about it, that's not sleep disruption. I get my REM sleep, from 4 hours. Twice."

   "But… your…"

   "I know. My thing. I'm… learning to live with it."

   "You're like a different person, Hurry."

   "I guess maybe I am a different person. In a way. But… I'm still Hurry, on the inside."

   "I know. It just doesn't show. But, don't you think if maybe you could finally say… goodbye, like I said goodbye to Moody? Maybe… you'd come back."

   "Light? I have a full size, real life movie clip of Wizzy. I can see it anytime I just concentrate on it. I don't ever wanna lose it. Its all I have of him."

   "I just wish you had feelings, Hurry. I don't wanna see you go through your whole life, never feeling anything."

   "Hmm. I still have feelings, Light. I told you. If I get really really happy? I can feel a tiny bit of it. Feelings are there, just turned down. Its like… a movie, with the volume turned down way low. You only hear the loud parts a little. But, its only half bad. Its also half good. All the bad emotions? I don't feel them, either."

   "Which side of the bed you want tonight, Hurry."

   "Flip you for it."

   I woke up after my customary four hours. The dream tonight? Part of it took place at the funeral. Not that a funeral is anything great, but. It was nice. As far as a thing like a funeral can be, I guess. I know to just get up, and kill some time. Then I'll get my second four hours. I carefully got to my desk, and concentrated. Brought up my picture. Unlike a scary PTSD persistent image? Mine is comforting to me. He smiles and shrugs, to let me know its okay. I know better than to wiggle the mouse next to my laptop. Start looking at pictures and movies of him. I can't cry and that somehow makes it worse.

   He's buried in the big military cemetery. The one you see in some photos. I guess four years of duty, gets you a spot there. I didn't know, that there's at least three or four different kinds of military funerals.

   You got your basic. Four years? Yeah, you get your patch of dirt. Mil spec version of the small, regular civilian one.

   Then, you got your veteran funeral. A guy was a combat veteran, he gets a little more. Kinda fair, I guess. The guy that sweeps the floors and takes the garbage out? Doesn't deserve as much as the guy that ran the risk of getting maimed or killed sometimes at work.

   Wiz was all set to get the 4 year patch of dirt plan. Computer programmers, don't get the big send off. But? He was never a regular guy. He was the MP's mascot. He had even saved the life of one of their MP squad leaders. And, off the books and all. Guys knew he was practically an MP, in all but name.

   The MP's that had known him, all started calling in and raising hell. I guess after the first dozen called complaining, how this guy was one of the family. Saved the life of an MP on duty. Created and closed a huge law enforcement case. All, for no money and no recognition. They said their old commander was still there, and he was getting calls too. He had to call, hell he remembered the guy too.

   They agreed to grant him the veteran funeral. You get the guys in the fancy dress uniform. Flags carried. A little bigger, slower parade to your own patch of dirt you earned. No. They all demanded the real deal. Guy had been a hero. Had everyone's respect. Even the commander wished he had stayed on, and enlisted back as an MP.

   They raised enough hell, and whoever arranges this stuff? I mean it has to be someone's job. I guess they got tired of all the hell and confusion, and they granted him what was unofficially called the hero's funeral. You die in combat? That one. MP's killed in the line of duty? They get it too. They wanted that one, for him. They demanded it. Poor bastard got shot in the back, doing a law enforcement job for them, for no pay and no glory.

   It was something. A lot more people showed up than I thought. He got the even bigger, slower parade. Slow enough that people could slowly walk to the spot. There were MP's simply everywhere. You can pick them out once you've spent some time around them. Most in uniform, but you can spot the ones out of uniform too.

   Two of those big horses and the fancy cart instead of the normal hearse. Guys in the fancy dress MP's uniform, doing their drills or whatever as they got close. He got that big line of guys doing the guns firing salute. People and offices that couldn't make it? Had small sheets of paper sent, so their condolences were formally read.

   Some guy with all the stuff all over his uniform, spoke for a while. Then, different other people wanted to say a few words. Each talked about him, and had some personal story to share. Why they thought he had been a great guy. They played taps and everything, all that.

   Someone saw to it, I was treated like the wife or mother. I was given the folded up flag. Target said that the polished wood and glass display case, was something only a few guys got that. For what it was worth, and what it meant.

   Target pointed out the guys standing at attention over the grave after it was over. The MP's were giving him a little "honor guard" ceremony. The superstition was that they were all such ornery bastards, that the devil had a slight claim to their souls. The all night honor guard, was so the devil couldn't have it. He knew he had to go through a small squad of airbase MP's to try to claim it, so the soul was safe. They would stand at attention, from sundown to sunup.

   I had no end to the number of people that offered me their condolences. Seemed like each one of them had some unique story. I have a stack, and I mean a goddamn stack of, business cards. From present and former airbase MP's. Lots of them now spread out and around in law enforcement. All said the same thing. Family, anything you ever need. Don't hesitate to call. If I can't? I'll send the nearest one to you, to help. I remembered meeting Target at first, getting it all started. What he had told me.

   We are legion.

   I spent the night. Watching the honor guard. Numb, really. Elise and Light stayed up with me. Right went with Target, after midnight. Sunny caught a ride back to the townhouse with them. Me and Elise and Light were getting back, when I got a call. I pulled over to take it.

   Sounded like an older, friendly man. He asked if this was… and bounced over my Italian namesake, and ended with AKA Hurry.

   "Speaking."

   "And, do you know… a…"

   He then tripped all over trying to pronounce Szarabjorna, and I cut him off by saying AKA Little Lightning, and she's in the seat right next to me. I asked what he wanted.

   It was Wiz's father.

   "Well. My son… its not a real will, you understand. Hell, I don't think he had much money wise, being at college and all. But… weirdest thing. I got a call from him, and he said he was going to do something, with law enforcement, nothing illegal. But, it would be a little hairy. That was the words he used, a little hairy. He was sure nothing would happen, it would be fine. But… just in case, he wanted to mail me his will. I said sure."

   "His… will."

   "Its not a real, official one, you understand. But… he didn't have any big money. Well, he has a few things from before he left for the service here. We're his parents, we have a few things of his. He was always going to come get the stuff, after he graduated college, he said. He'd stop home, on leave… drop off a gun or something like that."

   "Do you… have some memento, he left for me?"

   "Well. It says… you, Hurry? Are to be considered, if anything would happen. To be his wife. He wanted you, because I guess it did happen. To have all his stuff here we have. And, there's two sealed letters. One to… you. The other, to… the other girl."

   I asked and was given permission, to drive up and meet the parents. It was a ways off. Nice brick house, in a tiny town of mostly all houses.

   "Wow…"

   The man that answered the door was about 5'6", though a wide and strong looking man pushing 50. Most men are starting to come apart by that age, this one still looked powerful. I realized he was too, and it made me curious what he had looked like and been capable of at Wiz’s age, in his prime. Wiz had often enough described his father to me. Not tall, but a thick muscular steel mill worker. He described him as the original quiet and polite hard ass, old school style. The "wow", was him looking up and seeing three of us, all kind of tall for girls. Heck, me and Elise and Little Lightning? Ain’t a one of us, under 5’11”.

   "Hi. I'm Hurry… you must be Wiz's dad?"

   "Wiz… if you mean…"

   "I called him Wiz."

   "I called him Wizzy."

   "In the service? He was The Wizard."

   He invited us in. The mother was… medicated, in bed. We didn't see her much. We stayed for hours, talking with the father. He was distraught, but could keep his shit together to talk. Among the many stories, one stood out. Elise mentioned how he taught self defense and rape prevention classes, as a volunteer from the MP's.

   The father didn't understand the MP thing, he was a computer programmer. Elise said she'd explain later, and did. But, the father related about him always wanting to help.

   "He always had a thing for, making things right. When he was young, you know how kids bring a baby bird home cause they're out of the nest? He always brought the baby bird home, a baby rabbit."

   I smiled. That was him.

   "I grew up on a farm. I did the baby bird thing, too. Tried. You're lucky to get three days out of a baby bird. They always die. Hard to get the bunny past a week, too."

   "Yeah, same here. Baby birds never seemed to make it. One baby bunny made it, though. We raised it to full grown. Released it? Thing wouldn't leave the yard, so. Hell. I'd dig a little hole, put all kinds of fluffy shit in the hole for them. You know, a roof over it, keep rain and snow off the bunny family he raised every year."

   "Aw. The bunny made it, and raised families, huh?"

   "Yeah… we had our own little race of tame rabbits, right in that yard. He taught the kids, it was okay to come up on the patio for food. You'd be having a BBQ. Rabbits would all come hopping up, wouldn't leave for love nor money, till you put some bread down for them. They taught their kids, same thing. To this day? We have a race of all but tame rabbits back there. Look… there's one now…"

   "What was the original rabbit's name?"

   "Fleabag. We named him Fleabag. He had to live in… quarantine, for a week. With flea powder all through the bedding. Until he was clean. Then? Easy. You should of seen it. Thing was so tiny? He fed it with a tiny baby bottle."

   "Why didn't the rabbit just stay?"

   "Aw. The little dog we had. We thought… he was letting the rabbit out all night, he'd raise hell half the night, running with the dog, they'd chase each other half the night. Found out the dog was knocking the cage open, letting Fleabag out, to play with every night after midnight. Rabbits are half nocturnal, I found out. Anyways… Fleabag, eventually got old enough… he, uh. He would jump on your foot, and… you know. Prison rape your foot. On, and hop off before you could react. We… put him in the back yard. Fleabag obviously wanted a girlfriend…"

   That was Wiz. Sweet as anything. Changed everyone and everything he seemed to touch. He found a baby bunny? Now to this day and after his death, there's a race of mostly tame rabbits, behind this house. They built a very stout wooden rabbit home, for all the rabbits to live in, for bad weather. Up off the ground for water and snow. Lots of hay inside.

   "I'm sorry, girls. I didn't even know he… until two state troopers stopped, to tell me about my son. I thought he was in college, for computers. The hell was he doing running around a couple states away from where he was supposed to be, getting shot. What the hell was my son even into?"

   "Well. You know that… corrupt cops, small town thing. In the news right now?"

   "Oh, that. Yeah?"

   "That? Was pretty much… him."

   "What? He was a computer programmer in the service, for the love of god. The hell would he be in cahoots, with dirty cops, and small town little mafia shit for… how's this even…"

   "Hold on. Elise? Maybe you could explain, the whole MP thing to the father."

   Elise took over, and started with how he was the only computer guy, lived in housing surrounded by all MP's. How he started running around with them.

   "See, he'd wake up. Do morning PT, with all MP's. Then, go to work at his computer job. Lunch? He'd go to the MP's gym, and work out with them for lunch. Then, after computer work was over at 3:00… he'd be with them. And all weekends and days off, too. He was basically, the MP's unofficial mascot. He helped train the new guys."

   "Oh. Explains a lot, I guess. Wondered why I only got a few pictures, with him around computers. Most of the pictures and little videos? He's with guys with guns, and machine guns, night vision, backpacks, in tents… I just figured, all computer guys did that too, being the service and all."

   "No. Just him. He was actually given his own radio to carry. If he saw something? He could call us in directly. True story about your son?"

   "Sure. Good one, I hope."

   "Oh yeah. So, there's this giant pile up, on an interstate runs through our giant airbase. All the MP's are there. Its a big mess. A call, prowler goes out. They beep in, an off duty sleeping MP. Middle of the night, go check out the prowler intruder call. That's his room mate. He lived with them. He wakes up, gets dressed, too. He tags along. You're always supposed to have a battle buddy. Backup. Well, shots fired. He dragged the MP shot in the face to safety, got him out of there and to the emergency room, just in time. Guy barely lived. He would of died, waiting for an ambulance. They were all on the pile up scene. MP's considered him a hero. He saved their own squad leader's life. And I mean, that's just one story. There's more."

   "I never knew that."

   "He basically, lived and trained, with the MP's. Honestly? Other than a 6 to 3 computer job 5 days a week, he basically lived his life as an off duty MP. He was going to enlist again, as an MP. Then, he went off to college."

   "How's that explain, how he got involved with dirty cops, and got killed. I'm not seeing it."

   "Well, I'm just explaining so you understand, what he was. They needed a volunteer, to teach self defense, for a rape prevention class. They wanted someone good, but would be gentle with women. The MP's? All volunteered him. He didn't get paid, to teach rape prevention, and work with rape victims."

   "Okay…"

   "So, when he ran across a bad rape victim survivor. You gotta understand, sir. Years ago? A young girl of 14, was gang raped. The mother and the local crooks? Were drugging her and selling tickets to these gang rapes they made money off of. The girl eventually escaped."

   "Who was the girl? Why did he know about this?"

   Elise flashed her big city gold shield briefly.

   "I'm a former MP, too. Now I'm a detective. You don't release names and ID, of violent crime victims. They've been through enough already. He ran across this survivor? Through helping a rape therapist."

   "Oh. He found a real life baby bunny…"

   "Yeah. He, kinda heard wild stories about this, and he was fit to be tied. He started an investigation. He called all the troops in, to help. See, MP's? We get out, we're all spread out in law enforcement across the country. FBI, state police, city… you name it."

   "I'm guessing, that he didn't just call the cops and go back to bed."

   "No. He… was basically working undercover. He developed confidential informants, that brought the whole thing down. He, actually was one of two guys? That found a smart way to get the guys that participated in all the gang rapes that started all this? To admit it, on audio, without them realizing it. Most of them had to plead guilty, the rest are going to get hammered at trial. He located video evidence, of all the gang rapes."

   "Its all so…"

   "Sir? Those guys you see on TV. The FBI, the state police, that worked this case on their own time, and brought the whole crime organization down? Drugs, prostitution, gambling, corruption, you name it. He started that, he worked it for free, undercover. His name? Should be above all those others you see on TV. Those are just the badges, that took over on paper, to make arrests."

   "He did this, while going to school. For free."

   "Yeah. Sir? I know this comes as a very small consolation to you, at this point. But… your son was buried with what we call a hero's funeral. At the big one. Arlington. You have to be a general, during wartime, to get a better funeral. I mean, for what its worth."

   She let him watch a couple video clips of the proceedings. It did indeed, look like something you saw on TV. He stared and touched the screen. He couldn't believe this was his son. He hadn't known any of this.

   "And. Here."

   "What's this."

   "Its… the MP's. If one of them, goes above and beyond any reasonable call of duty. Bravery, sacrifice. There's no paperwork, this is our own… internal… we give them to our own. He already has one of these, this would be his second one. Hurry? I was going to give this to you, I can get another one, for you later. If you're an MP? There's no greater honor than you get one of these. Guys are more proud of these, than they are the real purple hearts. Put it with his picture."

   "I didn't know he was even… dead…"

   "Sorry. There were actually, all law enforcement around when he was shot in the back, by a coward. One of the dirty cops, that hadn't been picked up in the sweeps yet. His name wasn't released to the public? Because anyone that mentions it, will go down for conspiracy to commit his murder. Just the shooter, and all cops there. Anyone else knows? Had to be in on it. FBI is combing cell phone, texting, and social media for any mention. We already got two more of them that way. Basically? If you mention his name and know he's dead, and you don't know him personally? You go to jail for life."

   "This is all news to me. I didn't know any of this about him."

   "Sir? He was like that. I have videos of him throwing around huge guys, like they were rag dolls. He helped train the new MP's. For fun, on the weekends. He, didn't want anyone at the college, to even know. He… played computer guy."

   "I can't believe the funeral."

   "Unofficially? Its called… the hero's funeral. All us former MP's? We insisted and got it for him. He basically died in the line of duty, as far as we were concerned."

   Elise showed him the private honor guard, the MP's arranged for his first night underground. Explained the superstition of the devil being afraid of them. She described, how the MP's were the ones that guarded billion dollar warplanes in dangerous countries.

   "That's not the kid I knew. I can't believe… he ran with guys like this for years."

   "Ran with them? He was one of them. I mean, its the service. You got all these combat veterans running around, drinking on the weekends. You can imagine the giant bar brawls that happen. Its a thing."

   "Oh, sure."

   "The MP's have to fight their way in, and take up a corner. Call in the reinforcements, hold the fort down until all the backup comes pouring in. Then break it up, and drag pissed off drunken Marines out, one by one."

   "He… showed up to help drag them out, I guess. You said he had his own radio."

   "He was there with them, in the corner. Then they dragged them all out. I know its a small consolation at this point. Your son? Was a hero. Without him, that whole town you see on TV, wouldn't have gotten broken up. So… if you would. Take this medal… and hang it on his picture. If anyone ever says different, than he lived a hero's life, and died a hero's death? I have about 50 different decorated former MP's they can call, that will be happy to set them straight."

   "All right… and, thanks. For telling me. Hey. Did they at least get the asshole?"

   "Which one. That town was full of assholes, sir."

   "The one that…"

   "Oh. Yeah. I got him. 29 times, to be precise about it."

   "Huh?"

   "One of the corrupt cops slipped the sweeps, rounding them up. Hid behind a set of steps across the way, and fired on the group of law enforcement. We honestly don't know yet if he meant to get your son specifically, or, just anyone out of all the FBI and state police there. Well… I was to the car and coming back the other way. No one could see him. Even after he fired, he was hidden. I happened to be coming the other way, heard the shot, and… I was the only one of us in a position where I could see him hiding. I dumped two full magazines and the one in the pipe into the bastard. Wiz was one of my best friends."

   "Well. Thanks for that."

   "Least I could do. I made sure it'll be closed casket for him. He doesn't deserve the honor of having people crying over his sorry ass in his casket. Cowardly son of a bitch."

   "Thanks again. Oh, Ma'am… your shoulder…"

   "Oh… sorry…"

   My shoulder is still weeping, this is right after the funeral. I get a paper towel, hold it gently, it quits fairly quick.

   "Sorry. Hope I didn't get any on the tablecloth. Its still closing up."

   "What happened to your shoulder?"

   Elise and Lightning looked at me.

   "Actually, sir… when he got shot? The same bullet that claimed his life, went through my shoulder."

   "You got shot, too?"

   "Ah. I just got grazed. Not a big deal."

   "Don't take this the wrong way, girls. But… you all need your head examined. When people are shooting at you? Take a hint. No offense."

   Elise patted his hand.

   "None taken. I hear this a lot. Sir? Someone has to do it."

   "I guess so. Sorry."

   "This was like getting struck by lightning. After everything else was over? We were just mopping up, really. Couldn't have seen this coming, in a million years. By all rights, you son would right about now, have been on TV with the FBI and the state police you see all over the news. You could have called people up, and said… hey, turn on channel X, that's my boy on TV."

   "So. Sorry about you got shot, ma'am. My son loved you, obviously."

   "We were going to get married, after we were done getting degrees. I was all happy, dreaming. Doctor Hurry, and Doctor Wiz."

   Elise explained story after story to him. We listened to stories about him, from the father. When we got to his stuff, it was hard. He had built basically his own stout footlocker kind of thing. Elise said like all the MP's did, as he found good deals on used rifles and handguns and gun equipment? He would buy it. It was one of the few things he spent any of his pay on. The father said when he was home on leave, he would drop a few things off, for later when he got out. Then? It was for after getting his degrees.

   Elise explained why so few service GI Bill guys were around our big school. The way the GI Bill works, is that you get robbed on every monthly paycheck, some small amount. For 2, 4, even 6 years. They match your contribution with several times more. It stays in your own little fund.

   Apparently, Wiz had immediately doubled his monthly contribution every month out of his pay. When he got another stripe and some time in, he tripled it. This accounted for him being able to afford tuition where he went to school. He had overstuffed his GI account so much, he even got a little monthly stipend, to try to get enough food to eat.

   I got to see what kind of books he read growing up. Science fiction, fantasy, action and adventure, spy novels, Sherlock Holmes, the classics.

   I snatched up Sun Tzu and the art of war, expanded edition. Machiavelli, The Prince. And several others, they were off to their own side. Figured they were all related kinds of books. His favorite comic books when little? God of Thunder, and Man-Spider. In the footlocker, was a collar with tags. I wish I could cry, but I can't. That was his little dog, that had come back to him in another dog, later in life.

   The father offered me any of his clothes. I only took things like T shirts and sweatshirts and sweatpants and gym shorts. All things we shared wearing when he was alive. It was to add to my little collection of things I could wear that had been his, to feel closer to him.

   The father was surprised to learn we used to share running shoes and work boots. He had dropped off several pairs of hand stitched cowboy boots, all new looking. He must have gotten a deal on them, while in Texas. I asked, the father said he had the biggest feet in the house, not like anyone else could wear them, so go ahead. I'll wear these only for special occasions.

   A couple trophies for long distance running, track letters. A photo of him actually in a 10K race. Eyes closed, in a big turn. Like any long distance runner, the legs were positively shredded. Cut down to muscle fibers and bulging veins. Skinny all over the rest of him. Down to racing weight. The father explained that was before he discovered lifting weights, and made his upper body match those legs in the photo.

   Elise shared a story in a roundabout manner, until the father caught the drift. Her "close friend", a female MP? Worked with rape victims. Wiz was into this from volunteering. If the friend "accidentally" lamented a rapist was free because the victim with eyes beat shut wouldn't testify? Mentioning the name of the monster, around his son… curiously caused him to be found face down in a pool of blood in a dark parking lot. That was what she had heard, anyways.

   The father smiled and nodded his head. He got the drift.

   The father made us all coffee and sandwiches, and left us to read our letters. Out on the cement patio out back. Wild rabbits were practically tame, and would come up and hop around, until you dropped a few crumbs. You couldn't get within ten yards of a wild rabbit normally, these came and begged like pets. The father fed birds, so birds landed on the big, round cement table we were seated around. They were trained to be unafraid of this back yard, a sanctuary for anything that had no malice in its heart.

   The father's letter, was more of a cover letter. Just so he knew to give all his son's stuff to these girls.

   My letter, was more of the real will. It basically went over most of what he had glossed over as his last words, but in much greater detail. The story about the little dog coming back again, he was adamant about. It was a very much longer description of his summary in the back of the ambulance, with rich details, and proofs it was true. The detail and length was positively excruciating.

   He truly believed it, that much was certain. I was beginning to think, he was just telling me the story to keep me from becoming a spinster, but now? I was sure he believed it.

   If I could manage it, I was to let the universe mold me into what it needed me to be, and let it guide me to where and when, to accomplish my great purpose. He was sure, because he hadn't made it back and I was reading this? That he had achieved his purpose he was given in life. It had all been, so he could do what he had done. In Swellsville.

   Long detail, about how this had been done to me, losing him. Because it would make me into something. To achieve my life's purpose. So I was to just let it happen.

   He went into long detail and example after example, how money was wonderful, but it wasn't the greatest feeling in the world. Standing up, proud you lived your life by the moral code, was the best. The more it costed you, and you kept to it? The better the feeling, though it was the less riches you had.

   A separate piece of paper, folded up by itself? Gave details about the platinum, and the uncut diamonds, and the bearer bonds. He assured me, all three were untraceable. I just had to watch converting them to cash, to keep the IRS and other agencies off my ass. I was told to hire a financial attorney that dealt in "commodities", who would know how to convert it legally and quietly.

   He cautioned me about wealth. It led to moral decay, and you could slowly turn into a greedy evil person, and not realize it happening. He gave examples to watch out for the change coming.

   I was to use the windfall of paper money in the closet quietly, to keep myself decent as I needed something. If a car broke down? Buy a decent used car. He assured me, there was more than enough, as long as I worked and had a job, to get me through any rough patch and then some. I was instructed that he trusted me, to keep an eye on Little Lightning. If her car broke down, buy her a decent used car. Like that.

   He said that if I was reading this, he hadn't made it. But, that he felt good knowing that though he wasn't wealthy, he had managed to put aside a great insurance policy to provide for me, and Light too.

   Lightning's letter? Apologized for the letter to his father naming Hurry as "his wife". He assured her, that when he had told her she was not a second banana, he had meant it. He reminded her, that she was entitled to "all the rights and privileges thereunto" because Hurry had okay-ed it. That he had only done that because his parents were old fashioned, they would not have understood a man having two wives.

   He assured her that Hurry would always be there to help her, if she needed it. He told her he had told me in my letter, to do it.

   The last thing in my letters? Said he hoped I never had to read this, and would instruct his father to throw it all away when it was over. But that if I was reading this, well, it hadn't worked out.

   The dream of the funeral, now sitting here in the dark. Seeing his smile and shrug right in front of me. I can see the dark wall through the picture, and still see the picture. Maybe a half hour remembering the funeral, and meeting his parents goes by. Maybe 40 minutes tops. Okay, now I can get my second 4 hours of sleep.

   Ritual makes it all work. You have to have rituals. Good ones, but you have to have them. God, how I miss being dressed. Cared for in the shower and the tub. My body massages. Being rich and paying servants to do it? Wouldn't be even half as good. It has to be someone that loves and cares for you, for it to feel good.

   I want few luxuries in life now. One day, I want a giant shower and a big whirlpool tub. I want to get the occasional good deep tissue massage and rubdown. I want to work out a lot, maybe keep a tan every summer. Where, and how expensive I live? Other than those things, really doesn't matter.

   But most of all? I want to see Wiz in some man's eyes, actions, mannerisms and code of conduct. I want that thrill, of getting my dog back. A dog had to be the example in real life? Christ, how I miss my little doggy. I might never have a morning or evening game of fetch ever again.

   Things come and go. Elise eventually took another gold shield hunting license job. She won't tell me where. She swears she'll be back after "optimum outcome" has been accomplished. There presently is a murdering rapist working the streets and alleys of Portland, Oregon. If that's where she is? Guy's ass is mud when she gets him.

   Right graduates when Little Lightning does. Her and Target might move to Washington DC, from his present city after her graduation. She's happy with the big dog, and Target seems to be still happy with how she makes pastrami and beer mustard on rye. I suspect he likes her soccer legs and penchant for bum fun too, call it a hunch. Sunny has a steady boyfriend she loves for a while now, maybe she can find traditional American happiness with him after they both graduate. I hope for the best for her.

   I captained my team to a second successful year. Another ring for me, another ring for Little Lightning. We didn't take the national title, but we ran into our new rivals that knocked us out of our first round of national playoffs the year prior. We won by two goals, and Lightning had two goals, me one assist. No Hurricane brawls, but I ran some girls over, trust me. We went into the second round of national playoffs, and got edged out by a new rival.

   Boys football, despite all the national TV coverage, and all the money poured into the program? Didn't even make the playoffs this year. The girl's soccer team at my university, is the winning-est thing the entire athletic program has at the moment. Two conference titles, back to back, and a better showing in our second appearance in the national playoffs.

   The coach and the athletic director, both loved our interview this year. When you hit the nationals a second time, you get the interview. Most other teams just send whoever is the captain, and you pray they're not one of those… uh, you give a hundred and ten percent, you find something else, and you give that, too. Thanks for having me.

   With Sunny, Lightning and Right… plus me? It was the entire starting front line, plus utility captain. Our interview was longer than most, and Lightning came off as some kind of sportscaster host. We all got invited to the "president's dinner" which is where the president of our major university has you out for an expensive dinner, and you get a piece of paper award and your photo in the paper shaking hands.

   Recruitment to play for the Bloody Bridesmaids, is exploding through the roof. That's our unofficial team name now, the Bloody Bridesmaids. The nickname stuck. Some photo of me, dirty and ripped up legs, screening and running over some girl… Little Lightning up in the air dramatically going for a head ball, blood on her mixed with sweat and dirt… made the rounds of social media. The title was "Bloody Bridesmaids picking out pretty dresses". Me and Light both have our infamous "game faces" on and it looks intense and brutal. The photographer got lucky on his angle, there's blurry mud splattered around, frozen in mid air by the photo.

   Someone assembled all my "Hurricane Brawling" video clips, and stuck it on some "real cat fights" web page. No professional fighters, no girls hair pulling. If its a real life but brutal female fight caught on tape, its there. If you have one or two clips to your name? You're on a page with zillions of others. If you have several or more to your credit? You get your own little page off of an index. I'm on the index. You click on "Hurricane", you get to see all my brawls and violence.

   Some feminism girl power bullshit website, wants permission to use my image on one of their pages, showing girls that are strong and powerful. I keep emailing them back, telling them to fuck off, I don't believe in feminism.

   I'm under attack "professionally" by all the other girls spouting all the latest bumper sticker slogans that I believe have no place in Psychology. Its basically a liberal group hug in crowd on campus, and I'm one of the only females calling it all made up bullshit.

   I refuse to support "fad" and call it "science". If you don't have numbers, its an opinion. If you have logical fallacies and merely an emotionally persuasive argument, with groundless pronouncements from authority for your paper? I tear you to shreds for it. I stand my ground, and refuse to budge from facts and numbers and statistics in my papers. Women in the department hate me, and claim I want to drag feminism back into the 1800s.

   I tell them? No, I want to kill feminism, not send it back in time to ruin another era. Get it right. Just for the shock value? I add that its women like you, why women shouldn’t have the right to vote. I suppose the fact I can say it with a straight face, doesn’t in any way subtract from it. Hell, I rather enjoyed seeing what it was like to play “the little lady”, sitting politely and smiling and nodding. Trying to follow the male conversation, when Target first came and played catch up with my Wizzy. Sniffing the testosterone tang in the air with two of them together. The protective warm feeling, when four of them were all in the townhouse ten to eleven days a month. These women are bat shit crazy, and coming from me that should really mean something. How can they all be so silly. They just love “bad boys, tee hee” and get wet when they get put down and slapped. I mean, just let men be masculine. You actually love it, its so goddamn obvious it ain’t even funny.

   Basically stated. Political correctness, of militarily dogmatic proportions, mind you. Have swept my psychology department. Only a female is "allowed" to defend anything against… whatever fad bumper sticker level slogan pops up next. All the female professors preach the new bumper sticker slogan like holy writ on the mountainside, and all the female psych students fall all over themselves to repeat it like mantras.

   So I write critical papers against it, and take it all apart brutally. I have female professors trying to "talk sense into me", and I end up showing them hard numbers that directly contradict what they're claiming, to be statistically completely untrue. They roll their eyes. One bitchy prissy bumper sticker fad professor, had the gall to call me a "Nazi" in class. Why, because the numbers are completely against your claim?

   I told her, that if I'm a Nazi for believing in facts and statistics and proof, then maybe the Nazi's really had something worth looking at, and maybe we supported the wrong side in world war two.

   Yeah, it didn't go over well.

   Funny thing is? She can't dispute a single point in paper debates. I've learned that having a spine, and a moral backbone? Is better than fawning over fad pamphlets. If it costs me, I don't care. Saying the truth, feels better. Thank you Wiz.

   The school has a page in the big brochure, the glossy all color one. The sports pages. Centerfold of the brochure. One member of every team is on the montage photo layout, each representing one of our teams. Little Lightning is the one for ours. Normally, its the team captain. She's in her uniform, and has not just any soccer ball under her foot mind you but Teddy Ball himself. She's sporting a conference championship ring on each hand. Holding both hands out, like a girl showing you her engagement ring. But both hands at once doing the showing. Her smile combined with her game face for the photo? Make her look equal parts alluring and dangerous.

   I was there for the photo. The photographer tried to give her a shiny new ball. She wouldn't budge. Its Teddy Ball? Or no picture. I'm so proud of her for that. Teddy kept her alive and kicking, sorry for the pun there but I had to, its a Wiz thing now. Teddy gave her soccer. Teddy made her a star all over again. Don't ever abandon Teddy, just because you achieved success.

   Wiz truly lives inside me. Just like his dead mentor's wisdom stayed with him, his stays in me. He told me how to handle leadership. One rule, was its not about me and my career as a leader. Its about always doing what's best for the people under me and the team as a whole.

   So, when the coach explained that I was the picture, because its always the captain? I argued. I'm not the star face, that's driving recruitment. Little Lightning is. That, is better for the team. He said I should get recognition for leading one conference championship, and co leading the prior one. Headed for a third. I heard Wiz in my head and repeated it to him. No. Not only is she better as the star recruiting power? All criticism should be accepted by the leader, it happened on their watch. And all praise and rewards, should be passed down to the members.

   So, Little Lightning is the first co captain in that brochure.

   No one can figure out, why me and Lightning always wear our Psi Iota Zeta T shirts around. They think its either a fraternity from another school, or we made it up to be funny. We smile. Its Wiz's Greek initials. If you look close at her picture in the brochure? You can make out her necklace she bought. Its… Psi Iota Zeta. We both have a hobby of ordering little "Greek stuff" and getting "Wizzy" fraternity items.

   We have coffee cups, cereal bowls, plates, shot glasses, T shirts, sweatpants and sweatshirts. We each have the necklace, wrist charm, and ankle charm. We both have the belly chain charm, for swimming in the summer, or hot tub wear. We even got a little bong with his Greek initials on it.

   I suppose I should tell you about the summer before my second year into my masters. Which is the summer before our run at our third conference championship. While I'm not a true sociopath, I do test out as one after Wiz's guts hit my eyeballs. I'm a healthy sociopath, though. My original morality streak, combined with Wiz's "armor" he added, keeps me being a good one. Example. An unhealthy sociopath fucks people over for gain, and laughs about their success over them for it. A healthy sociopath would be a race car driver.

   I'm really easy going under normal circumstances, and I'm even more so now. Lack of emotions, has me sitting cool and calm even though chaos might be going on around me. I was sitting alone in the hot tub. Lida graduated, but we have a "new Lida", basically. The new Lida's name is Leeza. Leeza and her room mates, bought Lida's hot tub. Its a couple doors away from the original location, which is handy. Also, Leeza ended up taking over where Lida left off. Being the official unofficial caterer mixer arranger.

   So, I'm in the same hot tub, in a slightly new location, and under new management. Same ping pong table just in the new basement, too. New football player was a real horse's ass. He thinks he's a real ladies man, and he's one those guys that gets drunk, acts like a dick, and thinks everyone's all impressed with his bullshit. I know I ain't. He tried patting me on my ass a couple times, and I got tired of warning him. I kicked him in the nuts. When he finally got up, cussing at me? Lightning gave him an ostrich kick right in the same nut-sack. He went down. Ouch. Me and him? We really don't hang out much. Go figure.

   I'm sitting alone in the hot tub. I really didn't drink much before, and I drink less often and less when I do, now. I figure a highly intoxicated sociopath? Might not be the best thing in the world. Nut sack boy, is up to his usual tricks. Not with me, of course. With any girl he can get away with it. He had some girl up against the cement wall outside the ping pong basement, which puts them near me.

   He's drunk and loud and particularly obnoxious, which is fine, but he's holding the girl up against the wall. He won't let her go. I'm sure in his drunken world, he's teasing a girl but to us sober people? She's begging him to be let go. I'm getting sick of it. When he started touching her, I'm really getting pissed now. I looked back at some of my "regular" football guys I'm good with, locked eyes, and pointed. They waved, they're keeping their eyes on it.

   When his hand started rubbing her between her legs and she's making more noise, I've definitely had it. I saw those scared eyes that reminded me a bit too much of what Little Lightning looked like, when she froze and trembled under Bootsie's forced advances in the showers and locker room. When "no" turned into a whiny pleading "no, please, let me go, please…"? Well, that in conjunction with those moist, scared eyes put me over the top.

   I stepped right out of the hot tub, and got my running shoes on. I took a couple determined steps right over to the football players I mentioned, and got curt. I pointed at the floor show.

   "Put a stop to that. Now. Or? I will."

   I got a string of yeah, I'm on that. Relax Hurry, we got this. If it gets out of hand, we're on it.

   "I told you…"

   I took the several steps over to his back, and slapped him on the shoulder. My "thank you in advance" voice I have.

   "You. Let her go. Not funny anymore."

   I got a sneer, a snicker, and some rolled eyes before he turned his attention back to rubbing her jeans between her legs and listening to her plead. Mother fucker.

   "Last chance. Not telling you a third time."

   He said something snide and dismissive, then went right back to it. Hey. I warned him. Twice. I told him I was going to do it.

   I hauled off and stomped the back of his calf, which drove his knee into the cement and dropped him to one knee. I didn't push like Elise had taught me to do, to avoid injury practicing. I fucking stomped like a pissed off elephant. And kept driving in standing on the top of the calf. I grabbed the girl's shirt and tossed her aside, and used the now blank cement wall to mash his face directly into it. Hard. Hurt and stunned, and with his knee damaged, I already had his head anyways. I whipped him around by his head and tossed him down, while stepping on his "good" foot, IE the foot not under his boo boo knee.

   I moved around to be in front of him, and the cussing that came out of his mouth, and descriptions of what he was going to do to me, were something else. I pretended to be scared now, and backed up to the table behind me. As if I'm a girly girl, suddenly in fear of the pissed off big strong man. This had him limping in, with a cocked hand. I guess he thinks he's gonna punch me or pimp slap me. I acted like I was frozen and cowering, backed up to the table.

   I had simply moved to the table with a lot of bottles of beer on it. My hands behind me found beer bottles and it looked like I was holding myself up. When he got too close, thinking he had a regular girl cornered? I let loose. I exploded out of my "I'm so scared" act I was now putting on, and clapped a full beer bottle in a wicked slap on the side of his head and face as hard as I could. Before the slap made its echo, I had the other one and brought it down onto the front of his head, just above his forehead.

   I didn't waste the opportunity. You get a stun? Attack even more viciously, they can't defend themselves. I hauled off and launched the top of my jogging shoe into his nuts as hard as I could. I mean leaning into it like I'm clearing a ball from goal to goal. When he went down, I hauled off again, and put the next one on his face. Now he's rolling into a ball, and trying to flop away to under the table. I'm stalking him, looking to give him some more. I won't quit until I have to, or he quits moving. Whichever comes first, is fine by me.

   People were grabbing me. Complete pandemonium. He was hurt, and pretty bad. Pity. I wanted to hurt him some more. The girl was a freshman on my team. Not a big girl, and not a starter. Not even a scholarship player, just a walk on that made the cut. If she wants to practice and try to make it? Its a "free" backup player that costs the team nothing to have. If all she does is rotate a few minutes to give real players a short rest, or carry a play idea in from the coach before going back to warm the bench? Fine. Still one of my team mates, and I watch over all the new girls like a fucking hawk, ever since the Little Lightning Bootsie Bullshit episode.

   His knee's swelled up, and getting worse. Cut and scraped some, too. He's got a bloody nose like a blood faucet from the smash to the wall. He has cuts and blood on the side of his head and face, with small pieces of broken glass sticking out. Nice opened up one on the top of his forehead. I later found out, I got him so good in the nuts? They had to drain a testicle. Which means it swelled up so bad, they had to take a horse needle syringe and suck the blood out of it to lower the size to prevent further injury.

   They called an ambulance. The police got sent up. I calmly explained that he was sexually assaulting a girl begging for help, and I claimed self defense. They handcuffed me and dragged me down to the station.

   Wiz taught me, and I saw it at the Swellsville interrogation tricks. Once you sign you were read your rights, nothing you say will help. It can only hurt you. If what you say is in your favor? It will be ignored as it doesn't support the charge they have in mind. If it makes you look bad? It will be used to help crucify you, even if you didn't do it. I made the following statement, several times.

   My name is Frusta Sferza Frustino… I claim self defense. I will make no further statement, without my lawyer present.

   No matter what they said, and this went on for some time? That, was all I would say. Drove the cops nuts. I got screamed at, I got the sweetie pie routine, I didn't budge off of my game plan one inch. The more they keep trying things? The more politely I keep attempting to explain myself, as if to little children.

   They decided to soften me up I guess, with the night in the holding cell at the station. Whoop Dee Do. They tried in the morning again. I kept repeating the statement. Late that afternoon, after repeated attempts to threaten and cajole me to say something different, I got taken out of the holding cell. I was escorted into the chief's little office, and Target was there.

   He was just yelling at the chief of police, and pointing to the little TV screen. It was surveillance video of the party. I guess someone nearby, had burned a DVD of the relevant security cam "evidence" and Target had it, and was reaming the chief a new asshole.

   "Now, chief. Let's watch that again. See that? That's a girl held against her will. That's unlawful restraint. See him touching her? She's wiggling and screaming and trying to get away? That's simple assault, and assault. See exactly where, he's touching her? That's sexual assault. So, when you just asked me, am I trying to tell the chief of police how to do his job? Yeah, I guess I am."

   "See… here's what---"

   "No. Another question for you, chief. When you detain a suspect. The suspect lawyers up. You have three choices. You can… release them, charge them, or call a lawyer. You're not allowed to repeatedly continue interrogating them, once they refuse to back off of their right to remain silent without a lawyer present. Where the hell, did you get your legal training, hmm?"

   "But, the---"

   "Another question. You said you investigated. Why did I get that video, inside of ten minutes of hitting the scene. You? And your officers… investigated… for way over twelve hours, and it amounted to… we just ask the football player what he says. Hey chief. In your… so called investigation. What's the name of the girl being sexually assaulted, where this all starts. Well?"

   He took another breath, and let the video play on.

   "Now. That? Is a private citizen, acting in the prevention of a felony. Here, assault and sexual assault. Self defense covers, prevention of a felony. If you try to so much as give this girl a parking ticket? I'm going to bring a real lawyer down here, not some legal aid flunky. I'm not only going to win, I'm then going to sue you. I'm also going to see that the video you're watching here? Goes out on the internet. As well as ends up on TV."

   Target waved his hand in the air, as if an advertising guy pitching the new campaign idea, a producer pitching the movie idea to the director. You know, dramatic and more than slightly irritating.

   "Check out my headlines, because I'll call a goddamn press conference. See the exclusive video. Small town assholes with badges, arrest girl for preventing a sexual assault. Your move, chief. I'm warning you. If the very next words out of your mouth, are not an apology to her, and sending an officer to give some kind of fine, to the football player that’s committing felonies and you arrest anyone that tries to stop him from committing sexual assault? I simply double dog dare you. Hurry, honey. Did they feed you?"

   "No."

   "Huh. That's illegal, too. You have to feed human beings you hold in captivity, chief. I bet, the chief here? Was just about to suggest taking all three of us out for a nice meal. His treat. And spend the entire meal, apologizing. Weren't you…"

   "Yeah… I guess so…"

   "First good decision you made in over twelve hours, chief. Also. I'll be checking to see… that sexual assault? Gets some kind of simple fine to teach him that sexual assault and unlawful restraint isn't going to be tolerated. If I don't see the fine listed on the police logs, inside of 24 hours? I'm releasing that DVD, to the media. I know where to send it, trust me. Its my job. You? Will have a news team, outside your station. Hmm. I bet, one phone call to the women’s studies department? Gets a fucking pissed off mob of feminists here, too. Parading in front of the cameras. You know they just live for that shit, they’ll be sweating estrogen on camera. You know what the media's like, dare me."

   "All right…"

   "Let me hear you issue a command, to issue the fine, before we go to eat."

   The chief got sheepish, and wrote the fine himself. Handed it to a young officer, and directed him to deliver it to the football player, still at the hospital.

   "Hurry? Where would you like to go, honey. Chief's paying, money's no object."

   And, that's how that went. The aftermath? The football coach got pissed, that someone gave his player boo boo knee. Asshole's limping around, and has stitches in several places. He called his coach, who then whined to my coach. My coach already had a copy of the DVD, and told the football coach to go pound salt. Actually, I'm just paraphrasing. It sounded more like "stick it up your fucking ass", in response to whatever recriminations the football coach was trying to instruct my coach, to perform on me. I guess to teach me a lesson that football players are allowed to commit sexual assault, and that anyone who tries to stop them needs to be taught a lesson.

   The football coach can't take a hint, and called a pow wow with the athletic director, my coach, the football player, and me.

   The athletic director basically asked the football coach "what happened" and he said that a crazy woman put his star freshman whatever position he played, in the hospital and risked injuring his knee. Just like the police? Whatever lie a football player claims after the fact, is treated as evidence. The athletic director then demanded to know out of my coach, exactly what discipline he was going to hand out, to his out of control player. My coach asked the athletic director, how he even got this job he had.

   The athletic director and the football coach took turns threatening me, yelling at me, and making fun of me. At one point when I tried to speak, the football coach told me to "shut the fuck up and not say another goddamn word."

   It reminded me, of having seen a documentary showing actual footage of the kangaroo courts in Germany, before world war two ended. German Nazi judges, would both scream at and harangue the "defendant" for public humiliation. Before simply issuing the death sentence they already knew they were going to hand out anyways.

   Eventually, the athletic director haughtily asked me what I had to say for myself, before I lost my scholarship and was kicked off of the team.

   I did two things. First, I spoke quietly and politely.

   "Director? Actually, I'm going to follow the football coach's advice, and shut the fuck up and not say another word…"

   Then I opened up my laptop. The screen came to life. I played the video for everyone. When it was over, I basically went off on everyone except my coach. I gave a similar run down of the legalities, I had recently heard out of Target's own mouth to the chief. Which turned the chief into putty. Had the same effect here.

   "Now then. If I'm not apologized to, immediately. By both the athletic director, and the football coach, and I mean sincerely? This video. Is going out on the internet, and I’m emailing a little video of it to every TV station that serves this area. As well as get one of those free lawyers I see on TV all the time. I'm waiting. I count to three? I hit the door, I'll make good on my threat. Anyone care to dare me?"

   The athletic director is one of those whining pencil pushers that shouldn't be allowed to run a hot dog stand, let alone a multi million dollar top university athletic program. He caved and apologized and claimed it wasn't his fault, he had been given misinformation. The football coach technically apologized, but it was a mumbled thing he was forced to say.

   I made my point.

   "Good enough. I'm out of here…"

   The football coach had the gall to get in my face, and start yelling and threatening me, that if I ever laid a finger on any of his players again, he was going to… blah, blah, blah.

   "All done? Here's what I have to say to you. If that piece of shit, ever, lays a single finger on any of my girls again? He won't be in the emergency room getting stitches. You'll have to get him out of the goddamn critical care unit. And as for you, threatening me? Go ahead. Put a finger on me. I won't even sue you. Know what I'll do?"

   "What."

   "Take a good goddamn look at the football player, sitting right there. I'll find you in a dark parking lot? And I'll fuck you up twice as bad."

   He tried giving me his, ooh, I'm so scary eyes.

   "Are you actually threatening me?"

   "No. Its a promise. I dare you."

   The athletic director clapped his hands, and announced the meeting was over. He asked my coach if he had anything to add to the video recording minutes kept of the so called "official athletic disciplinary hearing". My coach said the following.

   "I have four official statements to make, for the record on this matter. Number one? I told you. I told all of you. No one would listen to me. And the other three things? Here goes…"

   One by one he pointed at the football player, the football coach, and the athletic director.

   "Fuck you… fuck you… and fuck you, too."

   Little Lightning was waiting outside the door. When the football coach made it out, she cornered him.

   "You so much as lay one finger on Hurry? That game in that dark parking lot, will be two on one."

   Me, the soccer coach, and Little Lightning… all went out to lunch. Coach's treat. Before we could get down the hallway, the football coach jogged up to me. When he put his hand on my shoulder to turn me around and get my attention because I was purposefully ignoring him? I glanced down at his hand on my shoulder and back up to look him dead in his eyes. I dropped my face, before putting my mask back on. I watched his eyes bug out. He removed his hand like I was on fire.

   Coming up, he had been mumbling something about us getting off on the wrong foot back there, or some such lame ass shit. Obviously, the athletic director had sent him out to attempt damage control.

   "Actually? I think we're finally on the footing we needed to be on in the first place."

   "What's that supposed to mean."

   "It means. For one thing, where was the girl that was assaulted in that video, in that hearing back there. Because a little green county bird, told me? That you, called her last night, and told her she wasn't required to attend this disciplinary hearing. Where the fuck do you get off, telling my witness I called to the hearing? To stay at home. Huh?"

   You'd have thought I slapped him across the face. He was stammering. He had no idea what to say.

    "I actually used to like you. I always thought you're a real straight shooter. Tough and fair. But I guess your whole, I'm a tough guy, Marine drill instructor routine? Is a bag of bullshit. I remember being impressed, years ago. When you gave a great talk to all the athletes, about preventing rape and sexual assault. I was loving it. But? Its a bunch of hot air."

   "The hell does that mean?"

   "This isn't the first time, by far, and I've been here about six years now. That one of the football players, does this shit you just watched on my home movie. I just put a stop, to what could have been the next college rape scandal. And you? Wanna run me out of town for it. Big man, but all talk. You had the nerve in there, to say I'm out of control? You saw the video, same one I saw. Football player. Simple assault, assault, unlawful restraint, and sexual assault. What are you going to do about it? Hmm?"

   "Now wait a minute, that's not exactly sexual assault w---"

   I grabbed him in his crotch, fairly hard, squeezed and let go. He backed up, mouth hanging open. He didn't know what to say.

   "Hey. You? Just said, that's not sexual assault. So, according to you? I didn't do anything wrong. Now get out of my face. Me and the coach, are going to lunch…"

   My coach got smug. He was pissed at how the athletic director and the coach, had been all sneaky.

   "We gotta go. We have another conference winning season to plan for. You should try it sometime…"

   We all three, proceeded to get taken out to lunch by a fairly happy soccer coach, all things considered. Little Lightning yelled over her shoulder at the football coach as we were about to disappear around the corner.

   "Remember, big man… two on one…"

   I couldn't thank Target enough. When he arrived for his scheduled ten day smooch fest with Right? I made him a giant steak and put it in front of him with a lukewarm beer. Right must have heard the gossip then called him for advice when I got arrested. He must have driven here after work, handled it, and driven back immediately.

   There's a funny joke going around the athletes, after it got out that I threatened the football coach with a trip to the hospital in a dark parking lot, then grabbed him by the nuts a minute later. Joke goes like this.

   So. The Hurricane, grabs the athletic director by his balls, and squeezes. Which day of the week is this. When they can't tell you? The punch line is… trick question. The athletic director has no balls.

   There's honestly not a big problem with the football team, at least not sexual assault wise. Its honestly a case of a few bad apples. The program's record, however, has a huge one. For such a big, top rated university? They've not been winning, since before I got here and that's been six years. My coach once showed me the money allotted to the football program, then the money allotted to the girl's soccer program. Trust me here, its like night and day.

   Now, the football team can barely make it to the playoffs, and that's even rare they make it. And once they get there? They're knocked out quick. That's who gets all the money. My team? We cost a fraction what the football team costs, and we're working on our third consecutive conference championship, and actually worrying about performing better in the national playoffs. The Bloody Bridesmaids? Are sniffing around a national title.

   There's one major rule, in the world of sports. Step one? You gotta win. Step two? See rule one. There should be a third rule. If you don't play football, don't bother. If a football team in a tough division like ours, brought home three conference championships in three years? Half the players would end up playing professional football on TV. Play women's soccer and pull it off? Good luck, hope you have a degree that lands you a career.

   But we are winning, and winning big. Which makes the coach look great, for a lot less money than the losing football team costs. This, gives him clout in the athletic department. When we started getting our games taped, after winning our conference title the first time… that brought money into the school. The networks have to pay for the right to tape and air games. Unfortunately, the rights to our whole season, probably cost less than one or two games for the football team.

   I honestly look at it like I'm a professional athlete. I'm getting a set of degrees from a top university, with top of the line room and board, for free. I think its worth about 45 grand a year, which is about the average yearly salary of a husband in America.

   I'm changing so much after Wiz died, its unreal. I used to look at soccer and what I get out of it, in purely practical terms, a means to an end. Free degrees and career. After Wiz died? Soccer has become one of my only things in life. Which is also very strange. Because whereas I used to dream of being a girl's soccer coach at a big school? I'm now starting to think I want to do something that matters more with my life, to make it worth more.

   At the end of the day? I kick a ball towards a net, and I get degrees for it. Take money out of the equation, as Wiz taught me to do. To most people? Soccer is useless, because you can't "turn pro" and "get rich". Football, however. Its the be all and end all, of all existence. And at the end of that day? They’re kicking a ball, towards pipes at the end of a grassy field.

   Go for a big executive's job at a major fortune 500 company after graduation. Football players get these jobs a lot. Oh. They played ball. They know all about team, winning, what it takes to win, what hard work and sacrifice and discipline are all about, there's no end to what football supposedly "teaches" you.

   Have three degrees, with top grades. But you played soccer, and go to the same job. There's the door.

   You can do the same analogy with a losing football team player, and a winning soccer team player. Results are the same. Because in reality? The soccer player is learning all those same skills. But because the ball is shaped differently? Supposedly it counts for nothing.

   Which means, that the entire idea? Is meaningless. Its just made up bullshit. Or the soccer player "learned" the same skills, or, the football player "didn't".

   In truth? Football is popular. And all the men at the fortune 500 company want to go out to lunch, and dinner, and be seen working with… the football player. He's a celebrity. All the women at the same fortune 500 company? Are impressed with the football player as well. No one is impressed, the men or the women? With the soccer player.

   And football supposedly is wonderful, and we just established the only criteria that differs it from soccer, is that it makes more money. That's it, end of story. Wiz, touched lives. Everywhere he ever went. He saved people, he helped people, and the list goes on and on. He didn't have any real money. Now take a guy with real money, and honestly look at what real good he did in the world. Oh, people with a lot of cash write out a few checks, and they get to play the big "philanthropist".

   Football players don't save lives, they don't help people directly. Really, all they do is make a lot of money. Either for themselves, or for their college. Not saying soccer players are any more valuable, but they aren't treated as if society would collapse without them. Wiz? Saved lives, helped people, and made a real difference. Without Wiz taking on Swellsville, and the people like him that do things like that… you wouldn't want to live in that society.

   Our collective values and judgments are so fucked up, I don't know how to begin to sort it out.

   Other than money to buy some kind of food, and to live indoors? That's enough. I want that feeling Wiz had. Knowing that I made a real difference. I saved people, I helped people, I actually contributed to society something more than just pushed a piece of tanned hog's ass towards a line in the grass. I'm feeling what Wiz felt, when he got around the MP's. He wanted that feeling, that no amount of money could buy.

   I want that. I want to live my life by… the code. And, I simply can't get it, by coaching people to kick a round ball better. Wiz heard about Swellsville? Huh. I'm taking this place out. And, he did it. All for no pay, and really no recognition outside of a few personal… yeah's. He actually paid, to do it. It cost him time, money, aggravation and anxiety… and in the end? It cost him his life.

   He offered his life up voluntarily, to get it done. He acknowledged this fact, by making out his last will and testament, before starting in on the most dangerous part of the whole operation. And while he was laying there, knowing he was dying? He smiled and shrugged, and said it was fine. His life's work was completed. He could go now.

   When a man lays there, knowing he's about to die… and he's content? He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, he did the right thing. There's no other way. I want that. I want to know, that I made a real difference.

   I took care of Bootsie, and some of the older girls on the team. I made a real difference in Little Lightning's life. I made a real difference, to the team. Within two years? No older girls, get out of hand on the new girls. Everyone knows, you simply get Hurricane-d for doing it. I mean, if I hadn't of done just that, we would have lost Little Lightning. And then Lightning? We won a huge game, by two goals. Lightning, scored two goals. Not a coincidence.

   I changed and in some ways saved, Little Lightning's life. I changed the team's fortunes. If I hadn't of done that, we wouldn't have won our conference championship. Which means we wouldn't have won it the second time. I even made the coach's life better. No little Lightning? No big recruiting draw. Hell, the coach’s family loves me. Because he’s steadily winning more and more? Their life is twice as better, financially speaking.

   That night I took out a football player forcing himself on a little girl? I know I made her life better. And what about the next ten or twelve girls he would go on to do just that to, let alone the fact he's just the sort of asshole that's at risk to pull the big rape scandal down onto the school. I helped that girl, I helped the next ten or twelve girls, I helped the athletic director. Hell, I even "helped" the football coach, when you think about it. He talks big about breaking his foot off in the ass of the first football player that forces himself all drunk on some little girl at a party. I actually demonstrated that procedure for his benefit.

   I faced getting arrested, and going to jail, and losing my scholarship and my degrees and everything else. I honestly didn't care, it was the right thing to do. If Wiz could give up his life, willingly, writing out his last will and testament to prove he willingly pays with his own life if need be, up front. If he can risk and give that? I can risk a piece of special paper, and having bars on the window for a little while.

   Wiz let me see the infamous groundhog hole he lived in for almost two years when we were moving him in. My jail cell I spent the night in? Would honestly be more comfortable to live in, than that place was. And he was happy.

   I've got to have, what Wiz had. I crave it now. I want that magical ability. To be happy with nothing, to know that you mattered and made things better and helped people. I want to live my life like that.

   I liked the little internal and unofficial medal the MP's give each other, when they live up to the code. The one she gave to Wiz's dad to display as proof his son mattered, and didn't throw his life away for nothing.

   Lady justice. Blindfolded, holding the scales of justice aloft in one hand, the sword in the other. I want that, or something just like it. I'm already living it and demonstrating it, for free, just like Wiz did. The football coach and athletic director actually conspired against me, and shut the witness victim out of the proceedings, in an effort to crush me. What did Wiz always joke?

   No good deed goes unpunished.

   I had fought the football player like Wiz would, like Elise would. Wiz taught me, Elise as well. Be calm, always be calm. Keep your head. I now have no choice but to follow that advice. I don't have any emotions to speak of. I'm calm whether I want to be or not. The universe made me into what it wanted.

   Take any advantage you can get. Surprise, is an advantage. I attacked with no real warning. If you have the chance to go first? Go in hard and fast like the bells at St. Mary’s. Its the best one you're going to get, so make it count. Taking out the knee was a great first blow.

   If you manage to stun your opponent? Don't hesitate, move in for the kill. You now have a slight advantage, exploit it ruthlessly. I did. Head and face into the wall as hard as I could was definitely cheap and ruthless.

   My enemy was making several mistakes, one after another. Right off the bat? He didn't credit his enemy with equal. He dismissed me as a girl, that could do nothing to a man doing what he wanted. Mistake. But, that was his second mistake. His first one? Failing to recognize who the enemy even was. Moron. I kicked him in the nuts a little ways back, after telling him several times he better stop putting his hand on my ass.

   If you're weak, make yourself appear stronger, and any way you can. If you're strong? Deceive, make yourself look harmless. When I retreated to the the table and acted like a girl that had slapped a man and surprised him, but was now in for it and knew it, cowering in fear, backed into a corner of tables? I was pretending.

   Elise's stock in trade. Bait. Lure.

   Anytime you can hide your true intentions, do so. My hands behind my back, cowering and waiting to get smacked around? He's not seeing my hands. All the MP's say it, watch the hands, the hands kill. Don't watch the face. He watched my face, my hidden hands were picking up great weapons.

   I then attacked ruthlessly again with no warning. What works once? Do it again. Full beer bottle up against the side of the head and face. Ruthless. Another stun? Don't waste it, go right in for the kill. Another one down on the top of the forehead.

   Don't stop once you start, for anything. He's down and curling up, trying to roll under the table to get away. Keep on it, finish him. I had to be grabbed and restrained.

   Wiz had so often mentioned Sun Tzu and the Art of War. His mentor had considered it required reading. Even Target and the boys, asked. What does Sun Tzu have to say about our situation. When I found that book in its own little section? I had to have it. This was the original master's bible. It contained holy writ. I read it cover to cover. Wiz liked to read a book through, then immediately start over, and read through a second time.

   It made me feel close to him to read it several times, straight through cover to cover. Phrases and instructions and advice, were stated over and over in various ways. Reading it continuously put entire lessons into my head. I knew what was coming next, before I read it yet again.

   I have no choice now, but to be calm in a high pressure situation. My mind doesn't swim and rush in fear. I don't "forget" under pressure. What pops into my head at rest, pops in just as easily under pressure. Wiz was right. What was done to me? Was done for a reason. Its not a curse, its a great gift. Its one of my best weapons. Matching it up to the Sun Tzu? Another great weapon.

   When I came to in the hospital after the shock of tasting my boyfriend and future husband's blood and guts, waking up from the anesthesia? I felt my first taste of something very unsettling. Opening my eyes, and feeling as if I was waking up inside another girl's body. I could make that body do what I wanted. It never went away. You get used to it, you can get used to anything. I did.

   Another curse, that I now view as a gift. I’m strangely comfortable now, with the monster that came and decided to take up residence inside me.

   Another Wiz mentoring. A short, light, thin man? Can spend his entire life, lamenting being a little guy in a big man's world. Or? He can look at his curse as a gift, and simply figure out where its a unique advantage.

   Caving. Little guys are great at climbing, and getting into tiny, twisting tunnels. They can get into tight, little places big ox men can't possibly. The electrician on the team, that crawls into the pipe or duct, to run the cables. Or? Become a world class jockey. The tiniest men make for the very best ones. The horses get closer to each other at the top end. The smaller and lighter the rider? The tiny advantage that noses you forward at the photo finish.

   Look at your curse, figure out where its most useful, then realize its now a great gift. Its all in how you look at the same thing, from a different viewpoint. Thinking like this? Made him The Wizard when computer programming, or at electronics, or anything else in his world.

   I woke up, numb and sterile. My emotional thermostat bumped down so low, I can barely register anything but the strongest explosions of emotions. I woke up in basically another girl's body, and I can make it do whatever I want. When I work out? I can "push" this body past any point I previously could. I can make it do it.

   Just because I’m not a true sociopath, the shock and trauma have merely made me into something similar? I'm still functionally equivalent to a sociopath.

   I have PTSD now. Its seeming to be permanent. It doesn't scare me, I like it. I can "see" my dead lover anytime I want, at any time. Simply by concentrating. Its so damn lifelike, you can reach out and almost touch it. I can just taste his skin on my tongue if I imagine it when I see it. Mine isn't a picture. Its a short movie clip. He smiles and shrugs, what can you do, you know? Its okay. As long as I think about him, it plays on repeat, over and over, as long as I want.

   It comforts me. I can't bear the thought, of ever being without it.

   Now. Take stock. Self assess. Easy, really. Because my emotions are taken out of the equation. I have no choice but to look at things dispassionately and logically.

   I have two choices.

   I can take door and path A. Fight this. Engage in constant and never ending therapy. PTSD therapy. Trauma therapy. I can't even treat the symptoms, treat the disease. When PTSD and trauma bring depression and anxiety? You can treat those, to loosen the grip of the main thing. With no emotions? There's no symptoms to treat. It will be like, I don't even know what. Fighting a ghost.

   My curse would then come to define me. Who is she? Oh, that's the girl that tasted her boyfriend's blood and guts when they were blown onto her. My whole existence, would be to fight back and win. It will take forever and a day, to maybe, crawl back. All? Just to reach the same spot I once was, before "it" struck out of nowhere. All that wasted time, going in a huge circle. To end up where I started.

   Which means its wasted time. A human being only gets so much time before the big dirt nap. I could spend my best years, getting nowhere. And that? Is at best. It all might be a waste, too. Never "winning". Just a car, stuck in a ditch of snow. Spinning the wheels, endlessly. Rocking the transmission, trying. Forward, reverse, forward, reverse. Wasting time, wearing the "car" out, and getting nowhere fast.

   That's door A, Path A. Not particularly appealing of a prospect. Long journey, don't know the way, might never get anywhere in the end. If I even do, its just back where I started. Gee, where do I sign up. Sounds great.

   One of Wiz's little trophies I got at his house, when his father fulfilled his dead son's last wishes and let me have anything I wanted? A rolled up little poster. Einstein. The caption read profound, I had heard it out of his mouth many times before, it was a mantra of his.

   Einstein's definition of insanity. Trying all the same things, over and over… and expecting different results.

   Path A, is what any trauma and shock victim does. Fight it, don't let it win. Never give up. Keep on, keeping on. Bumper stickers. Pamphlets. Buzzword bingo. Inevitably? Bouncing coffee cups off of therapist's foreheads, and telling them to put that into their own little hurt locker, its what the hurt locker is for. Simply everyone will encourage path A, too. The industry? Well, this is money in the bank. The victim pays. The victim's family pays. Insurance pays, the county and state money pays. The industry? Will get paid, one way or the other. The fact that the victim will take forever, or keep at it forever and never be without care? Wow. You couldn't design a better money making enterprise. If I even made it eventually? I'd lose my little movie I love so much.

   Wiz's voice, in my ear like he's there watching over me, some sort of guardian angel, guiding me.

   "If you want the same results everyone else gets? Then by all means, do that."

   Path A, is what the herd will do, what every professional will advise, what every layman will say. Path A? Not what I want. Thanks Wiz.

   "If you want different results? Do something else instead. As a great start if you don't know where else to begin? Do the exact opposite of what everyone else would do. At least you won't get their results, that you don't want. You can refine it, from there."

   So. What's behind door B for this contestant. Why, its path B. Surprise there, huh.

   The complete opposite of Path A, naturally.

   No therapy. No therapists. No putting things into imaginary hurt lockers. No bouncing coffee cups off of therapists that read pamphlets and bumper stickers right before your session for "research". No wasting all that limited time. No spending maybe forever, getting nowhere. Or at best, eventually getting right back where you started. Hey, you get somewhere. The normal way? Gets you nowhere, or back at the starting gate. This way, at least you keep moving. I don't want A. B then, will take me somewhere else, anywhere else. Its a great start, to do the opposite.

   I get to keep and be comforted by my little movie that doesn't seem to be diminishing or slowing down, or changing, or going anywhere.

   Take the curse, move around and look at it from another angle. Figure out in what way its a gift.

   Elise now. The enemy pulls? You push. The enemy pushes? You pull. She fights the complete opposite of how nearly everyone else fights, for the most part. Don't oppose it, go with it and add to it.

   Wiz would have some weird and profound analogy. What would it be. Hmm. I'm the salmon. I'm expected to fight the strong current, and slowly beat the shit out of myself to get back upstream. I could die on the way, or if I'm lucky? I make it there, monumental effort, and get to do a little something and die.

   Wiz would do anything but. This salmon should turn around and swim with the current. I don't even want to be at the destination upstream, I'd rather be about anywhere else. Why not turn around and go with it, twice as fast as I can swim.

   Elise smiles in my mind. Good, Hurry. Don't fight it, go with it. Don't oppose the strong force. Accept it, guide it and add your own force to it. You now control an even greater force, and put it where it should be. You can't possibly pull them this hard, but if they push while you pull? They help you.

   Trauma is pushing me. I can push back and oppose it and get nowhere, or slowly wear myself out and get nowhere in the end. I'll pull on the trauma pushing me. I'll add my force and momentum to the force coming in, and guide it where I want it. Now, instead of butting heads and getting worn out? I make it seem like I'm many times stronger than I am.

   The opposite of fighting my condition? Is to not fight it. Go with it.

   I end up in the library. I was raised Catholic. I'm done with what I was doing, I'm browsing now. I'm in the religion and philosophy section. I'm reaching for The Bible. Its what you do, when your roots are Catholic religion. Wiz is watching over me, whispering in my ear. I concentrate on him for a second, and I enjoy a little movie for several seconds. I can see the books on the stout shelf right through it the whole time. You can drive with the PTSD image, and still see everything. The King James Bible is in my hand.

   I can hear his voice.

   "Honey. Religion is for people who are afraid of going to hell. Spirituality and philosophy? Are for people who have already been there."

   Thanks, Wiz. You were right. I have been to hell. You know what they do to you in hell? Your boyfriend's guts explode, and you get his blood and guts in your eyes and mouth. Hell. Been there, done that, got the T shirt in the gift shop. Someone visited Hellsville, and all I got was this lousy T shirt.

   My hand put the bible back. Beginner's guide to understanding reincarnation myths, a brief overview and comparison. I can see him still. I spoke softly out loud. An advanced version of Little Lightning, waving goodbye to bad Moody in the dark corner.

   "Thanks, honey."

   Some girl and the guy with her, are staring at me a little, because I'm talking to the bookshelf. I looked over and smiled, then dropped my mask. To watch their faces.

   "Something I can help you with…"

   Then I put Mary the waitress's little grin back on.

   Turned out, they didn't need any help. In fact, they needed to be somewhere else. Hmm. This feels good. Might as well tell him.

   "Honey? This is so much better than fighting it. Thanks…"

   I walked over to a carol desk, and started skimming reincarnation beliefs. Hmm. Introduction, takes you out of your comfort zone. To Americans, religion means some form of Christianity. Choosing religion equates to choosing which branch of the main tree suits you. Even weird religions, like the people that play with rattlesnakes. Its based on the bible quote. They shall pick up venomous serpents and I will cause the serpents to bring them to no harm. Quit thinking religion, equals quit thinking Christianity.

   Okay. I'm prepped and ready for that, you know.

   Wiz mentioned Edgar Allen Poe in his longer will letter version of me looking for his eyes, and his experience when his little dog came back to him. He went looking, shaken and fascinated by the experience. He found… reincarnation? And a lesser known work of Poe.

   Ligeia. Might as well go skim that one. Typical Poe work. Dark and brooding. Man meets woman. Love and wonderfulness, but for a brief happy time. Woman dies suddenly. Man devastated.

   Sounds strangely familiar, Edgar.

   He spends his entire life, distraught and in grief. Tortured. He finally gives in, and does eventually marry another. She doesn't get it for him, but he keeps keeping up. Its slightly less painful than doing without.

   Edgar. Like you were there. Stop over for tea, and we'll compare notes.

   Eventually, this new woman that he just sort of slummed it with? Is now dying after a life of… torment on his part. As she's getting weaker over time, the man suddenly sees his Ligeia's eyes, in this woman's body. Who he wasted his time with, and undervalued. Now, he's tortured twice as bad, doomed. He had what he wanted, most of his life? And didn't realize it.

   Edgar, you naughty boy. You never did learn how to make a happy ending, did you.

   Wiz described, that he spent his life always missing his little dog being gone. He spent several years around a dog that took a great shine to him, and he loved that. But, it was only the last couple years that he "knew". From that moment he had the epiphany in the kitchen, and the dog telling him something. Responding to his name, when he suddenly "saw" his dog's eyes. He had never once heard of the Poe and Ligeia story before, this came out of nowhere. But, the exact same thing.

   He just got lucky, and saw it in time to get a couple years and enjoy that, before this one passed on. Wiz now knew to be on the constant lookout, searching all dog's eyes, scanning for his. He would find him young, and get another dog's life with him. He knew, he believed. He was always idly searching, and would pounce when he found it.

   This, was what he wanted me to do.

   "Okay honey. I will. I promise."

   Back to skimming reincarnation comparisons. Once you drop the lock of Christianity and look at other vastly different stuff, reincarnation is fairly universal. Almost all religions, teach a life after death of some kind. Some, have a judgment, and you are sorted. Garbage, or paradise forever. Others? Reincarnation.

   Christianity is actually the oddball, not the normal thing, taken overall. They teach that the dead are gone. You can't contact, get contacted, nothing. You are here, they are there. Anything that tells you otherwise? Is evil and witchcraft. Typical. All religions teach that anything else is wrong, for the most part. Christianity, goes whole hog on that.

   There's tons of ancestor worship, and if not outright ancestor worship? Ancestor veneration. Some are religious, others are merely cultural beliefs or customs. And, it pops up again and again. All through time and all over the world. The Vikings, wanted as a core cultural belief? To make the ancestors proud. To do what they would have done, to follow the same code and make it live on.

   Wiz was a little big on Norse and Viking imagery and a few things. Another overview introductory book. Valhalla. Not ancestor worship, but they did have strong ancestor veneration. They can see and hear you, make them proud of you.

   American folklore, has older people telling youngsters that grandma and grandpa can see them, don't make them disappointed in how you turn out. Another universal religious theme. Someone can see, someone watches. You have to make them approve of you, you have to do what they would have wanted.

   Wiz smiled, and said he knew he made it, he was going to Valhalla. His mentor, had prepared a place for him. He had followed his given code and honored it, he had made him proud. He reiterated it in his will letter, and said that I was not to worry, he prepared a place for me when I got there. He said I would sit with the men at the feast tables.

   Back to Norse introduction. You simply must understand, they're not as they are popularly portrayed. Big, dumb brutes. They had a rich culture, it was just a warrior's culture. But, they valued learning to read and write, they developed trade, seamanship, travel. Navigation was no small feat. Contact between distant civilizations, and bringing back what they learned. They introduced trade and commerce. They slowly morphed from warrior culture, into a trade and commerce culture.

   The ideal warrior was big, strong, and brave. But… smarts were respected. Cunning and trickery were valued. Hmm. These guys would have loved Sun Tzu. Reading and writing, literature. Poetry, song, dance. Honor, dignity, code. Personal bravery. You don't fear death. These ideals were embodied, and your ancestors could see and hear you. Make them proud.

   Wiz's mentor. He had shared philosophy and code with him. The warrior monk ethic. No, you were born with intellectualism. Don't turn your back on it, and become a warrior full time. Go to college. Be what you were born to be. He mated his intellectual side with his new found warrior side. The universe made you an intellectual. Then, saw you become a warrior. Let the universe put you where it wants, it already made you into what it wanted.

   His mentor died. But, he could see him. He had to follow it, and make him proud. He did. He had to show personal bravery, and not fear death. He had made out his little will and letters, in case it happened. The Norse ideal, was to die fighting. He had. That, was a good death. You could be proud of such an ancestor. You were expected to earn your ancestor’s totem.

   The MP's gave each other their own little totem. Lady justice. They embraced Norse like qualities.

   The Norse introduction? Points out quick. That traditional modern European and therefore American cultural norms? See warriors, and sports people, and strong willed people? As one thing. They see scholars and poets and craftsmen… as another class. This is actually unique, through most of history… the best warriors were always the smartest. Anti intellectualism was a modern concept. Thinking big strong people couldn't do scholarly work, or the reverse was thinking that bright people would make poor warriors or sports figures? Was the new, weird idea.

   Wiz spent his youth, an obvious intellectual. A spastic geek nerd. He was amazed to hit warrior culture, become immersed and indoctrinated into it, and find he was good at it and that they accepted him with open arms. They prized nothing more highly, than a smart warrior.

   Then he came back to the real world, and once again saw that the cultural norm, was division of the two classes. He's whispering in my ear again.

   "Any society that separates its scholars from its warriors, will have its thinking done by cowards, and its fighting done by fools."

   Back to reincarnation primer. I was thinking, I should go be a female MP. I'd be around what he had been. It would be where he would want to be, when he came back. But? Reincarnation, almost all cultural or religious manifestations of it, actually. No. The person coming back? Will be something else. They are either being sort of educated or punished, to come back to learn a needed lesson so next time they can get back and move forwards more. Or, if they do well? Which he had. You get to take the next step. Evolve. You were good, this next one will a step more in that direction.

   So, he won't be an MP next time, almost certainly. He'll be similar, but more.

   What, though. Oh, that was simple, wasn't it. Quit trying to understand it. It just is. Go with it. Let it guide you. Let the universe make you into what it wants, then simply allow it to put you, where you need to be. Easy. Always follow the code. Be a warrior monk. Put out all good karma anytime you can. Send out bad karma when you see it. If you see good karma unrewarded? Its a karma debt. Be the person that pays the debt with the added interest. Same with unaddressed bad karma. Pay it back, with the interest now due.

   For now? I'm where I should be. But… not forever, I can feel the tug. I didn't do too bad, before I knew all this. I was taught, do what feels right. Which was a way, that let the universe gently guide me. Tomboy, sports, fighting. Enough experience with girly girl stuff, to know its horrible and not for me. Back to the boys club.

   I knew and just felt that the farm was great, but not forever. Had to go. Psychology. I was a budding rape therapist, just in the nick of time when it could be put to its best use. Now? Its male female relationships. This major disruption, is telling me. The path is going to veer, and not a little. It will be a lot. But, I don't have to worry about it. It'll just happen. I'll be presented with gentle pressure, showing me the sharp turn to what I'm being prepared for.

   Wow. I feel lots better now. It'll just happen. Just go with it. The weirder and more bizarre it is? The more its the right thing.

   "Don't worry honey. I'll do it."

   On the way to drop off the books I had out to skim, afterwards I walked past a shelf and was drawn to it. Female warriors throughout time. I checked that out. Seemed interesting, and I need something else. Oh, wait. I need some kind of basic introduction to karma. Well. That didn't take long. Introduction to Karma, now in my hand.

   I've got a third conference championship to get prepared for, I need a third ring. Another chance at the national title.

   Hey. Third time’s the charm.